Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

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Susan Strict
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Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Some of you may remember that a while ago I posted nearly half of the novel Hairy Peter and The Gallstone, which some of you seemed to like (and some didn't!). The fourth book in the series was published more recently,Hairy Peter and The Prisoner in Tasha's Barn, so I'll post a few chapters here hoping you enjoy them.


Chapter One
Myra


“I can’t find anyone,” said Myra unhappily.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied her mother. “These will last us for the moment.”

She picked up the whip. The man in front her moaned, straining against the cuffs that held his arms high above his head.

“Be quiet,” warned Natasha. “I haven’t done anything yet. Really, Myra, I think I’m going to have to gag them.”

“Don’t do that, mother,” said Myra. “I love to hear a man scream in pain.”

She walked casually over to the naked man and ran her fingernails down his chest, hard enough to leave thin, red lines all the way to his groin. She gripped him in one hand and squeezed. He squealed.

“Lovely,” said Myra, releasing her grip and then squeezing repeatedly. The man gasped and shrieked in pain. “But he’s not even a wizard,” Myra continued, holding him with enough pressure to make him squirm continuously. “I didn’t take him, did I?”

Her mother shook her head. “No,” she said. “It was Electra. I think she said she found him drunk outside The Firkin Seat in Asfixi-by-Mooning.”

“She took an awful risk,” said Myra, letting go of the prisoner and giving him a stinging slap on his buttocks with the flat of her hand. “The village is still full of phylaxes. You would have thought they had better things to do while the university students are on holiday, wouldn’t you? What do they think they’re guarding? There’s no one there but a lot of ancient professors who wouldn’t know a bit of bondage and sadism from a vicar’s tea party.”

“Don’t criticise until you know a lot more about it,” advised her mother. “You’ll be going there next term. We were lucky they agreed to take you, right in the middle of the university year.”

“Lucky?” Myra aimed a particularly vicious slap between the man’s legs. “It wasn’t luck. They took me because I’m a very talented witch. I expect they’re hoping I’ll graduate and become famous. Some chance! I’m there for one reason only, as you well know.”

“You’ll need to be very careful,” warned Natasha Majester. “Those witches and wizards come from a very different background, and they don’t think like us. Don’t forget, none of your sisters went to university. Neither did I, and neither has anyone in our family, as far as I know. We keep ourselves to ourselves. We’re not interested in what outsiders do or think, so you may find it’s not so easy to fit in.”

“I wouldn’t have to go if you were more careful with the prisoners,” Myra pointed out. “I don’t know what’s the matter with them, but after a few months they just seem to give up the will to live.”

“It’s not me,” Natasha pointed out. “It’s you and your sisters. I’ve kept you all away from the Major, and he’s been here since not long after you were born. He’s as fit as he always was.”

“And all the others since then?” asked Myra. “You can’t blame it all on my sisters. I know very well that you haven’t let any of us touch them until you thought we were old enough, so that’s less than ten years even for Maya. How many did you get through before then? Ten? Twenty?”

“Probably around thirty,” admitted Natasha. “But, as I said, Major Orson Petter has been here nearly nineteen years, and he’s every bit as good as he was when I first took him.”

“That’s not so great,” said Myra. “One of these days you’ll have trouble there. He was a wizard, and one of the best, wasn’t he? Electra said he’s a metamorph, so if he ever gets out of that dungeon we’ll all have problems.”

“There’s no chance of that,” declared her mother. “He can’t use his magic while he’s in those rooms, and do you think any wizard would have the slightest chance against the eight of us if he did? It’s not going to be a problem.”

“One day someone will come looking for him,” said Myra pessimistically. “Someone somewhere will be wondering why he was never found.”

“I doubt it,” her mother told her. “There’s even less risk than with most of the others. Don’t forget that when I took him the dark wizards were at their strongest. He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon and his followers were killing witches and wizards all over the place. No one would ever suspect a witch whose desires were most obviously conventional. I like my wizards, Myra, as you and your sisters have always done too. I can think of nothing better than having a wizard tied up and in pain, and that is exactly what the Ministry expects of a normal witch. There is nothing about me, or any of us, that would raise the slightest suspicion, and Major Petter was a prime target for the dark wizards. He was the liaison officer with the non-magical government. He was recognised by them as a very effective operative in their security services. He represented everything that He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon wanted to destroy.”

“We can’t take any risks,” insisted Myra. “You know we’re on top of one of the Seats of Power. Can you imagine what would happen if he managed to tap into that? It’s not impossible, even though I know very well that you haven’t managed to do it in all the years you’ve been trying.”

“We’re just on top of a vein, not on a Seat of Power” Natasha corrected her. “The veins just connect them.”

“You’ve told me that before,” said Myra. “I’m not sure I understand it.”

Her mother sighed. “And you’re supposed to be the intelligent one who’s going to university. The more I think about it, the more I worry. All right. I’ll explain it again. The Mooning Hills, the hilly area around Mount Moon, are on top of one of the strongest concentrations of elemental power in the world. It may well be the strongest. That’s why Fessewarts Castle was built here, and why the Mistress of Mooning chose it for her headquarters. It’s also why settlers built the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning, as well as all the other obvious reasons for settling here like the streams that flow down from the hills. As you’ll remember from your elementary schooling, I hope, no one chooses to live where there isn’t a plentiful water supply. Magic alone is not enough.”

Myra nodded, looking bored already. “I know all that,” she said scornfully. “It’s the ‘Seats of Power’ I don’t understand. Surely there’s either this elemental magic, or there isn’t.”

“A Seat of Power is invariably deep in the ground,” Natasha continued. “Nearly always it’s in a deposit of volcanic rock that seems to hold and concentrate the power. It was once believed that the rock itself is magical, but I think it’s fairly certain these days that elemental power merely finds the rock a suitable receptacle. I’m not going to try to explain it. I’ll leave that to your professors at Fessewarts. I’m sure they’ll have their own theories. I only know what our family has found out over the centuries we’ve lived here.”

“So we’re right at the centre,” said Myra. “We must be. Our house is on the edge of Mount Moon.”

“No!” said Natasha in exasperation. “I’ve told you again and again, and still you don’t listen to me. Our house was built here because one of your ancestors assumed that the centre of power was right in the centre of the largest hill. He was wrong. We are very close to one of the smaller concentrations of power. The elemental lines of force converge in these hills, certainly. That has been known for centuries, but if my calculations are correct, the point of focus, where the lines of force actually meet, is underneath Fessewarts Castle itself.”

“So the Mistress of Mooning got it right!”

“I don’t think so,” Natasha disagreed. “If she had known, I think she would have mined the rock to build the castle from that particular spot. She didn’t. Her building material came from a little further away. Fessewarts’ Lake is her quarry, and she mined deeper in search of more powerful concentrations from where the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning now stands. I believe the entrance to her old mineshaft still exists, or so Madam Lasheem claims.”

Myra stepped away from the man she was tormenting, pulled out her spell crop and examined it.

“She still mines it?”

“Maybe,” her mother nodded. “As you know, we had the greatest difficulty in persuading Madam Lasheem to make crops for you and your sisters. Other crop makers are far less particular, but the Ministry has tightened the regulations and I think it’s clear they believe Madam Lasheem’s crops do more than just channel a witch’s or wizard’s own abilities. Only materials from a Seat of Power could do that.”

“So we’re not even at any of the Sources of Power?”

“It’s not quite like that. I do wish you would listen properly. We shouldn’t be talking about sources of power. They’re not. They are concentrations of power, where elemental forces come together and are stored if suitable material exists to hold them. It so happens that the Mooning Hills and the area around them has a particularly large amount of the rock that has the perfect structure to absorb and hold the power, and the lines of power that circle the world happen to converge here. We’re close to a mass of the rock, right in the middle of Mount Moon, and we’re over a spur of rock, a ‘vein’, that happens to connect the main concentration at the very centre of the lines’ convergence with the other local concentrations.”

“How many other concentrations? Where are they?” asked Myra.

“One, as I said, is slightly to this side of Mount Moon. Another is a little further away, but you can see the spot from here. One is under Madam Lasheem’s shop in Asfixi-by-Mooning. One, the main concentration, is just the other side of what is now Fessewarts University. One, somewhat depleted now, I think, is under and around Fessewarts Lake. It’s more difficult to describe the locations of the other two, but I’ve visited them all, although not since you were born.”

“Seven?” asked Myra. “And you had seven children, all witches. What a coincidence!”

Natasha looked at her daughter with a slight smile on her face. “Don’t assume it’s a coincidence,” she said. “Now stand out of the way. You’ve delayed this whipping quite long enough.”


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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

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Chapter Two
The Bottomleys



Peter groaned.

He heard the slam of the front door downstairs, and he knew that Lotta had come home. For the tenth time since Inger Bottomley had fastened the straps around his wrists and ankles, he wriggled and strained in the hope of finding some way to free himself.

It was his own fault. Since the beginning of the university holiday when he had returned to the Bottomleys, he had been remarkably successful at avoiding the unwanted attentions of Lotta Bottomley and her mother Inger. It was true that he had been confined to Lotta’s bedroom and the little en suite bathroom that Eustace had had constructed just before the start of the Christmas holidays, but that suited Peter very well.

Peter’s last week at Fessewarts University had been exhausting. Both Sherina Weenie and Hecate Wistman demanded his time and attention, and Peter had no idea what to do about either of them. He found them both very desirable in very different ways, although he knew it was going to be impossible to continue indefinitely with the delicate balancing act of keeping them both happy.

Herniame was another problem. It was not that she seemed to have any particular desire for Peter, nor he for her, any more than any reasonably good-looking witch and wizard were attracted to each other. Herniame was a friend, and someone Peter knew he could trust – even if he became intensely annoyed at her from time to time. The problem was simply that Herniame regarded Peter as someone with whom she could experiment; someone who was willing to undergo any and all physical experiences in advance of Herniame putting her ideas into practice in a serious relationship. Additionally, Herniame was genuinely interested in knowledge simply for the sake of knowledge, and as her particular interest at the moment was in the connection between pain and pleasure, Peter had found her demands over the last few days of the university term to be more than a little uncomfortable.

Even with his attention split three ways in the limited spare time between lectures, Peter would have been able to cope without it becoming too much of a problem. These three, however, were not all. At almost every turn, Peter was confronted by the Ministry’s most adept and most unusual phylax, Nymphomona Bonks. Her role as security specialist at the university did not seem to be taking up much of Nymphomona’s time, and her attention appeared to be concentrated on her other favourite pastime, with Peter as her preferred partner. At least, Peter assumed he was her preferred partner, although Nymphomona’s seemingly endless capacity for sexual activity might well have involved several other wizards on the occasions she was unable to find Peter. The greatest problem for Peter was that he found Nymphomona impossible to refuse. She only had to come close to him, and no matter how tired he was, his arousal was immediate and she knew it. Peter was unsure whether it was some magical charm around her or whether it was the way she dressed or more simply the overwhelming sensuality of her body and her personality. He only knew that once she was within a few feet of him wearing, as always, her unconventional leather suit or supple leather top unzipped nearly to the waist and those tight leather trousers with long black boots, her eyes flashing random colours, he would end up on his back in the nearest unoccupied chamber for at least the next hour.

It might have been surprising to learn that with all the activity Peter was obliged to undergo with those four witches, he still took the time to visit Sarah. Quite possibly it was because the old witches’ bathroom was not somewhere anyone else chose to go, and somewhat less likely to be on many students’ lists of favourite places after the unfortunate incident with Professor Drencham and the discovery of the Mad Mistress of Mooning’s execution chamber underneath it. The huge bath, still operational, with its stunningly beautiful statues on the centre plinth, was the perfect place to relax and to let the swirling water soothe away aches and worries. Peter could have easily ignored the demands from the bathroom’s resident ghost, or put up with the mild inconvenience of a slight chill on the front of his body when she decided to shed her clothes and take advantage of a naked wizard enjoying a pleasant soak in the bath.

Sarah, however, was a pleasant diversion for Peter. As tired as he usually was, Sarah’s attention was always welcome. He was happy for her to materialise into something more solid than the nearly transparent image she always presented when she first appeared. Ectoplasm was by far Peter’s favourite. The texture of the ghostly material was so sensual, and Sarah’s enthusiasm and energy was so inexhaustible, that Peter was always guaranteed a coupling with her that left him both satisfied and comfortable; something that he rarely achieved with any of his other partners. Also, there was the definite advantage that Sarah found materialising into ectoplasm very tiring. Despite her boundless energy when in action, as soon as she had finished she invariably disappeared altogether or merely sat silent and motionless at the edge of the huge bath. It was infrequent that she insisted on utilising one of the beautiful statues, and although he had not yet refused her, he was grateful she usually avoided that particular materialisation. As beautiful as the statues were, and as flowing and sensual as the stone became as soon as Sarah materialised inside it, it was still stone. It was heavy, abrasive despite its smoothness, and Sarah was no less energetic in the stone statue than in ectoplasm. It hurt, and when, at times of climax for Sarah or simply when she felt like being particularly wicked, she allowed the stone to set solidly, it was downright agony for Peter. On one occasion she actually left the statue altogether and sat next to Peter, laughing as he tried unsuccessfully to free himself from the solid stone that now gripped him inescapably.

Peter’s main concern, however, was neither these witches nor the ghostly Sarah. Professor Twist was rarely out of his mind. She had told him quite firmly that she expected nothing from him, and that no one would know of the baby she was now carrying. She had also told him that any sort of relationship between them could not continue. Peter had had no intention of continuing any sort of relationship. His liaisons with her at the beginning of that term were most definitely the result of something that had briefly changed his normal outlook on almost everything and on witches in particular. Instead of being a reasonably typical wizard, content to allow witches to dominate, he had had the urge to become dominant and, to put it mildly, to make love to every witch who did not refuse him. It was quite unexpected to find that Professor Twist, the representative of the Ministry and standing for everything that was right and proper in wizarding society, succumbed to his advances. In fact, as far as Peter could remember, it was she who had instigated the whole affair. It was most peculiar, and all the more so because it rapidly became clear that Professor Twist much preferred not to assume the dominant role and was at her happiest on her back underneath him.

Even so, it did not last for long, and now it was over. Professor Twist had made that quite clear. Her unfortunate state was not Peter’s problem, she said. He was not to be blamed, and it should have been entirely her responsibility to make clear that the magic in and around Fessewarts Castle that ensured student witches could not become pregnant did not apply to professors. She should have taken the proper precautions, so now she would deal with the consequences. Peter need not worry about any of it.

The last time he had made love with her, however, was something of a surprise for both of them. His bizarre desire to dominate and make love to every witch he could find had long since worn off. He had been in her chambers with the sole intention of stealing a book that Professor Drusilla Drencham had dropped and that might have given the clue to the reasons behind some rather unusual events. If only Peter had been aware that Professor Twist already knew why he was there, then undoubtedly he would have not felt inclined to make up the excuse that he was there because he desperately wanted her. If only Herniame, watching the events unfold, had been aware of it.

Had the first criterion been met, Peter would have not tried to make love to Professor Twist. Had the second criterion been met instead, Peter would probably not have been unable to perform to the professor’s satisfaction or his own, and any pretence of deep desire and arousal would have vanished. Instead, Herniame’s surreptitiously whispered incantation had a most remarkable effect on both Peter and the professor. The results were dramatic. To say that the Earth moved would be an understatement. To say that the Universe moved would be closer. It was, without any shadow of a doubt, the Big Bang.

It was only on the last day of term, just when Peter had assumed there were going to be no further problems with Professor Twist, she called him as he was heading towards the Grindonner Common Room.

“Peter,” she said, “What were those incantations that Miss Grimwaite whispered through my door when we were… I mean, the last time you came to my chambers?”

“I don’t know,” Peter told her.

“Would you find out, please,” asked the Professor. “I expect it will be next term now, but I want you to come and see me as soon as you have the answer.”

“Yes, Professor,” said Peter, wondering why she wanted to know.

Almost as if she read his mind, she replied, “I really think we ought to try those again, Peter. It was rather special, wasn’t it?” but before Peter could reply, she had marched off towards the lecture rooms.

With all this, and more, on his mind, Peter had not wanted to do any more than relax at the Bottomleys. A three-week break seemed a highly attractive proposition, and he thought he knew just the way to achieve it.

As usual, he had gone meekly to the room and allowed Eustace Bottomley to slam the door and to lock it. He knew Lotta would be up later, and he also knew she would demand to sit on him until she had achieved at least two orgasms. He also knew that it was highly unlikely Inger Bottomley would leave him alone during the day while Lotta was out at work.

He was ready. The moment the door opened, his spell crop was in his hand pointed straight at Lotta’s head. He knew very well that the enchantment on that house prevented him using magic inside it, but he also suspected that the Bottomleys were not aware of that fact. He had spent two full terms at Fessewarts University for Witches and Wizards now, and even if the reports of the events with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon and dark wizards had not filtered back to the non-magical Bottomleys, they would realise that by now he had a significant array of spells, incantations and charms at his disposal.

“If you so much as touch me,” he warned Lotta, “I’ll turn you into a slimy toad. Got it?”

Lotta turned and ran wailing to her mother, without even locking the door behind her. Peter waited for the wrath of Inger and Eustace, but when it came it was far milder than he expected. Both of them were as nervous of him as Lotta now clearly was. Both promised he would be left alone, and it was with great difficulty they managed even to coax Lotta to ask him if she could sleep in her own bed.

“Of course,” said Peter, indicating the very large, new bed, specially strengthened to take Lotta’s weight and her exertions when she chose to sit on Peter.

“But where are you going to sleep?” asked Lotta, ready to turn and run at the slightest sign of Peter producing his spell crop.

“With you, naturally,” Peter told her.

She almost fainted.

“You can’t do that,” she moaned, “I might touch you by mistake and then you’ll turn me into a slimy toad.”

Peter almost laughed. He kept a straight face with great difficulty. “You could sleep on the floor, I suppose,” he told her, “But it’s not very comfortable. I used to sleep under your bed, remember?”

Peter had no particular problem with Lotta sharing the huge bed if she wanted to. His only problem was when she decided to throw herself on top of him and use his face to obtain one of her earth-shaking climaxes. Lotta, as large as she was, was clean, fragrant, and if it were not for her weight, her over-enthusiastic desire to sit on Peter, and a insatiable urge for regular and repeated sexual satisfaction, she would be a pleasant girl, if not particularly bright or particularly beautiful. As Chancellor Fumblebum had once remarked to Peter, the behaviour of both Inger and Lotta was often remarkably witchlike for two completely non-magical females.

“I need to sleep on the bed,” said Lotta apprehensively.

“That’s fine,” said Peter. “I’m sure we won’t have a problem, will we?”

“No,” Lotta assured him. “I won’t touch you, I promise.”

She kept her promise, although Peter would probably not have noticed anything less than a full-scale assault from both Lotta and Inger on the first three nights at the Bottomleys. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He slept solidly, and for most of the days as well, waking only when Inger Bottomley called him cautiously to tell him she had brought him a meal. It was so very different from being tied up and forced to share a bed with Lotta as had happened previously.

On the fourth night, something awoke Peter not long after midnight. He lay on his back listening for whatever it was.

“Did I wake you?” whispered Lotta. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

It took Peter only a few minutes to fall asleep again.

On the following night, something again awoke him, and this time he was careful not to move. He wanted to know what it was that Lotta was doing at this hour of the night. He grinned to himself when he found out, and immediately turned over and went back to sleep.

For seven consecutive nights Peter was awoken by Lotta’s nocturnal activities. It was not that he particularly needed the sleep, because he had plenty of time to sleep during the day if he wanted. What Peter found increasingly frustrating was what she was doing, and more she did it, the more frustrated he became.

Peter had no desire to do anything at all with the very large Lotta Bottomley, but it was hardly surprising that by this time he most definitely wanted to do something with someone, and the way he was beginning to feel, almost anyone would do. He was, after all, a wizard, and wizards’ libidos are so much more powerful and less easily satisfied or suppressed than those of non-magical people.

“Do you need anything else?” Inger Bottomley had asked as she picked up his tray after he had finished his lunch.

Peter glanced at her. She was no older than Professor Twist, and probably a good few years younger than Madam Seleet who had so frequently aroused Peter and “tested his abilities” at Fessewarts Hospital after Figgitch matches and practice sessions. Twenty years ago she would have been reasonably attractive or, at the very least, desirable enough to interest any man or wizard desperate for female company. Now, it would take a really desperate man or wizard to make the effort to become close to her.

Peter was really desperate. He also knew that it was unlikely to be much of an effort.

“Well?” asked Inger. “Was there something?”

“Actually, yes,” said Peter. “I wondered whether you wanted… you know. Like we did at the start of the Christmas holidays while Lotta was out. It’s not important if you don’t… I just thought maybe you…?”

Inger stepped right into the room for the first time since Peter had arrived at her house nearly two weeks previously. She shut the door behind her.

“Of course,” she said. “I shall treat you as a witch should treat a wizard, of course. I know all about it.”

Peter was sure she did know all about it. Her desires were, as he had previously discovered, very similar to many witches he had met.

“That’s all right,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. He wondered whether he was making a mistake, and whether Inger was as bad as he remembered her. So much had happened since Christmas. Surely it would not be too terrible? And he really did need someone.”

“Take off your shirt and lie on the bed,” instructed Inger, and as soon as he complied, she fastened heavy leather cuffs around each of his wrists, drawing his arms up towards the top corners of the bed. He did not resist her. It was what he expected.

Inger smiled down at him. There was something in her smile that rang distant alarm bells in the darkest corners of Peter’s mind, but as yet he could not think why he was worried. He was sure that Inger was still scared he might use his magic powers at any moment.

“So, Peter,” Inger almost purred. “Tied to the bed and helpless, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” agreed Peter. He was quite happy to play that sort of game if she found it arousing. He really wished she would hurry up with what she was going to do.

“And,” said Inger, “Wizards can’t do magic when both their arms are held above their heads like that, can they?”

Peter had forgotten. He cursed his stupidity.

“I can,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “Chancellor Fumblebum taught me.”

Inger stepped back. “All right, Peter,” she said softly. “Let’s see it. Let’s see you free yourself from those cuffs.”

Peter knew he was in trouble. Inger waited only a minute or two to see if he would make any effort to escape, and then she jumped onto the bed. Within a few seconds she had removed his trousers and buckled his ankles into similar cuffs attached to the lower corners of Lotta’s bed.

She sat on him. It was, naturally, what a witch would do to a wizard. Mrs Bottomley, however, sat on Peter in almost every way he could possibly be sat on, and in some ways that he had never even considered to be possible or desirable for her any more than for him. She was as he remembered her at Christmas. She was inventive, intense, sadistic and, above all, insatiable. Several times Peter was close to losing consciousness, only to be jerked back to reality by sudden pain. Several times Inger’s powerful and proficient techniques brought him to a climax, and several times she merely brought him close to climax without taking him over the edge. How many times Inger herself actually reached a climax, Peter had no idea. With Inger it was difficult to tell. From the moment she removed his trousers, she seemed to be in some sort of state of continuous orgasm, her body quivering constantly with frequent, rapid muscle spasms as she moaned, gasped and groaned.

Finally, she stood back, sweating and breathing deeply.

“Lotta will be home in a moment,” she told him. “I’ll let her know the good news.”
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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by slavealex003 »

Its Soo good can't wait for a new chapter
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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Thank you, slave alex.
There will be more chapters soon. Of course, if you really like it that much, you could always buy a copy.... :-D
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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

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Chapter Three
Herniame


The thud-thud of Lotta’s heavy footsteps on the stairs was much more rapid than usual. Inger had told her. Peter braced himself for the onslaught.

The door burst open, and there she stood. She took two steps into the room and she slammed the door behind her.

“Darling,” she said, in such excitement she was hardly able to get the words she wanted to say out of her mouth. “Peter! Darling… I knew you wanted me really. You could have said. You could have let me know. All those nights we’ve wasted, next to each other, not even touching… You wouldn’t believe how frustrated I’ve been… We just have to make up for lost time.”

Lotta certainly seemed anxious to make up for lost time. Before Peter was able to think of a suitable reply, and moving with remarkable speed for someone of such huge bulk, Lotta was on the bed kneeling astride his chest. She gazed down at him fondly.

“You’re so sweet,” she told him happily. “We’re going to have such a wonderful time together from now on. I promise you I won’t hold back at all. I’m going to give you everything I’ve got.”

She removed her top and then struggled with her bra. Peter watched in horror as her huge breasts fell forward, unrestrained, towards him.

“Do you like them?” she asked, leaning forwards.

“They’re very…” stuttered Peter, unsure whether it was safer to tell the truth or to try to think of something complimentary to say.

“I knew you did!” Lotta was ecstatic. “Men like girls with big breasts, don’t they?”

The sea of flesh came closer to Peter’s face, threatening to drown him.

“No you don’t!” said Lotta, although Peter had not moved at all. “You’re not going to play with them yet. I need some kissing first.”

Peter knew just what she meant. It was what he had been dreading. Lotta moved forward until she knelt astride his face. Slowly, she descended onto him.

“Kiss,” she demanded.

Peter kissed. In fact, he kissed, licked, and sucked frantically as soon as she came within range of his mouth. He knew very well that once she started, Lotta would not leave him until she had had at least one orgasm, and he knew just what he needed to do to speed the process. He also knew that he was unlikely to succeed until she was pressed down firmly on top of him, his face buried in her flesh that steadily became wetter and wetter, unable to breathe until either she reached her climax or he passed out from lack of air and the sheer weight on his face.

It was no good. His attempts to produce the stimulation that might, just possibly might, send her into squealing, shuddering ecstasy and then fall back onto the bed with a thump that would be heard throughout the house and probably outside it as well, failed almost before they started. Lotta wanted far more than his mouth alone was able to provide.

She sank down; and down, and down. Long before she settled, her flesh had enveloped Peter’s face completely and his whole head very nearly disappeared between her legs. Lotta sighed in contentment, and began to rock back and forth.

There was no escape. Even if Peter had not been tied to the bed, Lotta’s sheer weight and bulk would have held him firmly beneath her in the sticky, fleshy, airless world he had come to hate and fear at the Bottomley’s. This time, it seemed, Lotta was in no hurry at all. Being a wizard, Peter knew that he was probably in no real danger. Wizards were far more resilient than non-magical men when it came to the over-enthusiastic desires of a witch or any woman. To lose consciousness was, for a wizard, a not uncommon event when he found himself underneath a witch, particularly if she was larger then most. Peter resigned himself to losing consciousness as he had done so often before, yet still he was unable to suppress the feelings of total panic as his lungs began to scream for air. It was no good telling himself that she would finish with him, as she always did, long before any real damage was done to him. He knew it, but however hard he tried, he could not convince the instinctive reactions of his body that he was not going to end his days under this fleshy mountain of a girl.

Vaguely, just as Lotta began to increase her movements on top of him, Peter heard a noise that was definitely not coming from Lotta. He was familiar with all manner of noises that did regularly come from her: the gurgles of her guts; the moans and sighs and other little noises of pleasure; the squeals and screams as she reached a climax; the frequent passing of wind. This noise was quite different, and some of it seemed to be coming from somewhere well away from the bed. He tried to concentrate on it and identify it.

“Lotta! There’s someone here to see Peter.”

“Not now, Mother. I’m busy. Tell them to go away.”

Peter was sure that he heard the door opening, but Lotta continued her movements on top of him.

“I can’t send her away.”

It was definitely Inger Bottomley’s voice that time.

“Why not? Mother! Go out. You can see I’m busy. This is private.”

“I can’t send her away because it’s a witch and she insists on seeing Peter straight away.”

Lotta squealed. Judging by the shuddering that accompanied the squeal, it was a squeal that encompassed feelings of annoyance, maybe even of fear, as well as feelings of her approaching climax.

“A moment,” gasped Lotta. “Give me a moment. Just a minute. Go and…”

The movements became faster and more urgent. Lotta’s body squeezed and shuddered with a force and need that Peter had never known from her. She squealed again, and went on squealing, her squeals rising and falling in tone and volume as she moved.

“Get off him, right now.”

Peter knew that voice. A series of images went rapidly through his mind. Was she standing, arms folded impatiently? Perhaps she had her hands on her hips and an expression of exasperation on her face? Judging from the tone, however, it was quite likely she was holding her spell crop and pointing it threateningly at Lotta. Peter wondered whether she knew that magic would not work in this house.

There was no stopping Lotta now. Even the threat of some horrendous magical curse was not enough to make her so much as pause this close to an orgasm. It would have been easier to stop a herd of stampeding elephants than to make Lotta break off what she was doing at that moment.

When it came, it was more violent than anything Peter had ever experienced. Lotta’s scream was deafening. Her thighs clamped together, the very small part of Peter’s head that had remained visible disappearing altogether. As if pressure from the sides was not enough, Lotta’s whole body lurched into a downward movement onto him, and at the same time as her thighs clamped together her hips and buttocks spread apart. It was inexplicable, and almost incomprehensible, but the effect on Peter was devastating. The lower part of his face was forced into Lotta as though she had quite deliberately opened up to swallow him. In his dazed state, all Peter could think of was that it was somehow very much like being born in reverse. Weird thoughts went through his mind. He wondered vaguely whether his whole head was going to end up inside Lotta, and what would happen if the rapid expansion of her lower parts reversed and she contracted to her normal size. Would he suffocate? Would he be drowned? Or would he be strangled as she closed and tightened on his neck?

Nothing quite so dramatic happened. It all lasted no more than a few seconds. As she usually did after a satisfactory climax, Lotta fell back and slightly to one side, hitting the bed next to Peter with a thump that threatened to break even this reinforced structure. She lay motionless, gasping.

“I’m sorry to spoil your fun, Peter,” said Herniame calmly as she tucked her spell crop away under her clothes, “But I wondered whether you needed to be rescued? I was talking to Chancellor Fumblebum earlier, and he suggested that you had probably spent long enough with the Bottomleys for this particular break. On the other hand, as I can see that you seem to be enjoying yourself…”

“Um… no. No. No! Not at all,” protested Peter as soon as he could speak. “I’ll be happy to get out of here!”

Lotta groaned softly as Peter struggled to leave the bed when Herniame had released him from the restraints. Her explosive orgasm had left her as exhausted as Peter had been, but she reached out in a feeble effort to stop him leaving. By pure chance, because her eyes were still closed, she caught hold of his genitals. She held on tightly. Peter yelped in pain.

“Let go of him,” ordered Herniame.

“My Peter,” murmured Lotta insistently. “Not letting go. Keeping him here. Nice.”

Herniame drew her spell crop again.

“It’s not going to work,” gasped Peter, trying desperately to dislodge Lotta’s grip on him. “You can’t do magic in this house. It’s protected.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Herniame, giving him a withering look. “There are more uses for a spell crop than doing magic.”

She struck Lotta sharply on the arm with the crop. Lotta yelped in pain, but the only other result was that Peter also yelped as Lotta’s arm jerked and pulled him painfully towards her.

Herniame walked around the bed, considering the situation from all angles. She raised the crop again. Peter cringed, but this time the blow did not land on Lotta’s arm. It found its target on Lotta’s ample backside. She squealed, but it took ten more strokes of Herniame’s spell crop before Lotta let go of Peter and he fell to the floor, grasping his genitals in agony.

“Get dressed,” instructed Herniame. “Hurry up.”

Peter struggled into his clothes as quickly as he could.

“Um… Herniame…” he called across the room as he was putting on his socks, “I think you can stop doing that now.”

“What? Why?” demanded Herniame as she continued to whip the squealing, squirming Lotta. “A good whipping will do her good.”

“Possibly,” Peter agreed cautiously. “Don’t give her ideas. I expect I’ll have to come back here in the summer holidays.”

Herniame paused, crop raised to strike again. “I suppose so,” she consented. “What a pity. We were just getting to the real pain. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Peter told her. “Is Don outside with the car? Or Mr Weenie?”

Herniame shook her head as she led the way out of the room and down the stairs. “We can’t go to The Borough,” she told him. “That part of London is far too heavily patrolled by the phylaxes from the Ministry. They’re still very nervous about dark forces, apparently, and Chancellor Fumblebum says there has been a lot in the wizarding press about how you might be connected with them. The Borough is far too close to the Ministry. You wouldn’t be safe there. I’m taking you somewhere else.”

She paused for a moment.

“Anyway,” she added, “I have something in mind for you, Peter. We still have a whole week before we have to be back at the university. Wong Wei and I are getting bored at my house.”

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wong Wei?”

“You knew Wong Wei was coming to stay with me,” Herniame told him.

“Yes,” agreed Peter, “But… that was at the beginning of the holidays.”

“Oh, she’s still with me,” Herniame confirmed. “We get on very well together, and as my parents are still away and hers are travelling somewhere in Asia, it’s the perfect arrangement. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone else at all apart from Chancellor Fumblebum since we went home from Fessewarts. You’re the first.”

Peter was still somewhat at a loss. From what he knew of Herniame, which, he had thought, was just about everything, he could not quite understand how she could be spending so much time with the sadistic lesbian Wong Wei.

“But, Wong Wei…” he murmured.

“You’re not prejudiced, Peter?” Herniame asked. “Or jealous?”

“No, no, of course not,” stuttered Peter.

“Well you should be jealous.” Herniame was suddenly indignant, and then she smiled. “I’m only joking. Come on. We need to get moving. Unless of course you would prefer I left you with Lotta and Inger?”

Peter followed Herniame into the street, wondering whether he was making the right choice.
Susan Strict
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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Chapter Four
Sandrock


It was dark. The street outside the Bottomley’s house was no different from any other quiet suburban street. Peter had been in this street many times before, but this time there was something about it that made him feel very uncomfortable.

“Herniame…” he whispered.

“Hush. I know. I can feel it too.”

Herniame already had her spell crop out, and Peter quickly drew his.

“Watch for non-magical people,” she warned. “We don’t want them seeing anything they shouldn’t. It takes a lot of effort to do a muddle spell and we don’t have time to hang around.”

Peter wondered whether the inhabitants of a suburban town would be particularly concerned at the sight of two students waving what no doubt appeared to be nothing more than short riding crops, but Herniame was already hurrying down the road and he followed quickly.

“How are we getting to…?” he began, and then realised that he had no idea where they were going. “Where do you live?” he asked.

“Sandrock,” she told him. “It’s near Cambridge.”

“And how are we getting there? Did you come here on your own?”

“I’m on my own,” Herniame told him. “Wong Wei was busy getting the house ready. She’s very domesticated; it really surprised me. Here we are.”

Peter looked around them. There was no sign of any transport suitable to take them to Cambridge. They were by a small row of shops, all closed at this time of the evening. Herniame knocked on a door that opened immediately, and she pulled Peter inside.

“Thank you, Miss Pitka.”

Miss Pitka closed the door behind them, peering through the blind into the dark street beyond.

“Did you see anyone?”

Herniame shook her head. “No, but there’s someone or something out there. We could both feel it. If it’s something to do with dark wizards, then I’m surprised it didn’t try anything before we reached safety, but if it’s something to do with the Ministry, then why didn’t it make itself known?”

Miss Pitka shrugged. “There’s more around than just those two sides of good and evil. At least you’re both here. Not too much can go wrong now.”

“We still have to get to Cambridge,” Peter pointed out, feeling that he was being completely left out of the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” said Miss Pitka. “That was very rude of me. I’m Astrid, and you must be Peter. It’s so good to meet you after hearing so much about you. I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to show me the clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock before you go?”

“Miss Pitka!” exclaimed Herniame, sounding shocked.

Miss Pitka raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Well, Miss Grimwaite? Your boyfriend, is he?”

“Well, no,” Herniame admitted. “He’s a friend.”

“And you’ve seen the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals shaped exactly like a peacock?” Miss Pitka asked.

“Um…”

“Hey!” Peter interrupted. “Shouldn’t you be asking me whether I want to show my clump of green hair to anyone?”

“No,” said Herniame and Miss Pitka simultaneously.

“And yes, Miss Pitka,” Peter continued, regardless. “Herniame has seen it. As you know, no doubt, Herniame was the one who destroyed He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon by sitting on him, so she has rather more right to see my clump of green hair that was the result of my mother’s fight with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon than anyone else does, doesn’t she?”

“I didn’t destroy him,” Herniame reminded Peter gently, suddenly seeing the expression on Peter’s face. Peter sat down abruptly on a chair just inside the doorway. His legs felt weak. Thoughts of his mother who had died when she tried to sit on He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon while trying to keep him away from Peter, and thoughts of Merry Shagger, his close friend who had been destroyed in the battle with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon only the last year, were too much for him.

“Forget I asked,” said Miss Pitka. “I’m sorry, Peter. I should have realised it might bring back unpleasant memories. But we ought to get you two moving. As you rightly said, Herniame, He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon has most certainly not been destroyed, and even if he doesn’t have a physical presence in this world, the dark wizards are undoubtedly using his power. You’re at risk, Peter, and that’s why we have places like this.”

“Pardon?” Peter was baffled.

“Places like this,” Miss Pitka repeated, “And Guardians like me. Surely Herniame has told you?”

Peter shook his head, and Miss Pitka looked questioningly at Herniame.

“It’s not a secret from Peter,” she confirmed. “He was rather busy at the end of last term when Chancellor Fumblebum was putting it together, so he probably doesn’t know.”

Miss Pitka sighed. “This is one of the Chancellor’s projects. It’s only partially complete, but when he’s finished it should be possible to go almost anywhere. Do you understand?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Peter.

“I suppose you could call it a transport system,” continued Miss Pitka. “You arrive here, and it takes you to your destination – as long as the terminal has been completed at the other end and the Guardian is present.” She looked at Herniame. “The Guardian is going to be waiting at the Sandrock end, isn’t she? We can’t afford any delays.”

“Of course,” Herniame nodded.

Peter was trying to focus on what he was being told. “So it’s like a train, or something?”

“Fumblebum says it’s more like a boat,” Herniame told him. “You go to the Port Quay, get on, and then get off at the next Port Quay, and there you are.”

“Porky?” asked Peter.

“Port Quay – pier, jetty, moorings – whatever,” corrected Herniame. “The Guardians all worked with Fumblebum for a few weeks and they sorted it out between them. It’s a very special sort of magic, and he thinks it’ll take years for the dark wizards to work it out or be able to intercept it; so much safer than trying to use Flying Phalluses or even that car of Walter Weenie’s.”

“I liked the car,” Peter insisted. “No risk at all. It never goes wrong. No one could catch it, not even Fumblebum, and even the most powerful spells just went right through it without touching it.”

“Maybe,” Herniame agreed irritably. “Anyway, it’s not an option. It belongs to the Ministry, even if Walter has it for the moment. Can you imagine what would happen if they asked for it back and Walter had to tell them they couldn’t have it because Peter Petter was using it to fly around the countryside? Also, I think Fumblebum is just a little nervous of it. It’s science, not magic, and most witches and wizards aren’t too happy with that sort of thing. The Ministry only tolerates it because it’s safer to have it under their control than let the non-magical people misuse it. Can you imagine what they might do with something like that?” Herniame shuddered.

“We need to get moving,” Miss Pitka reminded her.

“You’re right,” said Herniame. “Come on, Peter. You can show Astrid your clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock some other time. I’m sure she’d like to play with you, but not right now.”

Peter noticed a definite sparkle in Astrid Pitka’s eyes as she showed him the way through the back of the shop onto an expanse of smooth concrete that looked very much like a small platform at a railway station. Where the railway track should have been was a raft-like structure, apparently floating above the ground about a foot away from the edge of the platform.

“Get on and sit down,” Herniame instructed. “Hold on. I don’t think it’s possible to fall off, but anything can go wrong when you’re involved, Peter!”

“Thanks a lot,” said Peter. “I don’t remember you managing to stay out of trouble too often either.”

“Hurry up,” urged Astrid, and she went over to a trestle table against the wall and picked up two glass flasks. “If you’re both sitting comfortably, I shall begin.”

She walked towards the edge of the platform where Peter and Herniame were sitting on the raft. A few feet away from them, she poured the contents of one flask into the other and swirled it around to mix the two liquids thoroughly, murmuring an incantation all the time. Immediately, a purple cloud began to rise from the flask. Instead of forming a mist around the flask, it headed towards the raft where it settled, slowly obscuring their view of the room. It had no smell or taste, although after a few seconds Peter started to feel a little dizzy. It cleared slowly.

“You got him then?”

It was not Astrid Pitka’s voice, but the figure that appeared in the clearing purple haze could well have been her twin.

“It wasn’t a problem,” Herniame told her, “But we both felt something odd on the way from the Bottomley’s to the Port Quay. Has Fumblebum said anything about any activity in the area?”

“Not that he’s told me about,” the woman said. “As far as I know, all the Port Quays are completely clear. No one suspects anything. Do you think anyone saw you?”

Herniame was clambering off the raft as she spoke, and Peter followed.

“Hello,” the woman said to Peter. “I’m Maria Bolnya. It’s so nice to meet you after having heard so much about you. Chancellor Fumblebum speaks very highly of you, you know. I don’t suppose it would be possible to see…?”

“Not now,” said Peter and Herniame at once.

Maria nodded. “Quite right. You need to get him to the safety of Sandrock, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” said Herniame, much to Peter’s surprise. “I know the Port Quays are some of the safest buildings in the country, but we still have quite a walk in the countryside. If someone was watching us at the other end and works out where we’ve gone, we don’t have much backup around here to help us.”

“What makes your house safe?” asked Peter suddenly. “I mean, you’ve just been on about these Port Quays being safe and then hurrying to get to safety at your house, but your parents aren’t at all magical, are they? I’m sure you said…”

“Yes, I’m a broodpod,” said Herniame, and Maria flinched at the word. “My parents aren’t magical, and they aren’t there right now. Fumblebum helped to put some protection in place. He says that the grounds of Sandrock are as safe as Fessewarts, and we only have to call and he’ll have the place swarming with his people in minutes. I don’t intend to be making any calls if I can help it, so I’m not advertising the fact that you’re here. I want some time alone with just you, me and Wong, that’s all.”

Maria said nothing, but Peter could see the broad grin on her face. For the second time, Peter wondered if he had really made the right choice in coming with Herniame rather than suffering the extraordinary desires of Lotta and Inger for a little longer.


* * * * *


“Hurry up, Peter,” insisted Herniame as Peter stumbled for the third time.

“What makes you think wizards can see in the dark?” grumbled Peter. “Why don’t we just light the spell crops like I suggested in the first place?”

Herniame regarded him scornfully. “I can see perfectly well,” she informed him. “We don’t want to risk anyone seeing us, do we? I can’t feel whatever it was around near the Bottomleys, and I want to keep it that way. Oh do come on. We’re nearly there.”

Herniame stopped so abruptly that Peter bumped into her. “What now?” he demanded.

“We’re here.”

“We’re where?” asked Peter. “There’s nothing.”

In front of them was a high wall for as far as Peter could see in either direction, and along the top of it were several strands of barbed wire.

“Alarmed,” said Herniame, pointing at the barbed wire and with a note of pride in her voice. “I had it done myself.”

“Not much use when a dark wizard flies over the top on a Flying Phallus,” said Peter grouchily. “So how do we get in? There’s no gate.”

“There are sensors pointing straight up,” declared Herniame. “Anything up to around ten thousand feet will set off a warning, so that takes care of most dark wizards, and the system can identify a low-flying aircraft and even tell you the type. It spots birds as well. And keeps a log of them, without setting the alarms off.”

“Hey! This wall is round your house?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So how big is your house, for goodness sake?”

“For goodness sake,” replied Herniame. “Peter! Such restrained language!”

“All right, all right. I’m tired, fed up, and uncomfortable. We’ve trudged through dirt, mud and brambles, along tracks of dirt and gravel that no self-respecting rat would want to be seen dead on. And now you tell me that you have a house surrounded by a wall large enough to enclose a palace, or at least a stately home. What’s going on? What sort of place do you live in?”

“Well…” Herniame looked uncomfortable.

“Well?”

“I suppose you could call it a sort of stately home. Some people might. I don’t.”

“You’re not telling me you live in a stately home,” said Peter. “I won’t believe you. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m Herniame Grimwaite,” said Herniame at once. “I’m the same Herniame Grimwaite who spent the last two terms with you at Fessewarts. I’m a witch, and my parents are non-magical people. They’re….”

“They’re Lord and Lady Grimwaite!” Peter finished for her. “Herniame, why on Earth didn’t you tell me?”

“I did try, once or twice,” Herniame insisted defensively. “You didn’t seem very interested, so I didn’t bother. I didn’t think it was polite to be talking about my parents, when yours…. Well, you know.”

Although he could not see her very well in the darkness, Peter knew that Herniame was blushing.

“All right,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “So, how do we get in? I can’t see a gate.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s hidden on this side, and I didn’t want to go in the main entrance. Watch this.”

Herniame produced her spell crop, tapped the wall twice and muttered a few words. Immediately, the wall parted, an iron gate appeared and swung open. Inside was a pathway winding across lawns towards a huge building. As they stepped through the gateway, lights came on by the sides of the path, illuminating their way to the steps up to the grand terrace at the back of the house.

Herniame giggled. “I love this view of the house at night. I used to come out here when I was little and run up and down the paths in the moonlight. Mummy and Daddy were always furious with me. They kept telling me the wild animals would get me if I was on my own in the dark, but I never took any notice. I loved the night, and I still do.”

On the terrace, the doors to the house swung open for them.

“Come on,” said Herniame, taking Peter’s hand.

She led him through a long corridor and into a huge ballroom. It was in darkness.

“Wait for me here,” said Herniame. “I’m just going to get ready.”

“Ready?” asked Peter, but Herniame was already on her way down the corridor.

As far as Peter could see, there was no light switch on the wall near the door to the ballroom, but there were several comfortable chairs. He sat down and waited, peering into the darkness and trying to make out the rest of the room. He could only see a few yards into it with the light from the corridor, and he was wondering whether to illuminate his spell crop to take a look around. He decided that might be unwise. After all, in a house this size there must be other people, staff employed to look after the house and the grounds, and Peter had no idea whether they were wizarding or non-magical. Herniame’s parents knew of her powers as a witch, obviously, although they had no powers of their own, but it seemed likely they would have done their utmost to keep the secret from anyone else. A moment’s carelessness by Peter could be highly embarrassing for Herniame.

As Peter’s eyes became accustom to the darkness in the room, he began to be able to make out some of it. The ceiling was far above him, with chandeliers hanging from it. On the walls were oil paintings, presumably of Herniame’s ancestors, but it was too dark to see the faces clearly. In the centre of the room, there seemed to be a statue of some sort, although Peter could hardly see it. He stared at it. There was something very odd about it, and it seemed out of place.

Peter stood up. It had to be some sort of trick of the light, but he was quite convinced that the statue had just moved. Perhaps it was his eyes playing tricks. Perhaps he had stared at it for too long. He walked into the darkness towards the statue.

It moved. He was now certain. He drew his spell crop and went forward cautiously.

A light came on behind the figure, illuminating it in silhouette. It was a woman, standing upright although Peter could not tell whether she was facing towards him or away from him. Her legs were slightly apart and her arms were slightly away from her body on either side. The contours of her body were in perfect proportion, and she appeared naked. Something trailed from her right hand to the floor. Peter froze, and then, when the figure did not move, he advanced slowly.

Everything happened at once. A spotlight came on, shining straight down from the ceiling on the woman. Her right arm moved rapidly and there was a sharp crack, and Peter’s spell crop flew out of his hand and across the room. There was another sharp crack and something coiled around Peter’s neck, dragging him forward. In the second or two before he was pulled against the figure in front of him, he realised that it was indeed a woman, facing him and not naked but wearing a figure-hugging leather catsuit, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Hello, Peter,” she purred.

“We’re going to have a wonderful time,” said Herniame from behind him. “Peter, you have no idea how exciting it is when you really start to explore pain properly. Wong Wei is just perfect.”

Herniame cracked her whip, and then she took aim.
Susan Strict
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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Chapter Five
A Stately Home


The next few days passed in a blur for Peter. At first, after a painful but not too extreme whipping from Herniame and Wong Wei, he was extremely apprehensive of what might happen next. Herniame was determined to conduct all manner of experiments in sexuality and pain, and she was determined to use Peter as her test subject. He had suspected Herniame had something like that in mind when she invited him to her house. Knowing that Herniame would never seriously hurt him, Peter was quite willing to go along with her desires as he had often done at Fessewarts, but he soon found he had underestimated quite how uncomfortable she intended to make him and how inventive and bizarre some of her experiments could be.

He had assumed that Wong Wei would have little interest in any sort of sexual experimentation with him. He was wrong. Wong was quite happy to use and abuse a man, as long as it was causing him pain. In fact, it was evident that to have anyone suffering, witch or wizard, was a turn-on for Wong, more so if she was causing the pain and suffering, and even more so if she was able to have both Peter and Herniame in extreme discomfort at the same time.

At the end of each uncomfortable episode, Wong released Herniame, kissed her passionately in front of Peter, and then both of them would place Peter in whatever particular form of imprisonment and or torment they had planned for him for the following few hours.

It was clear that Wong Wei had had a profound influence on Herniame’s ideas over the previous two weeks of the holiday. Not only did Peter spend every night locked in a small cage in the corner of the bedroom once they had finished with him for the evening while Wong Wei and Herniame shared the huge bed, but also he found that when he was not kept completely naked he was obliged to wear the most ridiculous girl’s outfits. He became a French maid, a schoolgirl, a nurse, a nun, as well as having to wear a variety of costumes that had no particular theme but were, for the most part, extreme caricatures of something a young woman might wear for her own pleasure and that of her man. On rare occasions, he was dressed in a genuinely realistic way, and on those occasions the two witches took great delight in applying make-up to his face and finding an appropriate wig for him to wear.

There was some debate between Herniame and Wong Wei about one particular aspect of the way Peter was to be dressed. Herniame preferred Peter to have his male parts clearly visible when he was dressed in female garb, and there were few outfits in which Peter’s arousal was not obvious as soon as Herniame dressed him, and again as soon as she began to apply whatever experiment she had planned for that day. Wong Wei, however, preferred Peter to look completely female, as far as was possible. She applied various techniques that would reduce his obvious arousal, many of them extremely uncomfortable for Peter, and she nearly always resorted to one of the physical restraints, a small cage or a tube or a bag that would enclose his male parts and prevent any unsightly display that might mar the appearance of the otherwise perfect female costume as soon as the pain wore off a little.

For Peter, it was uncomfortable, frustrating and often painful. More than one of the devices Wong Wei employed was designed not just to enclose and restrain but also to cause pain if the wearer became aroused. Small spikes on the inside of the devices caused agony for Peter when, as they inevitably and often unintentionally did, one of the witches did anything remotely sensual. Like most wizards, he reacted readily and frequently, and however much he tried he was unable to control it. One of the worst torments of all was when he was left wearing one of those devices overnight and could hear sighs and moans coming from the bed while he remained in the confines of his cage, and it was worse still when he was restrained all night on the bed while Herniame and Wong Wei brought each other to a climax beside him or even, several times, on top of him.

On the occasions Herniame had her way, which seemed to Peter to be less frequently than Wong Wei, he was obliged to display his rigid maleness either sticking out obscenely or as an outrageous bulge that pushed the female garment he wore completely out of shape. If she were wearing gloves, Wong Wei took every available opportunity to slap it or pinch it; she would not touch him with her bare hands. If she were not wearing gloves, then she used a riding crop or whip or whatever was available, which, on one occasion, was a pair of spiked tongs that she used to grip and squeeze while Peter howled. Herniame, indirectly, caused him more pain. She went out of her way to keep him as aroused as she could, stroking, rubbing, and, on at least one occasion, kissing and sucking until the full rigidity had returned and then Wong Wei was yet again intent on reducing it to a withered nub.


* * * * *


He had been right in thinking that a house of this size must need staff to keep it running, but he had had no idea quite how many people were employed at Lord and Lady Grimwaite’s residence. As he also found out, none of them were magical and all of them were familiar with Herniame’s idiosyncrasies.

Peter was terrified that someone would come in and see him. That, in his mind, would be far worse than anything Herniame and Wong Wei might do to him. He was confident that Herniame would never let any real harm come to him, however uncomfortable her “experiments” might be, and it was soon clear that Wong would never do anything to seriously upset Herniame. What worried Peter more were all the other people working in the house and grounds. He frequently heard the maids doing the cleaning in rooms adjacent to where he was inescapably imprisoned or restrained, and on a number of occasions when he was able to see out of the window he caught sight of gardeners, gamekeepers and grooms exercising the horses. If any one of those were to see him, then surely there would be a most embarrassing incident that would inevitably be brought to the attention of Lord and Lady Grimwaite when they returned.

Slowly, when he was able to focus his mind on anything other than the excesses of pain and sex that Herniame and Wong were inflicting on him, Peter began to gain a different impression. It started with snippets of conversation he heard between the maids and Herniame outside the room.

“Miss Herniame, John would like to know if you have finished with him?”

“Thank you, Amy. Yes, you can tell him he can put his trousers on and go home.”

A few days later, Peter heard:

“Miss Herniame, do you wish to do anything more with Mark tonight?”

“No, thank you, Gretchen. You can have him if you want him. The keys are hanging on the hook as usual. Would you be kind enough to apply some of the cream, please. I’d like him to heal as quickly as possible.”

And then:

“Miss Herniame, Geoffrey is still attached. I wondered if you had forgotten?”

“Oh dear. Yes, thank you, Mary. I had forgotten him. I hope I didn’t leave the power up too high. If you’d turn it off and let him go, please, but make sure you lock the restrainer on him before you release him. You may need to do the usual before you can get it on him, but I don’t think he’ll mind if you do it this time. He likes you, doesn’t he?”

“Thank you very much, Miss. It will be a pleasure.”

Finally, Peter was left in no doubt. Wong and Herniame had just attached him, on his back, spread-eagled and partially naked, to a bed in one of the guest bedrooms, and then left to fetch some equipment they intended to test on Peter that day. In came a maid. She was dressed in a crisp white blouse, black skirt that came halfway to her knees, dark stockings, and black shoes with flat heels, and carrying a duster. For a moment, she did not see Peter, who was desperately hoping she would leave before she noticed him. When she did see him, she only paused for just a moment to glance at him, and then she continued dusting the shelves and surfaces as though it was perfectly natural to find a man restrained on one of the beds, highly aroused and naked except for a padded bra, a tight corset, fishnet stockings and high heeled, knee-length, black leather boots.

Wong Wei and Herniame returned a few minutes later. Herniame was carrying a large box.

“I see you’ve met Naomi,” Herniame said to Peter.

“We haven’t really met, Miss Herniame,” the maid answered when, for some reason, Peter seemed to be speechless. “He looks like a nice young man, though.”

Herniame looked at Wong Wei. “Yes?”

Wong Wei shrugged. “Why not? Personally, I’d rather have Naomi, but I’ve already tried and she’s not interested. Peter is probably far more to her taste, and I’m sure we can find something to do while they’re busy. It beats the hell out of playing with Peter’s bits and pieces all afternoon, even if he does squeal and wriggle so pleasingly most of the time.”

“We ought to stay and take notes,” Herniame told her. “That’s the point. This is a serious project.”

The suggestion did not seem to appeal to Wong Wei. “I’ll tell you what, Herniame. You let Naomi play with Peter for the afternoon, and I’ll give you an afternoon that will make the last few weeks seem like nursery school. You can make notes afterwards, if you want – when you’ve recovered enough to write.”

Naomi had evidently been listening. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Herniame, but there’s no need. I’m not so desperate for a man that I need one tied up for me!”

“That’s not the point…” began Herniame, but Wong Wei nudged her.

“She won’t understand,” Wong Wei said in a low voice. “She’s not a witch.”

Naomi was looking in the box that Herniame had brought into the room and put down on top of the drawers by the door.

“You were going to use these?” she asked. “I’m not even sure I know what they all do.”

“We were doing some research,” said Herniame. “Peter was kind enough to agree to help us. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t decided which ones I was going to use, so I brought a selection.”

“Miss Herniame…” said Naomi. “Look, I’ve worked here for nearly five years and I’m well aware of the sort of things you like. All the staff knows about it, of course. It was explained to all of us when we took the jobs here, and plenty of the boys are very happy to play your games. I’ve never found it a problem and I’m happy to do my work around whatever you choose to do, but I’ve never really wanted to….” She broke off, examining one of the gadgets and apparently fascinated by it. “What is this one for?”

“It’s a ball squeezer,” Herniame told her. “When you’ve got a man restrained, you clamp it over his balls and tighten it until he squeals and begs you to stop. Then you tighten it a bit more. Reaction to pain is fascinating to watch.”

“And this?” Naomi picked up another one.

“Down the end of his male bits, then that strap goes around the base of it and you attach both leads to the TENS unit. It gives him a bit of a buzzing a little more strongly than he’ll find entirely comfortable, in places he never knew he could feel like that.”

“A little more strongly?” asked Naomi.

“A lot more strongly, I hope,” put in Wong Wei. “We were going to find out more this afternoon, but as Herniame has offered him to you for some reason I don’t understand, I guess our experiments will have to wait for another day.”

“You’re telling me I can do whatever I want with your friend tied to the bed here?”

“He’s no friend of mine,” said Wong Wei.

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t do him any serious damage,” added Herniame.

Naomi had picked up another of Herniame’s gadgets and was holding it up first one way and then the other. “Can I use all of these?” she asked.

There was a groan from the bed.

“Feel free,” said Wong Wei.

All of them?” asked Herniame as she and Wong Wei left the room.


* * * * *


“That’s ten pounds you owe me,” said Herniame. “I told you that most non-magical people have exactly the same desires if they have the opportunity to do it without anyone criticising them. Naomi is going to have a wonderful afternoon with Peter, and he won’t mind a bit.”

Wong Wei laughed. “I didn’t think you were serious about the bet! I don’t have non-wizarding money, but if you can work out what the conversion is, I’ll pay it. Anyway, I think Peter may be in for more than you anticipated. Non-magical people may not have sex drives quite as powerful as witches and wizards, but I’m sure their capacity for causing pain and humiliation is just as great. Did you include everything in that bundle of implements you left in the bedroom?”

Herniame nodded. “Most of it,” she confirmed. “There’s quite a variety of whips, floggers and paddles, as well as the devices for tormenting his little male bits. I think you’d approve of some of the dildo toys, as well. I brought a variety of them, the buzzing and vibrating ones, of course, some that rotate, some that pulse in and out, bumpy and knobbly ones, and some very special ones that give a fairly potent electrical buzz. There are different types of straps and harnesses, so she really has the choice of whether to strap them onto him somewhere and satisfy herself, or whether to go for maximum discomfort and humiliation for him by using them on him. It will be interesting to find out which option she took.”

“I know which I’d have taken,” said Wong Wei.

“I know which you’d have taken too,” agreed Herniame. “But you’re the only girl I’ve ever met who can have an orgasm just by watching someone else’s pain! I couldn’t believe it when you did that just by whipping me. You didn’t even touch yourself.”

“It’s a skill,” said Wong Wei. “You should learn it, one day. For now, you can make do with watching me do it, so if you haven’t left all the restraints and whips and dildos in that bedroom with Peter and Naomi, you can take your clothes off and we’ll get started.”



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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Chapter Six
In The Shadow of Mount Moon


Major Petter flinched and gritted his teeth as the cane struck him on the buttocks again. Tabitha laughed, and stood back for Maya to take her turn.

The cane whistled through the air and landed with a slap that echoed from the stone walls. The Major was unable to suppress a sharp groan of pain.

“Not so hard, Maya,” Natasha warned. “This is why you have so many problems keeping your wizards once you’ve taken them. You’re older than the others, so you should be setting an example to them.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” protested Maya. “Really, mother, you don’t have to supervise. We can manage him perfectly well. We’re only going to give him six strokes from each of us.”

“Forty-two strokes as hard as that is more than you ought to be giving him. A little pain repeated or extended is far more effective than a lot of pain more quickly, and far less damaging. You know that.”

“Remind me why he’s being punished?” asked Tabitha as she took up position and raised her cane.

“He failed to satisfy me last night,” Natasha told her. “He knows perfectly well what he’s required to do. After nineteen years, he damned well should know.”

“Right,” said Tabitha as she brought the cane down on the Major’s buttocks with a satisfying smack. “But what made you decide to ask if we wanted to punish him? You usually keep the Major to yourself.”

She moved aside as Selina came forward enthusiastically.

“It’s time you all learnt to take responsibility for your actions. With Myra going to university in a few days, our way of life will be changing. We will have a lot more to worry about in the future,” Natasha replied. “Selina, that particularly applies to you. You need to be more careful.”

Selina was a little larger than her sisters. Although not excessively fat, she was solidly built and muscular. She could wield a whip with more force than any of the others, although her preferred method of subjugating a wizard was between her legs. Once she clamped her thighs around a wizard’s face, there was no escaping until Selina was completely satisfied and the unfortunate wizard was gasping for breath and scarcely able to move. She also had an even stronger sex drive than her sisters. For Selina, reaching a climax less than five times a day was simply not an option, and it was not that she was able to reach a climax particularly easily or quickly. For the wizard trapped between her thighs, it was a long and strenuous ordeal, and within an hour afterwards, at the most, Selina would be thinking about where and on whom she could next find the physical satisfaction she desired.

“Perfect,” said Natasha as Selina’s cane slapped smartly against Major Petter’s red, stinging buttocks. “You see? On its own, that was not too much more than a slight sting, but by the time he’s halfway through six from each of you, he’ll be in absolute torment and ready to agree to anything to make it stop.”

“What do you want him to agree to, mother?” asked Electra as she flexed her cane and prepared to take her first strike. Her silvery-gold hair cascaded over her shoulders as she moved, seeming to flow down in sparkling rivulets. She was eye-catching, as she knew and had used to her advantage many times. Of all the sisters, Electra was the one who would invariably attract any man’s attention, whether he was a wizard or non-magical, and she had never been short of female admirers either.

“I don’t need him to agree to anything in particular right now,” admitted Natasha. “I told you: this is punishment.”

After Electra had given Major Petter the first of the six blows she was to administer to him, and been given Natasha’s approving comment on how well she had applied them, Alice and Astra took their positions. As usual, they were working together, but although they were twins, they were very different. Astra was short, although she did not have Selina’s stocky build. There was something about her that sparkled with enthusiasm and excitement for whatever she did, but her sisters knew how stubborn she could be and that once she had set her mind on a particular goal nothing could divert her. Alice was the opposite. She was tall and willowy, and she looked as though she would give in at the first sign of disagreement from anyone. Even so, she was the one who, as they all knew, would think carefully about what she was doing before she committed herself to anything. Her manner might have appeared to some to be condescending, with almost a regal air about her, but Alice was far more likely than any of the others to take account of anyone else’s feelings and needs, even the feelings and needs of a wizard underneath her or at the receiving end of her whip.

“Too light,” said Natasha as Alice tapped Major Petter’s buttocks with the cane.

“Too heavy,” Natasha admonished as Astra’s cane whistled through the air and impacted on the Major’s flesh with more of a thud than a slap, accompanied by a frenzied squeal from Major Petter.

“Myra?” Natasha looked round for her youngest daughter. “Where is that girl?”


* * * * *


Myra was not in the dungeons under the barn. She had slipped out unnoticed when her mother was trying to explain to the sisters the importance of keeping punishment at a level that could be maintained almost indefinitely without doing permanent damage. It was one of her mother’s favourite themes and she knew it well. She also knew that it was wasted on her sisters. Perhaps, years ago, they might have taken notice, but Natasha had always been very careful during their daughters’ adolescence to keep them away from the pursuits she so loved and, in particular, had prevented them going anywhere near the barn until each reached her eighteenth birthday. Other than the usual games of sexual discovery all girls enjoy, and a few extra that so many witches find out about during their teens, Natasha’s daughters were relatively innocent of sexuality. Naturally, as perfectly normal witches, they had developed the usual belief that men, and wizards in particular, only exist for the pleasure of witches and should be used and abused at every opportunity. Whatever else they had grown to believe was almost entirely from their own experiences and what little their elder sisters might have told them. In fact, their sisters told them almost nothing. Sex and sexuality was a taboo subject in the house. Natasha firmly believed that eighteen years old was the earliest that the girls should be initiated into the joys of sex, bondage, domination and sadism, and she preferred instead to concentrate on the skills of witchcraft, a subject usually just touched on at primary and secondary schools in wizarding communities and only developed into a real talent at universities like Fessewarts.

With all Natasha’s daughters now adults and having developed their desires and beliefs without the benefit of either their mother’s advice or the opinions of their sisters, it was far too late to change their views. Myra was probably the only one with an open mind, and she knew it.

Her mother would be furious. Natasha had particularly wanted all her daughters to take part punishing Major Petter. Myra did not see the point. She had no problem with wizards, the more the better and preferably under her control doing whatever she wanted them to do, but, unlike her mother, Myra found no particular excitement in simply punishing them and causing them pain. It might, she conceded, be an occasional necessity in order to keep them in order while they performed whatever it was she chose to have them perform or submitted to whatever she did to them. It struck her as not being of major importance, mainly because her ideal wizard was one who was already restrained and helpless before she started, and therefore unable to misbehave.

Myra closed her eyes, imagining what her mother would say when she found that Myra was not only absent from the barn but also not anywhere to be found in the house, in any of the other outbuildings, or anywhere else that she or Myra’s sisters were likely to look.

She settled down between the rocks on the hillside, trying to avoid the chilly wind blowing across the Mooning Hills. No one could see her, even if there had been anyone close enough or inclined to be wandering across the hills that time of year. Low cloud hung heavily above her, shrouding the tops of the hills, and across the valley Fessewarts University was barely visible. Despite the bad weather, Myra had cast her cloaking incantation around her. It made her feel more secure. In only a few days the students would be returning to the University, and Myra would be going with them.

Thoughts swirled around Myra’s mind. Why was she going to Fessewarts? No one in her family had ever gone to university. There had been no reason for anyone in her family to go to university. The family was self-sufficient, and always had been. They kept to themselves, content to live their own lives hidden on the edge of Mount Moon by much the same magic that now kept Myra invisible on the hill overlooking Fessewarts. They had remained hidden throughout the battles with the dark wizards nineteen years ago, and few knew of their existence. It had been Natasha’s decision to send her daughters to the school in Asfixi-by-Mooning, and Myra was still not sure why. There was nothing they needed to know that they could not learn at home, except…

Myra considered what she had learned at school. Was there anything important? Had she seen or done anything at all that could be of any use to her? And what more was there to learn at the university? Her magic skills were probably far beyond those of the rest of the students, and quite possibly reached beyond the skills of most of the professors. What could she possibly achieve that she could not achieve at home?

Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps it was time to look outward. After all, there was a world full of young wizards, and many of them came from far away to attend Fessewarts. It was time for Myra and her sisters to broaden their horizons. It was time for them to find their way into the leading wizarding families. Fessewarts was the place to make a start, and Myra was the only witch to do it.


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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Chapter Seven
Hecate


“Peter!”

Peter cringed.

It was not that he did not want to see Sherina. He did. Very much. It was simply that after Herniame and Wong Wei and then the maids at Sandrock, some of whom treated him most painfully and sadistically while others seemed to have insatiable sexual appetites and were determined to sate their lust on Peter, he would very much have liked to be given the opportunity to study at the university instead of being almost permanently involved with one or other of the witches as he had found himself in the last few weeks of the previous term.

“He’s tired, Sherry,” Herniame informed Sherina, placing herself squarely in front of Peter.

“Oh get out of the way, Herniame. I only want to give him a hug. I haven’t seen him since last term.”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to be hugging Peter on the road between Asfixi Station and Fessewarts with thousands of students around you and hundreds of phylaxes watching us?” asked Herniame.

“I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a most excellent idea,” said a voice.

Before Peter had enough time to look round to see who had spoken, Herniame was pushed to one side, arms went around Peter and he was pulled violently forward to be smothered between large, leather-covered breasts. He spluttered and fought to break free, but the leather-clad woman was too strong for him.

Finally, she slid her arms down his back and held him round the waist, grinning widely at him and her eyes flashing every colour of the rainbow in a dazzling display.

“Hi, Nymphomona,” said Peter wearily.

Nymphomona Bonks wriggled her hips against him and then looked down.

“Is that a spell crop in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” she asked enthusiastically.

“It’s a spell crop,” Peter assured her. “And that line’s not very original. Of course I’m pleased to see you; you too, Sherina, but as Herniame said, I’m a bit tired. I’d like to get to the university and relax for a while.”

“I’ll give you a personal escort,” Nymphomona offered, “Right up to your dormitory, and I’ll stay with you to make sure no one else disturbs you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty here?” Herniame suggested, indicating the lines of other phylaxes at the sides of the road keeping a watchful eye on the students and scanning the surrounding area for any sign of trouble.

“My job is to watch out for the students who might be at particularly high risk,” said Nymphomona. “I reckon Peter’s a prime target for all the nasties out there…”

“Thanks,” put in Peter.

“…So providing a personal escort for Peter is most definitely part of my duties. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not really,” said Herniame.

“And you, Miss Grimwaite, know everything, of course.”

Nymphomona’s eyes had turned an intense green. She glared at Herniame, and Herniame glared back.

Sherina grasped Peter’s hand and began leading him away from the two other witches.

“I really am very tired,” Peter pointed out.

“I can see that,” said Sherina. “But what have you been doing, and where were you? Surely you didn’t spend the whole break at the Bottomley’s? I couldn’t find you on the train on the way up from King’s Cross.”

Peter was unsure whether he was supposed to let Sherina know about the Port Quay transport system and its hidden terminal at the back of the row of shops in Asfixi-by-Mooning.

“I was told it was too risky to try to come to The Borough,” he said to her. “I was invited to spend some time at Herniame’s parents’ house in the country, so I thought that sounded like a good idea.”

“Peter! No wonder you’re tired.” Sherina sounded annoyed, and for a moment Peter wondered if he should have made up some other story to explain his whereabouts. “Wong Wei was staying with Herniame too, wasn’t she? That must have been very boring for you, and I suppose they kept you awake every night with their noise. It’s funny, I would never have thought Herniame was like that, but when I heard she’d invited Wong Wei for the holidays, well, there’s not much doubt about it.”

“Oh, no… she’s…” Peter stopped, suddenly unsure what Herniame actually was. “I think she’s just interested in experiencing anything new and different, whatever it is.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Sherina. “I think my brother really likes her a lot, but he’ll never admit it. It would be such a shame if she decided she didn’t like wizards.”

“There are probably worse things that could happen,” said Peter diplomatically.

“Definitely,” Sherina agreed. “Did you hear what happened to Hecate?”

Peter froze, stopping so suddenly that the students behind him bumped into him, and Sherina, who was still holding onto his hand, nearly fell over.

“What? What happened to Hecate?” he demanded urgently.

“Dad was supposed to go and pick her up from her island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, and then everything went wrong. Goodness knows when she’s going to get back to Fessewarts.”

“Tell me what happened,” said Peter. “I know Mr Weenie took her home at the end of last term. You were in the car when he left me at the Bottomley’s on the way, and he was going to pick her up at the start of this term. I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Let’s get into Fessewarts first, and then I’ll tell you all about it,” said Sherina. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I’m not certain Dad would be happy if anyone else overheard any of it.”

* * * * *

Peter sat on his bed in the wizards’ dormitory, trying to make sense of what Sherina had told him.

When Hecate had been returned to the island by Sherina’s father, Walter Weenie, Hecate’s aunt and uncle were less than happy about the change in their niece. She was no longer the sweet, innocent girl she had been, without any magical abilities whatsoever. They were, of course, delighted to see that she had developed the normal characteristics of a witch and could cope with the everyday spells that all witches could handle. They were also pleased when they realised that she had developed a healthy interest in young wizards, but Hecate was now not at all content to be stranded on the remote island with only her aunt and uncle for company.

For the first few days of the Spring break from Fessewarts, Hecate remained in her room and only appeared for meals, which she ate in silence and made morose, monosyllabic replies to any questions or attempts at conversation. Some discreet surveillance of Hecate’s room by her aunt Daniella revealed that Hecate was making good use of the homgole that she had previously refused to allow near her. In fact, the magically animated mannequin appeared to be in danger of becoming worn out from overuse, and Daniella was startled both by the energy and ferocity with which Hecate used it and her seemingly limitless desire for more. Even Daniella herself could not have imagined that any witch could endure such intense and seemingly ceaseless activity, and worried for her niece, she resolved to keep an eye on her.

It was not possible. Whether Hecate realised she was being watched or whether she simply decided to ensure her privacy, Daniella did not know, but there was suddenly a barrier around Hecate’s room whenever she was there on her own, and even the combined efforts of Daniel’s and Daniella’s most sophisticated magic could not penetrate it.

A few days later everything changed. Instead of remaining in her room, Hecate went for long walks on the island. Once again, Daniella decided she should go and check on her niece.

“Dan, you need to see this.” Daniella burst into Daniel’s study, breathlessly.

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “If you’re going to show me our darling niece shagging the brains out of her homgole on the beach, then I’m really not interested. She has years of total abstinence to make up for. Leave her, Daniella. She’ll grow out of it.”

“It’s not that,” insisted Daniella. “You really must come and see this. I can’t describe it.”

Twenty minutes later, Daniel and Daniella were looking across the valley where the small stream on the island ran down to the sea, watching Hecate on the opposite cliff top. She had her spell crop out and she was pointing it out to sea.

High above the ocean, clouds gathered and darkened as Hecate waved the crop. Lightning forked downward with each flick of the crop tip, and then the clouds cleared as she twisted the crop from side to side. The sea shimmered and then parted on either side of a great chasm exposing the seabed, then the waters crashed together again. A wave hundreds of feet high rushed from the shore towards the horizon, paused as if frozen, and then turned at a right angle and raced away before disappearing with scarcely a splash.

As Hecate continued to twist and flick her spell crop, the effects she created became increasingly dramatic. Huge tornados and waterspouts appeared and disappeared. Enormous balls of fire, so hot that Daniel and Daniella could feel them from their position on the cliffs floated in the air many miles out to sea. The sea seemed to boil and molten lava blasted high into the air, yet the waves the eruption created became tiny ripples and faded to nothing before they struck the shore of the island.

“We have to speak to her,” said Daniella, and her husband could see that she was trembling. “She can’t… I mean, with power like that…”

“I think she’s learning to control it,” said Daniel seriously. “Do you think Fumblebum knows?”

“More importantly,” said Daniella, “Does the Ministry know? If they don’t, they soon will. Using power like that won’t go unnoticed, even out here. No one can do anything like that without the sensors at the Ministry picking it up.”

“No,” said Daniel, putting his hands onto his wife’s shoulders and realising that she was still trembling. “No one can do anything like that. It’s not possible. Maybe it’s some sort of illusion? The magic to create illusions can be very powerful, and the results can be very deceptive.”

It may have been that Hecate was creating illusions, but Daniella was proved right. The magic Hecate had used was powerful enough to be noticed. Two nights later, the Ministry arrived.

The first that Daniel and Daniella knew about it was when their alarms started to go off in the early hours of the morning. Almost before they had tumbled out of bed and prepared to defend the island, the Ministry’s phylaxes had landed and announced themselves.

“Mr and Mrs Shagger,” the senior phylax greeted them. “You may want to update your security. I’m Arnold Arbuthnot from the Ministry, and I’m authorised by the Minister to investigate the use of elemental magic on this island.”

“Since when has it been an offence to use magic?” demanded Daniella. “Or do we look like underage wizards and witches too immature to use a spell crop?”

Arnold sighed. “I’m sorry, Mrs Shagger, but even out here you will be aware of the problems with dark wizards recently. The Ministry needs to ensure that the use of the darker powers doesn’t pose a threat to the wizarding community as a whole. You will also be aware of the history of your family, and I’m afraid we can’t take any chances. We have indications that powerful magical forces have been active here, and we must look into it. It may be nothing, and I do apologise for inconveniencing you, but we are obliged to investigate.”

“Got it,” interrupted one of the other phylaxes. “Upstairs.”

“Hey! That’s only my niece up there…”

Daniel Shagger was wasting his breath. There was nothing he or Daniella could do with several dozen phylaxes in their house. Hecate seemed baffled by what was happening, but she did not resist or attempt to use her spell crop. The phylaxes took her away.

The phylaxes took her away,’ Peter said to himself for the twentieth time. Where? Daniel and Daniella had no idea, and the Ministry was refusing to release any information. More bizarrely, they did not take Hecate’s spell crop, which Sherina said had been found on Hecate’s bedroom floor after the phylaxes had all gone. Surely, thought Peter, if they had been detecting sources of elemental power then they would have registered the power of the spell crop that, according to Madam Lasheem last term, had once belonged to the Mad Mistress of Mooning and was capable of far more than a normal spell crop’s ability to simply focus a witch’s or wizard’s powers. And, three days after the phylaxes had taken Hecate and left the island, the spell crop had disappeared.

None of it made sense.

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Re: Hairy Peter and The Prisoner

Post by Susan Strict »

Chapter Eight
A New Term


“Welcome to another term at Fessewarts.”

The hubbub in the hall died away as Chancellor Fumblebum began to speak.

“As you all know, this is the last term of the academic year, and many of you will be facing examinations of one sort or another. Do not let this worry you. Most of you will have no difficulty whatsoever, and for any of you who are struggling, whether with practical or theory, there will be additional tuition available. No one leaves Fessewarts without achieving his or her maximum potential.”

The Chancellor smiled benignly around the hall.

“This term, however, I would urge you all not to be distracted from your studies. I am well aware, of course, that issues outside Fessewarts and, indeed, on occasions inside our great establishment, have provided more than their fair share of distraction. Not least, we have all been touched by security issues that have disturbed our studies and, for some, put us at risk. I cannot emphasise too strongly that we must continue to be vigilant, but equally I can assure you that the precautions now in place mean we need not be overly concerned. In fact, I have relaxed one or two of the security precautions, as some of you will notice. Not least, it came to my attention that the policy of restricting access to Fessewarts for anything on land or in the air was leading to the most unfortunate destruction of many, many wild creatures. Whilst I can assure you that everything moving within the space on, above and even below Fessewarts will be monitored and any potential threat identified long before it comes near our buildings, the policy of launching lethal spells at any apparent intruder without exception has been revoked.

“Academic life at Fessewarts and in its surroundings can continue as it has always done. Here, we are safe, and will remain so. We can, and will, strive for excellence in all that we study and in the pursuit of knowledge. Our students will go on to become great witches and wizards, and will push the boundaries of our experiences and abilities ever further afield.”

“Now, to keep this short, I have just a few announcements. Firstly, I’m sorry to say that Professor Twist has decided to leave us after just one term at Fessewarts. She will be sadly missed by many of you, I’m sure. Professor Scrape will take over her security responsibilities, and we welcome Professor Joostvin who will be handling Vanilla Avoidance and introducing some new topics on a similar theme.”

“Scrape in charge of security?” Don whispered to Peter. “That’ll be a nightmare.”

Chancellor Fumblebum continued: “I am also pleased to welcome some new students this term. Although it may be unusual for new students to join us during the academic year, I am sure that these exceptional and gifted witches will have no problem adjusting to life at Fessewarts, and I am counting on all of you to help them to make the adjustment. First, we have Sherina Weenie – stand up, Sherina, so that everyone can see you. You all know Sherina’s two elder sisters Freda and Samantha, and her elder brother Don, of course, and some of you will have noticed that Sherina was here for a few weeks at the end of last term.”

There was scattered applause and a few cheers at the mention of the twins Freda and Samantha.

“Next we have Ivana Meraskova Joostvin. Ivana joins us from the Shapira Academy for Witches and Wizards in Moscow. As some of the brighter students here may have realised, she has the same surname as our newest professor. It is not a coincidence. She is Professor Joostvin’s daughter. We have arranged for them to be here as part of the new initiative by the Ministry on international cooperation of witches and wizards. I don’t have to remind you how important this may be if and when there are problems with dark wizards in the future, quite apart from anything else unpleasant that may surface.

“Finally, we have Myra Majester. Myra is an extremely accomplished witch and she will be an asset to our university. I can say that at her interview for a place here, she surprised me with the depth of her knowledge and ability, and, to be blunt about it, her advanced and unconventional skills for one so young. We are very lucky to have found her.

“It only remains for me to remind you that this is an establishment for learning. Enjoy yourselves, by all means. Play hard, but work hard too.

“Now please go to your House Common Rooms, where your timetables for the term should now be posted.”
* * * * *
“I want a word with you, Peter.”

Peter paused on the corner of the corridor leading to the Portrait of The Fat Facesitter, the entrance to Grindonner Tower, the Grindonner Common Room and the Grindonner dormitories.

“What’s up, Olivia?” he asked as Olivia Birch, Captain of the Grindonner Figgitch team hurried up to him.

“You will be playing Figgitch this term, Peter?”

“Of course, if you still want me as the bleezer,” Peter replied, feeling that he was probably making a big mistake. Again.

Olivia sniffed, somewhat disdainfully. “If you’re not planning on disappearing half way through the term to pick a fight with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon or to do battle with dark wizards or to explore the subterranean depths with deranged professors.”

Peter appeared to be considering it. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think I have anything planned, but I haven’t had a chance to look at my timetable for this term yet.”

“Don’t try to be funny with me, Mr Petter,” said Olivia. “There’s nothing funny about Figgitch, as you well know. We need to win the cup this term, and I’m not having anyone on the team who isn’t prepared to give it a hundred percent.”

“Ok, sorry. Who else do we have on the team this term?” Peter asked.

“The usual. I’m hoping there won’t be too many changes, but it throws the whole strategy out when the bleezer does a disappearing act or ends up in the hospital.”

“A bleezer always ends up in the hospital after a Figgitch match,” Peter pointed out. “And usually after the practice sessions as well. It’s not exactly the safest position to play, is it?”

“Between you and me,” Olivia confided, “I really don’t think it’s necessary for the bleezer to go to hospital, most of the time. After all, bleezers are rarely injured during the first part of the game play. All you have to do is catch the Golden Cock before the opposing bleezer gets to it, and avoid the booders when they fly towards you.”

“Yeah, right,” said Peter. “And avoid being slashed by a snackle whip, watch out for dirty tricks from the opposing bleezer and the rest of their team, hang on to a Flying Phallus at not far off the speed of sound from thousands of feet up to a few inches above the spectators, and don’t get hit by the knoot. That, of course, is without any nasty incantations anyone has dreamt up to make everything twice as difficult, any curses someone has put on any of the witches OR the wizards OR the equipment, and look out for stray blasts from spell crops of over-enthusiastic phylaxes who happen to mistake the bleezer for an invading dark wizard. Did I leave anything out? Oh yes, avoid the obvious disadvantage of reacting to six naked witches on your own team and six on the opponents’ while naked yourself in front of thousands of students. And it’s cold.”

“You’ve got the idea,” agreed Olivia. “Easy, really, and you know very well that no one, neither phylaxes nor dark wizards nor anyone else can use any magic inside a Figgitch Stadium. You were very good as our bleezer when you put your mind to it. So, as I said, there’s not too much that would put you in hospital. And as for the other parts of the match…”

“Half of it restrained underneath a naked snackle trying to make her orgasm, and the second half also restrained under a naked snackle until the bleezer is unconscious. Not at all likely to need hospital treatment!”

“No, not really,” said Olivia. “It’s what wizards do. Oh, I suppose it might be a problem for a non-magical male, but for a wizard it’s natural. As I was saying, between you and me, the visit to Fessewarts hospital afterwards is mainly to keep Madam Seleet happy. She does so like to treat young wizards from time to time, and there are far fewer accidents and illness at Fessewarts than she would like. Without Figgitch, she would be completely bored most of the time.

“So?” Olivia continued. “You’re going to be on the team, and you’re going to take is seriously this term?”

“Yes, all right,” agreed Peter, and immediately wondered why he had said it.

“Splendid!” said Olivia. “If you do well, I’ll treat you to a special session in the dungeons. I’m specialising in extreme bondage this term and I’m honing my whip skills for the exam at the end of June, so I can promise you something very special that you won’t get anywhere else. Figgitch practice at nine on Saturday, Peter. See you there.”

“No, there’s no need for your special session, thanks…” Peter protested, but Olivia had already gone.
* * * * *
“All right, mate?”

“Not really. Have you seen Herniame?” asked Peter.

“Well that’s nice. After three weeks away, all I get is a ‘not really’ and a ‘have you seen Herniame?’ S’pose you might be excused ’cos she’s better looking than me, but that’s about all.”

“Don, sorry. Really sorry, but I need to see Herniame as soon as possible. You’ve heard what happened to Hecate? Of course you have. Sherina only just told me. I had no idea. We have to do something.”

“Nothing you can do, mate. Dad and Mum and all of us have been wracking our brains to come up with something since we heard, but there’s nothing at all. There’s no use worrying about it. If she’s with the Ministry, she’ll be safe. Dad is doing his best to look into it, but you know what the Ministry’s like. One Department doesn’t talk to another, and Dad’s traffic division is way down the list when it comes to needing to know about anything. Bysshe has been asking a few discreet questions of his contacts, and he was back at the Ministry for a while about a week ago, but he hasn’t found out anything either. He’s still digging.”

“Don, we can’t just sit here doing nothing. We…”

“Peter! Don! I just heard about Hecate. We have to do something!” Herniame rushed across the Grindonner Common Room.

“What would you suggest we do?” asked Don. “Perhaps we should go and blast our way into the Ministry and break her out?”

“No need to be sarcastic, Don,” said Herniame. “What would you do if it was Sherina? Think about it.”

“It’s not Sherina,” Don pointed out. “I don’t need to think about it. I already know there’s nothing we can do. It’s fine. It will all sort itself out.”

“Don, you know what happens when the idiots at the Ministry get an idea in their heads. If they think Hecate is a problem, there’s every chance no one will ever see her again. We need to do something,” insisted Herniame.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Don told her. “I’m going to our first lecture. It’s Vanilla Avoidance and it starts in ten minutes, as you’d know if you had bothered to look at your timetables instead of worrying about things you can’t do anything about. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll get down there too. No point in upsetting our new professor before we’ve even started.”

Don stood up and left the Common Room.

“Peter…” Herniame appealed to him.

“He’s probably right, for the moment at least,” Peter told her. “We can’t do anything about it right now, and even if we could it would be crazy to rush into it. I’ll try to talk to Fumblebum later. He always knows what’s going on. Anyway, now you know about it, you’ll come up with something. You always do.”


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