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"Hairy Peter and the Gallstone"
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Chapter Eleven - Safe Sex
By the time Olivia Birch had finished with him, Peter was exhausted. He was amazed to see that it was nowhere near lunchtime and that he still had another lecture to attend before he would be able to relax for a while.
It took all his ingenuity to find the correct chamber for the next lecture, uninspiringly entitled "Basic Safety". The courtyard where presumably the rest of the group had finished their Flying Phalluses lecture and practice was completely empty, and with Don had gone his map of Fessewarts. By good fortune as well as by following his own instincts, Peter came across the caretaker's office, situated by the main entrance. Once there, quite simply he asked the way.
The caretaker was a shrivelled old man with an obvious hate of students and an attitude that left no one in any doubt of his hatred of everything and everyone. As Herniame told him later, people like Perfidious Flinch were not uncommon. He had a deep distrust of everything that was not transparently vanilla, but a fascination with the subject compelled him to surround himself with anything and everything as positively un-vanilla as it was possible to find. He was, in short, what most of the wizards and witches would have called a "huskett".
"What's your game?" he asked Peter suspiciously when Peter appeared at the door to his office.
"I just want to know the way to Professor Sanitar's room," said Peter. "I haven't got my map yet."
"Pull the other one," said Perfidious, "You're up to no good, I'll be bound."
It took Peter ten minutes and most of his patience to convince Perfidious that he really did want to know the way to the Basic Safety lecture and that he had no ulterior motive for visiting Perfidious's office. As a result, Peter arrived ten minutes late.
"Sit down, sit down," said Professor Sanitar, waving a gloved hand at him. "You haven't missed much. I was just explaining to all the new students about sexually transmitted diseases and risk of pregnancy. I'm sure someone will give you the details later, but I'll summarise it for you. As a result of being at this University, you don't have to worry about either except the second and that only if and when you want to and not at all in your case anyway as I expect you have already realised."
Peter sat down, slightly confused.
"Now," Professor Sanitar continued, once again addressing the entire class, "I have something particular to warn you about, and I will be teaching you to avoid it. When I have demonstrated, you will have the opportunity to practise it. I expect all of you to be proficient at resolving the situation before you leave this room today."
With a wide sweep of her hand the professor indicated a row of beds at one side of the room.
"The subject?" she said. "Can anyone guess what we are going to talk about?"
There were blank faces.
"All right," said the Professor. "I'll make it a little easier. This can happen in a vanilla situation just as much as in any other. Although it's rare, it can be extremely painful, and the consequences can be highly embarrassing. It has to do with muscle spasms..."
Herniame's hand shot up.
"Ah, yes, Miss..." Professor Sanitar looked at the list of students in front of her. "Miss Grimwaite, isn't it? You know to what I refer?"
"I think so," said Herniame, although most of the other students were still looking blank. "It's a vaginism, isn't it?"
"Well done," said the professor. "Can you tell me any more?"
"Vaginism," said Herniame, "Is a painful muscle spasm of the lower vagina causing the muscles to contract. If it happens during intercourse the penis can become trapped and separation may not be possible without medical intervention."
"A perfect textbook answer," said Professor Sanitar, delighted with Herniame's reply. "And can you tell me what we do about it?"
"Um..." Herniame screwed up her face, trying to remember. "There's a spell, isn't there?"
"Of course there's an incantation," Professor Sanitar assured her. "There's an incantation for nearly everything. There is also an incantation, a curse, for making it happen so you all need to be able to use the counter-curse effectively in case someone does it to you. It's not simple. You will need to be able to remain calm and to concentrate, otherwise it won't work."
Malcum Plokkoy murmured something under his breath. Professor Sanitar's sharp ears caught it.
"No, Mr Plokkoy," she said severely, "You will not use that curse here or anywhere else. The University will take a very dim view of anyone trying to cause a vaginism for anyone else, and punishment will follow swiftly I can assure you. It will be used only here, in my lectures, and only as a learning tool. I hope you understand."
"As I was saying," Professor Sanitar continued, "You need to remain calm in order for the incantation to work whether it is being used as a counter-curse or simply to resolve an unfortunate natural reaction. That may not be easy. The pain may be intense, and quite possibly more so for the male than for the female. Reciting the words vulvens relaxus is not enough. You must feel the incantation throughout your whole body."
Herniame put up her hand again. "Surely," she said, "If the pain is that intense, then the man will lose his... I mean, it will go down and there will be nothing for the muscles to grip hold of..." She blushed.
"Good point, Miss Grimwaite," agreed the professor. "However, as you may find from experience, the greater the pressure on the penis the less it is inclined to return to its flaccid state. The pain may well stop orgasm, but it won't generally stop the erection. You can imagine the result is frustrating as well as being extremely uncomfortable at best and positively agonising at worst. We can do something about that, even if neither of the participants can remain calm enough for the vulvens relaxus incantation to work."
Herniame's hand shot up once more.
"No, Miss Grimwaite. Give the others a chance," said Professor Sanitar with a smile. "Let's see," she looked down her list. "Mr Weenie?"
Don looked up, blushed scarlet, and looked down at the floor again.
"Come on, Mr Weenie, I'm sure it's something you've tried. You come from a wizarding family, I see, and you have four brothers and sisters. Surely it's not one of the great mysteries to you?"
Don muttered. Once again Professor Sanitar heard what he said although it was too quiet for most of the other students. Malcum and the two large girls from Smotherin who sat near him sniggered.
"Yes, Mr Weenie," said the Professor, "Correct. Ejaculo is an option. It will cause a steady, pleasurable ejaculation, and if you are fortunate you will then be able to withdraw. Another option that you may not have come across, is spurticus, which will achieve the same result with rather more force and speed. The female equivalent is, as most of you young ladies will already know, orgasmo, but obviously in this particular case it will do nothing to relieve the situation and will quite probably make it worse. All right, Mr Weenie, we'll start with you. On the bed at the front, please."
"Me?" Don's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "Oh. Don't you think...?"
"You, Mr Weenie. Come out here, please. We don't have all day."
Reluctantly, Don rose from his seat and went towards the professor. She addressed the rest of the class.
"We also need a female volunteer for our demonstration," she said, and added, "NOT you Miss Grimwaite," as Herniame's hand shot up at once.
After a short scan of the list of the student's names, the professor selected Violet Shaw, one of the larger Smotherin girls sitting near Malcum Plokkoy. As she walked out to the front of the class she gave Herniame a look of triumph. Herniame looked furious.
"Now Mr Weenie," the professor turned to Don, "As we don't want to make this nothing more than a vanilla exercise, you will be strapped to the bed. It will also make it more of a challenge for you to remain calm enough to use the vulvens relaxus incantation."
She ignored Don's feeble protests, and it was not long before he was on his back on the bed with his wrists secured by leather restraints to the top corners. Professor Sanitar lifted his robes and pulled down his underwear.
"All right, Miss Shaw," she said to the girl who was waiting eagerly. "You may begin."
Violet dropped her robe without hesitation and removed her underwear, not appearing to be embarrassed in the least. She clambered heavily onto the bed and knelt astride Don, reaching down for his penis.
"It's not hard," she announced after a while. "I can't do anything with it."
"He wouldn't have that trouble if I was up there," said Herniame quietly.
"Perhaps," said the professor, "You would like to suggest an incantation that will solve the problem, Miss Grimwaite?"
"Priapus tremens?" suggested Herniame.
"Miss Grimwaite!" The professor seemed shocked.
"What?" Herniame appeared confused. "It was only a suggestion," she said innocently. "I'm not an expert."
"As I'm sure you know," said the professor, "That particular incantation will produce an exceptionally pronounced erection that, by normal standards at least, would be far too large for intercourse."
"Useful for filling larger holes," Herniame said seriously.
"Enough from you," the professor told her angrily. "I won't have petty bickering in my lectures."
Herniame stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on Don and Violet.
"For this type of incantation," the professor told the students, "You really need a spell crop to focus the force of the words. Without it, the effect can dissipate or end up going in a direction you had not intended. As none of you have yet been issued with yours, I shall demonstrate."
She produced a short riding crop and touched the end of Don's penis with it. "Erectus," she said simply, and Don's immediate erection was clearly visible. With a giggle of delight, Violet thrust herself down onto it.
Still pointing the crop in the general direction of the end of Don's penis, the professor said, "Vagismus clampenum."
The effect was instantaneous. Violet's happy expression turned to one of pain, and Don shouted in agony.
"Get her off me!"
"Use the incantation," advised the professor, watching them closely.
It was doubtful whether Don could remember the incantation at that moment, let alone remain calm enough for it to have any effect. He squirmed and wriggled, trying desperately to free himself from the vice-like grip Violet had on him, holding him as securely inside her as the restraints held his wrists to the frame of the bed. His shouts became louder.
Violet did not fare any better than Don. She squealed continuously, reminding those watching of the piercing whistle of the Fessewarts Express. With all her strength, which was considerable, she pulled upwards in an effort to wrench away from Don's rigid member, with the effect only that Don shouted even more loudly. From the expression on her face it was quite obvious to everyone that she was quite incapable of casting any incantation let alone one that required calmness and composure.
"Remember what I said," prompted the professor. "If you can't use the proper incantation then relieve the pressure and see if that will be enough to release you."
Don remembered very little except his embarrassment at being required to admit he knew and had used the ejaculo incantation. For some reason he had it in his head that was the wrong word to use in this situation, and he frantically tried to remember what else the professor had told them.
"Orgasmo," he said wildly.
The effect was dramatic. Violet stopped squealing. Her body shuddered. Her eyes bulged. Her mouth opened wide and a low groan came from the back of her throat, steadily increasing in volume until it became the roar of a wild animal. Her hips gyrated wildly and her clenched fists beat on Don's chest then opened and clutched at his flesh. The shuddering of her body became a convulsion that pulled her and Don first one way and then the other as she roared, he screamed, and every one of the students was shouting for someone to do something before one or other of these two became seriously injured.
Only the professor was calm. Unhurriedly, she pointed her crop between Violet's legs.
"Vulvens relaxus," she said at precisely the same moment as Don remembered the professor's earlier words properly and screamed, "Spurticus."
There was a pop, audible above the hubbub in the room. Violet came free from Don's erection as though blasted from it by a powerful jet of liquid. Her roar turned back to a squeal and she fell forward on top of him, burying his face between her ample breasts. There was silence.
"Right," said Professor Sanitar. "Now you've seen how not to do it, you can all give it a try. Decide for yourselves who is going to be your partner, and we can get started."
All Susan Strict's books are available from A1AdulteBooks
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Chapter Ten - Figgitch
"Figgitch not a very complicated game," said Olivia. "You'll pick it up in no time."
They were standing in the very centre of a huge stadium. On all sides were tiers of seats, and in front of these at each end stood two high poles each with a large hoop at the top.
"I don't understand," said Peter. "You want me to be a member of your team?"
Olivia nodded. "Professor Mackafart says you seem to have all the qualities we need, although personally I would be very surprised if you do. A good bleezer usually needs years of experience, but we are without one right now and I'm quite prepared to give you a try."
Peter was not convinced he would be any good at all at whatever Olivia Birch wanted him to try. He was quite prepared to do his best, and it was evident that to be selected for this was considered a great honour. He could not help thinking that Professor Mackafart must have got it completely wrong. He did not think he had done anything particularly special.
Olivia took him to one end of the stadium behind the poles and started to opening a large locker set into the solid barrier that separated the spectators from the playing area..
"This is the first most important part of the game," she told Peter. "The Golden Cock. Be careful, it will be away before you've even seen it. It's your job to catch it."
There was a fluttering sound from inside the locker.
"Ready?" Olivia asked.
Peter nodded, holding on to his Flying Phallus tightly with one hand and ready to kick off from the ground if whatever came out of the locker managed to elude his grasp.
When it did come it was like nothing Peter had ever seen before. It was tiny, no more than three inches long. It had two sets of tiny wings, beating as fast as a humming bird's. More remarkably still, it was a bright golden colour that shone with its own light even in broad daylight. It shot away from Peter at high speed.
"Go!" shouted Olivia, smiling at Peter's amazement.
Peter went. He was in the air in a second, speeding after the Golden Cock as it raced away from him. He followed its twists and turns without difficulty, his concentration focused on catching it and completely oblivious to everything else around him. Olivia shouted encouragement, but he never heard it.
Although the Golden Cock never left the area of the stadium, it felt as though it went for miles. Indeed, at times it reached heights with Peter close behind it that Peter would not have imagined reaching in his wildest dreams. At other times it swooped down, missing the posts at one end of the stadium or the other by inches, or flying so low that Peter would have found it nearly impossible to have reached down from his Flying Phallus to grasp it even if he had been able to draw level with it.
Finally, he did catch it. It was not much more than an accident, and if the Golden Cock had not paused for a moment deciding, perhaps, which way to turn next, the chase might have continued for very much longer.
With it still fluttering in one hand, Peter sped back to Olivia with a look of triumph on his face. He held it out to her.
Olivia merely nodded. "All right," she said, "But you will have to be much quicker than that. Don't forget, the other team's bleezer will be after it too, and you'll have the booders to contend with as well. It's not like catching the Golden Cock in an empty stadium."
Peter's look of triumph faded. "It sounds complicated," he said, decidedly crestfallen.
"I'll explain," said Olivia. "There are nine in each figgitch team, three male and six female. The game is in three parts. First, the object is to send the knoot through one of the goals. This scores ten points."
Peter was lost already, and told Olivia he had no idea what she was talking about.
"I'm beginning to wonder whether you are really the right person to be our bleezer," she said, clearly exasperated. "Every young witch and wizard knows this. I really can't imagine how you have managed to lead such a sheltered life."
"Sorry," said Peter. "I didn't ask for this, you know that. It was Professor Mackafart's idea."
"She doesn't often get it wrong," said Olivia thoughtfully. "All right. Listen carefully. There is one knoot on each team. He, like the rest of the team, is naked of course..."
"Hang on!" Peter interrupted. "You mean I have to do this naked?"
"Shut up and listen," snapped Olivia. "As I said, the knoot is naked, except that unlike the female members of the team and he has to wear a knoot harness. Yes, I can see you don't know about that either. Well, it's a harness made of thin straps over most of his body. It provides lift, because the knoot doesn't ride a Flying Phallus. The harness lifts him into the air and then he is propelled forward or backward by the snackle whips carried by the four snackles. When the lash of a snackle whip makes contact with the knoot harness, it creates a small blast of energy that throws the knoot forward. Got it?"
"I think so," said Peter. "It sounds rather painful for the knoot."
"Oh it is," agreed Olivia with evident pleasure at the thought of it. "He usually spends a day or two in Fessewart's hospital afterwards, but he's never too badly damaged. Madam Seleet is a great healer. Anyway, that's why each team has a knoot. After someone has scored they change places. There's never more than one knoot in the air at a time. The other just watches until it's his turn."
"Right," said Peter, "I understand. I'm glad Professor Mackafart didn't decide I should be a knoot instead!"
"Plenty of time for that," said Olivia with a grin. "I think you would make a good knoot. The knoots are usually new students, but that's only decided a day or two before each match. A knoot doesn't need any particular skills, and if you misbehave then there's a fair chance you'll end up as a knoot anyway."
"Right," Olivia continued, "That's the knoot. The other male member of each team is the booder and unlike the knoots, the booders are both in the air at the same time. They don't ride Flying Phalluses either. They wear booder harnesses that are fundamentally very much like knoot harnesses except they rather have a mind of their own. Contact with a snackle whip will send the booder off in another direction, but which direction is far more random and doesn't depend on where or from which angle the lash makes contact. The booder harness has a deep desire to knock any and all of the other players off their Flying Phalluses and out of the stadium, and that includes the bleezer. You'll need to watch out for them. A booder has put more than one bleezer completely out of action, and if that happens then we've lost. Our snackles will try to protect you, but ultimately it's up to you."
"Right..." said Peter, becoming more and more concerned that this game was going to be an absolute nightmare if he were ever selected to play for his House team in a real match.
"Cheer up!" Olivia told him, seeing his expression. "It's not all bad. You have nothing to do in the game until the Golden Cock appears. You need to be watching for it. It may be after a few seconds, or it may not be until many goals have been scored. There's no way of telling. As soon as you see it, you chase after it and catch it. That's all you have to worry about."
"What happens when I catch it?" asked Peter. "Is that the end of the game?"
Olivia shook her head. "Not quite," she said. "That ends the first period of the game. There are three periods of Figgitch. The second is, I think, where Professor Mackafart thinks you can score some real points for us. You see, it's the job of the bleezer to make all the female members of the opposing team have an orgasm."
"What!" Peter was astounded. "Are you serious?"
"Quite serious," Olivia assured him, "But it's not quite that simple. Two padded tables are brought out into the middle of the stadium and the two bleezers lie on their backs on the tables. You are not allowed to use your hands, of course, so your wrists are strapped to the side of the table to make sure there's no cheating. One by one the other team's snackles kneel over your face with their hands tied behind their backs, and a strap around each of their thighs is fastened to the table to prevent them from rising out of your reach. All you have to do is to give them an orgasm. The referee will be watching closely in case one of the snackles tries to hide it, but it's usually quite obvious when it happens."
"How long do I have?" asked Peter, not at all sure he believed everything Olivia was telling him.
"Ah, that's where it's not so simple," said Olivia. "There's actually no time limit, but the rest of the snackles will be doing their utmost to make you orgasm. If they succeed, then it's over. They get the points and we don't. Do you think you're up to it?"
It was, thought Peter, an unfortunate choice of words. He nodded uncertainly. "You said there were three periods of Figgitch?" he asked.
"You need not worry about the third period," Olivia told him. "You don't need to do anything. You just lie on the table. One of the snackles from each team will try to smother the opposing bleezer to unconsciousness by sitting on him. It's that simple. Whoever does it first wins that part of the game. I'll help you with some exercises in holding your breath for extended periods, but it's really not too difficult. Anyway, there are only twenty points for that, and you score a hundred for each time you make a snackle orgasm in the second period. That's what we must concentrate on. I don't think anyone has ever managed to make all five of them do it, and I'd love for you to be the first. That would be a real achievement for Grindonner!"
Peter stared at her in horror. Surely she was joking? True, he had passed out more than once when Lotta Bottomley had been more than a little overenthusiastic, but for a game in front of an audience of the whole University and goodness knows how many others to have the participants deliberately smothering each other to unconsciousness just did not seem possible.
"Come on," said Olivia. "I want to see how well you do at the second stage of the game. If that goes all right then I'll give you a few tips on remaining conscious and we'll get on with that part of it."
She pulled a large table from the locker and checked the straps. "Clothes off," she instructed. "We'll start by seeing how long you can hold out while I do my best to make you orgasm. I warn you, I'm quite an expert. That's one of the reasons I'm the Grindonner Captain of Figgitch!"
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Chapter Nine - The First Lectures
Peter awoke and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took him several minutes to work out where he was, and when he finally had it clear in his head he did nothing more for the next half hour than to think through the events of the last two days.
"I think it's probably time for breakfast," said Don, startling Peter from his thoughts. "There's a notice in the common room about the lectures we need to attend. You're in the same group as me mostly."
Peter sat up. Most of the beds in the dormitory were already empty. He dressed hurriedly, and followed Don down into the common room.
As Don had said, there was a notice listing all the new students who had been sorted into the Grindonner House and giving details of the lectures they should attend. There was also a map, with instructions that it should be copied onto the students' own parchment and an incantation recited over it to ensure that the map changed automatically as and when the passages and chambers of Fessewarts decided to change.
"No time for that now," Don told him. "You can follow my map and you can sort out yours later."
The first lecture after breakfast was out in the courtyard of the university. Fortunately the weather was warm and dry, but Peter was somewhat puzzled by the title of the course that was included in the curriculum: "Flying Phalluses". He had absolutely no idea what a 'flying phallus' was, or why it should be necessary to study them. He was no wiser when he arrived in the courtyard.
Most of the first year students were already assembled when Peter and Don emerged from the main building. On the ground in front of them were a number of large objects, approximately five feet long and shaped, as the name of the course had suggested, exactly like enormous, erect phalluses. The conversation among the students stopped when they saw Peter and Don. A few pointed at Peter, and there was a jeer of contempt from a couple of the Smotherin students.
"The famous Peter," sneered one, a slight youth with pure white hair. "Look at him."
The two large and unpleasant girls standing on either side of the youth were indeed looking at him.
"He doesn't look anything special," said one of them.
"I'd be happy to sit on him," said the other. "Do you really think he's the Peter, Malcum?"
"Of course he is," said Malcum Plokkoy. "Didn't you see the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals in the shape of a peacock when we were at the Sorting yesterday? He's the Peter all right. What a complete waste of space."
"Shut up, Plokkoy," said Herniame Grimwaite, who was also waiting for her first Flying Phallus lecture. "No one asked for your opinion."
Malcum turned on her. "And no one asked for the opinion of a dirty little broodpod."
At those words, Herniame's eyes filled with tears. She turned away, and at the same moment Don strode up and caught Malcum by the shoulder.
"How dare you," shouted Don, swinging Malcum round to face him. He drew back his fist, clearly about to punch Malcum, but at that moment Professor Flit appeared.
"What's going on here?" she demanded, hurrying over to the group.
"Nothing," said Malcum Plokkoy.
"Nothing," said Don.
"Nothing at all," said Herniame.
"Yes, well," said Professor Flit, eyeing them suspiciously. "Let's concentrate on the lecture, shall we?"
The students formed a line behind the phallus-shaped objects on the ground.
"Now," said Professor Flit, "We are here to learn about Flying Phalluses, and the best way to learn is to use them. Follow my instructions carefully."
There was a crash from a doorway to the left of the group. Everyone's head turned, to see Neil Shortass hurrying towards them.
"Professor Flit!" he called. "I've been sent to join your lecture."
"Neil! You learned all this last year!" said Professor Flit, her hands on her hips and an expression of exasperation on her face.
"I know," said Neil, puffing and panting as he arrived in front of the professor. "Professor Mackafart thinks I need a refresher course, so here I am."
"All right," the professor agreed. "Join the others. Perhaps you can give some of the slower ones a few tips."
"The only tip he'll give is how to fall off," whispered Malcum just loudly enough for Neil to hear. The two large girls either side of him sniggered. Neil did not react at all.
"First," instructed Professor Flit, "Stand astride your Flying Phallus. That's right. Boys too. This isn't one for girls only."
The students did as they were told, many of them quite obviously very nervous.
"Now," went on Professor Flit, "You have to command your Phallus to rise. It's very simple. Just say 'UP!'"
There was a chorus of "UP". At once, most of the Phalluses rose from the ground between the legs of the students, settling parallel to the ground perfectly positioned for the students to sit and to ride on the shaft of the Phallus.
A few, however, did not. Don's remained resolutely motionless on the ground despite his repeated commands of "UP". Herniame, comfortably seated on her own Flying Phallus, leaned towards Don and pointed at his Phallus. "UP!" she said, and immediately it rose and positioned itself as required.
"See?" said Herniame quietly to Don. "I knew I could make your phallus rise."
There was squeals from several of the girls whose Phalluses had risen at the more pointed end only and instead of being positioned obediently for the girls to ride on were burrowing under the girls' robes with their blunter ends waggling from side to side not unlike the tails of excited dogs. A quick incantation from Professor Flit restored them to normality.
"Always make sure you're in control of your Flying Phallus," said Professor Flit severely. "Show it who's boss, and never, never allow the pointed end under your robes. Don't stand too near the end when you mount, and grip the shaft firmly with your legs. Once it understands you won't allow it to misbehave then you won't have any more problems with it."
Neil was having the same problem with his Flying Phallus as Don had had with his.
"UP!" he shouted over and over again. "Look here, you useless fucking phallus, I want you UP!"
Malcum was already sniggering, and Neil was becoming more and more heated. With an almighty shout of "GET UP!!", he kicked the inert Phallus.
It reacted. It rose swiftly between Neil's legs, slamming into his genitals and lifting him high into the air. He screamed and fell off, landing heavily on his front on the ground. The Phallus followed him down, plunging under the back of his robes and wriggling violently, pushing him along the ground in short, energetic spurts of sheer force. He screamed repeatedly.
It took several streams of incantation to persuade the Flying Phallus to cease its efforts to force its way into Neil's backside. When finally she succeeded, Neil lay motionless on the ground, moaning faintly. Professor Flit examined him briefly.
"Hospital," she said. "Madam Seleet's skills are needed here. The rest of you are to wait exactly where you are until I return."
As soon as she had gone and taken the unfortunate Neil with her, Malcum turned to Don.
"Shall we continue where we left off?" he suggested nastily.
Don squared up to him.
"Stop it, both of you," warned Herniame. "You'll both be in trouble if you start fighting."
"You'll both be in trouble if you start fighting," mimicked Malcum. "Come on, vanilla lovers, see if you can compete with real wizard."
With that, he swung one leg over his Flying Phallus again and kicked off from the ground.
It was obvious to everyone watching that Malcum Plokkoy was no novice at riding a Flying Phallus. He wobbled a little, but that did not stop him swooping down at the crowd of students and forcing them to duck to avoid being struck. He laughed madly.
"He's going to hurt someone," said Herniame in panic. "Someone has to stop him before there's an accident."
"Don't look at me," said Don. "I couldn't even get the damn thing up without your help!"
"Peter." Herniame turned to Peter who was sitting comfortably on his Flying Phallus, balanced perfectly as though he had been riding one of them all his life.
"I'll stop him," said Peter determinedly, although he really had no idea what he was doing.
There was not the slightest wobble from Peter as he rose from the ground smoothly and raced after Malcum like a Flying Phallus professional. Malcum saw him coming and soared high into the air. He rounded one of Fessewarts towers, clipping the weather vane as he went. A large, jagged piece of metal fell from it, heading straight towards the crowd of students staring up at the Peter and Malcum. They had not seen it, their attention on the racing phalluses above them.
Peter saw at once that if the jagged metal hit the students it would cause very serious injury, quite possibly so serious that even the skills of Fessewarts hospital staff, magical thought they might be, would not be able to heal. Immediately he swung his Flying Phallus around and pointed its head downwards after the falling metal. It seemed impossible that he could catch it before it hit someone below, but he was determined to try. He raced downwards, gained on it, matched its speed only yards from the ground, grasped it successfully without damaging his hands on its jagged edges, and descended to the ground a little way from the crows in perfect control of the Flying Phallus. He dropped the jagged metal in a flowerbed, dismounted, and walked back to the other students, completely oblivious to the face at one of the windows that had watched every move he had made.
"Mr Peter Petter," called an imperious voice. "Come here. I want a word with you."
Peter turned in dismay to see Professor Mackafart standing in the doorway.
"Follow me, Mr Petter," she said as he approached her.
With a swirl of her professor's robes she turned and strode purposefully away through the passages with Peter having to run to keep up with her huge strides. She said nothing, but Peter was quite certain that his unauthorised performance on the Flying Phallus had landed him in serious trouble, particularly when he knew very well that Professor Flit had ordered them all to stay where they were while she took Neil Shortass to the hospital.
"Here we are," said Professor Mackafart, pausing outside a chamber where there was clearly a lecture going on. "Wait."
She knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an answer.
"Ah, Professor Scrape," Peter heard her say. "I wonder if you would allow me to borrow Miss Birch for a while. I have a task for her."
Olivia Birch came out of the chamber, followed by Professor Mackafart. Olivia stared intensely at Peter.
"Has he been particularly bad already?" she asked. "I suppose you want me to give him a caning?"
"Ocht, not at all," said Professor Mackafart. "In fact, I believe I have found you your new bleezer, and I want you to put him through his paces at once."
She strode away with a swirl of professorial robes once more, leaving Peter with Olivia who was looking very serious indeed.
"Come on," she said to Peter. "We had better get started."
-
-
-
Chapter Eight - After the Sorting
The Sorting was over. After Peter there was very few new students left to sort, and somehow it all seemed something of an anticlimax. The students were led out of the hall by the senior post-graduates, and towards their own particular dormitories and common rooms.
Fesswarts University was a maze of passages, staircases, rooms and chambers, some hidden and some appearing unexpectedly out of nowhere for no particular reason. A passage might be there one minute and gone the next. A door that previously opened onto a room or hallway might open instead onto a blank stone wall, or simply disappear completely. It was rumoured that even the staircases moved, although no one had ever seen them move and with the constant changes to the passages, doors and rooms no one could be absolutely sure that an unfamiliar staircase was unfamiliar only because everything around it had changed rather than the staircase itself.
"Here we are," announced Olivia Birch, captain of Grindonner House, who was leading the way.
"Where?" asked Peter, trying to see anything different in this particular passage from the dozens of others they had been along.
There was nothing. They were in a long passage without any sign of any door or opening. The walls, like the walls of many of the passages and rooms at Fessewarts, were lined with paintings. Peter had looked at some as they passed and had a strange feeling that some of the figures in the paintings had moved, turned to look at him, as he went by. It was most disturbing.
Someone was laughing. Peter looked at the students all around him, partly to see who it was and partly in the hope of seeing what it was that whoever it was found so amusing. There was no one even smiling.
"Right here, of course," said a voice. "You must be Peter. I've heard about your clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock."
"I'm not surprised," replied Peter, still trying to see who it was and now quite sure that whoever had laughed had also just spoken.
"Show us," demanded the voice, "And I won't ask for anything else."
"Anything else?"
"The Fat Facesitter always asks you to perform a task before she will let you into Grindonner Tower," explained Olivia Birch.
To Peter's amazement, he realised that it was the figure in the large painting on the passage wall who had spoken. She was a very large woman, completely naked as were many of the figures in the paintings, seated comfortably on the face of a semi-naked man. To his embarrassment, everyone in the group of students was now looking at him expectantly.
"Come on. Hurry up," said the Fat Facesitter. "I can't sit here all day waiting for you."
""What else would you do?" asked Peter, quite fascinated despite his embarrassment. It seemed to him that a figure in a painting could hardly have much else to do other than to carry on with whatever she had been painted doing.
"I'm becoming bored with Chancellor Grundle," said the Fat Facesitter haughtily. "I want to go and find one of the other old Chancellors to sit on."
There was a scurry of movement, although not from the waiting students and not from the painting of the Fat Facesitter in front of them. Figures in other painting all along the passage had, quite simply, disappeared. Peter saw one figure rush across a painting, disappear, reappear in the next and rush across that too before vanishing completely.
"Yes, hurry up Peter," said Olivia Birch. "You should all be thankful she didn't make me thrash you all with a cane before she let us in. That's what she usually wants when it's a group of new students."
Reluctantly, Peter pulled up his robes.
"Very nice," said the Fat Facesitter. "The clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock isn't bad either. All right. You can come in."
The painting swung outwards, revealing a doorway behind it and a spiral staircase leading upwards. The students followed Olivia Birch up the stairs, and the painting closed behind them.
At the top of the stairs was the Grindonner Common Room, a cheerful, comfortable area, surprisingly spacious with a blazing log fire in a huge fireplace at one side of it. Three archways led out of the Common Room, as well as the opening at the top of the spiral staircase.
"That goes to the male dormitories," said Olivia, indicating the archway on the left. "And that goes to the female dormitories," she continued, indicating the archway on the right.
"What's that one?" asked Don, pointing to the archway straight ahead of them.
"Your name?" asked Olivia.
"Don," said Don. "Don Weenie."
"I hope you're less trouble than your sisters," said Olivia seriously. "And I advise you to stay out of that room until you have been here for a few terms at least. That's the Chamber of Unlimited Needs, Thrills and Satisfaction. It's magic. Whatever you feel like doing, that chamber will have everything needed to make it happen. The risk is, of course, that someone will come in whose desires are different to yours, and you suddenly find yourself doing something you hadn't intended."
"But then you just go out and come back in again, surely?" said Herniame logically.
"It doesn't quite work like that," Olivia told her. "Naturally, any female needs will take priority over male needs, that's obvious. It's just that the Chamber won't let anyone out until at least one desire has been fully satisfied. As I said, wait until you've been here for a few terms before you try it. Your skills need to be learned and developed before you go in there."
The new students took a few minutes to absorb this information. Without exception, every one of them wanted to go into the chamber, and without exception every one of them realised just what the consequences might be. The silence was broken by Olivia.
"I'll leave you to get better acquainted with each other," she said. "You'll find other Grindonners drifting in and out of here regularly. Ask any of them if you want to know anything. Your personal luggage has already been taken to your dormitories and is waiting on your beds. I'll see you all later."
It was all rather overwhelming. Peter found himself the focus of most of the attention, much to his surprise. It had been disturbing enough to find that every knew about and wanted to see the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals in the shape of a peacock, but now it quickly became clear that everyone wanted to know everything about him.
"There's not much to tell," he insisted. "I was brought up in a perfectly ordinary home by a perfectly ordinary couple of non-magic people. That's all there is to it."
It was not quite true. Peter's upbringing was not normal by any standards. His mistreatment at the hands of Eustace and Inger Bottomley would, by even the lowest of standards, be considered intolerable. However, it was not this that interested the other students but the story of how he had come to acquire the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals in the shape of a peacock and, if the rumours about it were correct, how he had actually survived his encounter with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon.
Unfortunately, Peter was unable to tell them anything about it. He had known nothing of it at all until the previous day, and little more of it now. He resolved to find out everything he could, particularly as he now it it was in some way connected with the death of his mother.
If nothing else, the intense curiosity of the students meant that Peter came to know them all very quickly. He could remember few of their names, however, and apart from Don Weenie and Herniame Grimwaite the only one who stuck in his mind was Merry Shagger, a shy, sad girl who rarely said anything unless someone asked her a question. It was only much later that evening when Peter thought about what he had seen of Don on the train when Don had the problem with the Every Flavour Condom and when he considered how slim and light Herniame really was, he began to wonder just how many of his fellow students had quite inappropriate names. He considered his own: Peter Petter. It could be worse, he decided, even if it did sound like a character from a comic book.
The conversation in the common room continued until Olivia Birch once more appeared at the top of the spiral staircase and announced that if they did not all find their way to the main hall in the next fifteen minutes then they would miss dinner that evening. She was nearly knocked down the stairs in the rush, and even then three of the new students, as well as Neil Shortass who was not new and should have known better, became completely lost in the maze of passages and had to go to bed hungry when they eventually turned up back at Grindonner Tower.
"I suppose you want to see the clump of green hair just to the right of my genitals in the shape of a peacock before you let me in?" said Peter to the Fat Facesitter.
The Fat Facesitter yawned. "Not particularly," she said. "Seen it. Let's keep it simple. I want you to kiss the first female who turns up, and not a peck on the cheek either. I want open mouths with tongues, and I want to see you both enjoying it."
"This is a crazy way to have to get into my own common room," complained Peter. "Why can't we simply have a password or something? After all, you could ask anyone to do anything and you would let them in whether they ought to be in Grindonner Tower or not!"
"A password?" said the Fat Facesitter, fascinated suddenly. "What a really good idea. I wonder why no one has thought of that before?"
As she was musing about the possibilities of a password and asking her seat what he thought, Merry Shagger came up the passage.
"We can't get in," Peter told her. "Not until I kiss someone. It's ridiculous."
"Think yourself lucky it's only a kiss, young man," said the Fat Facesitter, waggling one finger at him sternly. "Last year I made two of the new students make love on the cold floor of that passageway for three hours before I let them in, and the year before I had the fattest girl sit on the skinniest boy until morning. You are very fortunate indeed that I'm tired and I really can't be bothered with doing too much tonight."
The Fat Facesitter's seat muttered something that, to Peter, sounded very much like 'Thank goodness for that!', and Merry Shagger pulled at his arm.
"Here," she said in a small voice.
Merry was just about as tall as Peter, although her quiet and withdrawn character always made everyone think she was much shorter than she really was. Before Peter realised what was happening, Merry's open mouth was clamped onto his and her tongue was thrust as far towards his tonsils as she possibly could which, in the case of Merry's particularly long tongue was an extremely long way.
"Wonderful," said the Fat Facesitter, clapping her hands enthusiastically. "You can go in now."
The painting swung open, and with a noise not unlike a rubber plunger successfully unblocking a drain, Merry broke the sucking grip her mouth had on Peter's and rushed up the spiral staircase without a word. When Peter recovered and followed, there was no sign of her in the common room. He assumed she must have gone straight up to the girls' dormitory.
It was not long before the common room began to empty. Most of the new students were tired, and although others came in and chatted for a while, few stayed more than a few minutes. Soon there was no one in sight at all.
Peter stretched and yawned, deciding that it was time he was in bed too. He stood up, and it was only then that he noticed Herniame slumped in an armchair staring morosely at the fire.
"Oh. Hi," said Peter. "I didn't see you there."
"No," agreed Herniame, "You didn't. If you had, then you might have rushed off to the dormitory before you had to talk to me."
Peter sat down in the chair opposite her. "No I wouldn't," he told her. "I would have come over and talked to you."
"Really?"
"Of course. It's all a bit confusing here, isn't it? It's nice to have someone to talk to, even if we only met on the train at least we know each other a bit," said Peter, not sure why Herniame seemed so miserable and determined to do his best to cheer her up.
"Confusing? It's horrible. They hate me. They said so."
"Who hates you?" asked Peter, really surprised. "I think you're nice. Really."
"Nice? After I sat on you like that?"
"Well, yes," admitted Peter. "I rather enjoyed it. It was so much nicer than... than... than the others."
"I had an orgasm," said Herniame. "Did you notice?"
"Um... yes," said Peter. "I guessed you did. That was nice too. Actually..." he hesitated, not wanting to upset her any more than she was already upset, "I've been meaning to ask you. I mean, on the train you seemed so... um... so knowledgable with the Every Flavour Condoms and all that. I'm surprised the Sorting Seat didn't want to put you into Suckenpuff instead of Grindonner."
Herniame looked blank, so Peter continued hurriedly. "I just wondered how it was that the Sorting Seat said you were a facesit virgin. Perhaps I didn't hear it right."
"I was a facesit virgin," said Herniame miserably. "And no experienced sitter would have orgasmed the way I did. I can't help it. I've only read about most of it in books. I suppose everyone will find out sooner or later, so you might as well know now then you can hate me just like everyone will do when they find out."
"Find out what?" asked Peter.
"Find out about my parents," said Herniame miserably. "I was hoping to keep it quiet, but I can see it's pointless."
"Find out what about your parents?" asked Peter, beginning to wonder whether it was something really terrible that Herniame was about to tell him.
She turned her face to him, and Peter could see there were tears in her eyes.
"They are both vanilla," she said.
-
Chapter Seven - Grindonner
Ingrid's backside was not only solid and heavy, it was also hairy. She descended onto Peter with the force that could only be likened to a bull elephant charging backwards.
Unlike Peter's unfortunate experiences with Lotta Bottomley, this was no soft, yielding mass of flesh but a solid, muscular rear that squashed as much as it smothered and that threatened to break every bone in his face by its sheer power alone.
Luckily for Peter, his nose fitted neatly between Ingrid's buttocks, and the firmness of those buttocks meant that although her sphincter was no more than a couple of millimetres from the end of his nose it did not press against him and break anything. Not so luckily, he was completely unable to breathe.
"Hmm," said the chair. "She is rather heavy, isn't she?"
Peter would have replied if he had not been as completely unable to speak as he was completely unable to breathe. The chair, however, seemed to be able to read his thoughts.
"Yes," it said, "I thought so. This is going to be very difficult indeed. You insist Grindonner, and everything points to Smotherin. I wonder if you will change your mind in a minute or two?"
Peter was screaming long before two minutes had passed, but only in his head because firstly Ingrid's heavy backside prevented any sound from him and secondly it was less than one minute before Peter had neither the breath nor the energy to make any noise even if Ingrid had stopped sitting on him.
The buckles around Ingrid's wrists and (just) around her large thighs snapped open. She stood up. Peter, befuddled but relieved, waited for the chair to lower his head away from the seat and release the buckle around his head. He had not heard the chair announce the name of the House he was assigned, and he assumed it had happened at some point well after the end of the first minute when his senses were beginning to fail.
"I told you this was going to be difficult," the chair whispered to him. "This will really shock them. It hasn't happened for over a hundred years."
"What hasn't happened?" asked Peter, confused.
"We need another sitter," announced the chair loudly. "Professor Windy Mackafart, please."
After a few gasps and cries of "surely not", there was absolute silence in the hall as Professor Mackafart walked towards the chair. Students and professors alike realised the significance of this remarkable turn of events. Quite apart from the rarity of the chair not being able to place a new student after a single sitting, no one could remember Professor Mackafart ever being called by the chair to sit, and she did not seem too pleased to have been selected now.
"I trust," said Professor Mackafart icily in a strong Scottish accent, "You will not be requiring me to remove my clothes?"
"No, you're fine as you are," said the chair indifferently. "I don't want to put you out, Professor. I need to decide whether this young man is suitable for your House, so I thought you were the best sitter for the occasion."
With a snort that was somewhere between "ocht", "acht" and was followed by something that might have started with an "f", Professor Mackafart gathered her robes around her and sat primly on Peter's face. In the silence around them, there was no mistaking the sound of escaping flatulence from the Professor as she sat.
In many ways, to have Professor Mackafart sitting on him was far worse for Peter than to have Ingrid on top of him. True, he could breathe, but quite apart from Professor Mackafart's continual flatulence her backside was decidedly bony and not at all well padded. Fortunately for him she did not move at all, and although the pain was intense Peter was in no danger of suffering serious damage.
"This is a waste of time," said the chair as Professor Mackafart let out a particularly noxious blast of wind from her backside. "Phew! Let's try someone else."
The straps released Professor Mackafart's wrists and thighs. She stood up with a small squeak and turned to study Peter who remained unable to move.
"He'll do for my Hoose," she declared. "A student with potential, aye."
"I'll decide that," said the chair firmly. "And I haven't decided yet."
There was much fidgeting and murmuring among the students as the chair called three of the more senior female students one after another to sit on Peter, and kept each one there until Peter came close to losing consciousness. Still, it seemed, the chair was unable to make up its mind.
"I really think it's Smotherin for you," it told him.
"No," said Peter resolutely, not at all sure why he was so determined. At that point he would have done almost anything to be released and to put an end to the succession of backsides pressing down on his face.
"Perhaps someone of your own age?" suggested the chair. "Now... who have we left who has neither sat nor been sat on?"
"Herniame Grimwaite!" it called loudly.
"Oh! Me?"
Peter recognised Herniame's voice at once. Although she had said very little on the train, mainly because her mouth was full for the first few hours, it was quite distinctive.
"Yes, you," said the chair. "Have you met Peter? Ah, I see his robe already knows you and approves."
Much to Peter's embarrassment, his robe had reacted to Herniame even before she approached the chair, exactly as it had done on the train. In his present position he was quite unable to stop it doing what it liked.
"No underwear, I see," said the chair.
"I came out in rather a hurry," Peter tried to explain. "There wasn't time to buy anything in Diaphragm Alley."
"No need to make excuses to me," said the chair. "I've seen it all before. You wouldn't believe some of the goings on at Fessewarts since I've been here. Why, once in the eighteenth century there was this witch who developed a fancy for..."
"Look," Peter interrupted hastily, "I'm really very uncomfortable. Do you think we could get on with this?"
He could just see Herniame standing nervously in front of the chair, and at the same time he was aware that a large number of students were now on their feet and peering forward.
"What are they looking at?" he asked indignantly, noticing there was at least as many of the men as there were girls trying to see what his robe had exposed. Even some of the professors had moved forward and were looking down at him.
"Silly," said Herniame, "It's clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock, of course. Everyone knows about it."
"I didn't know about it until yesterday," said Peter, more than a little annoyed.
"Everyone else did," Herniame assured him "It's very interesting. I'd like to examine it properly later."
"Plenty of time for that," the chair told her. "I'm already getting vibrations that tell me the two of you will be in the same House."
"All right," agreed Herniame. "How do you want me to sit?"
"In your underwear, I think," decided the chair. "That would do nicely."
"Actually," said Herniame, her face turning a little pink, "I'm not wearing any either. I never do. It doesn't seem necessary under the robes."
"Fine," said the chair. "Just lift your robes and sit on him as you are."
Herniame did as the chair had told her. She lifted her robes just enough to position herself over Peter's face without any part of the robes coming between her and him, taking great care not to allow any of the watching students and professors to see any more than was absolutely necessary. She descended onto Peter with great care, adjusting her position until she was quite comfortable. The straps snapped across her wrists and over her thighs, tightening and holding her firmly.
Peter heard Herniame gasp, and felt the twitching of her muscles.
"Oh ho!" said the chair just loudly enough for Peter and Herniame to hear, "We have a first, I think. Well, Miss Grimwaite, you haven't ever sat before, have you?"
"Ho ho ho," chortled the chair. "A facesit virgin. We haven't had one of those at Fessewarts for a good few years either. Do tell me, Miss Grimwaite, are you enjoying it?"
There seemed little doubt that Herniame was enjoying it. Her breathing became faster; her muscles tensed and shuddered; she seemed completely unable to speak.
Peter was not quite so sure whether he was enjoying it. Herniame was considerably lighter than the others who had sat on him. In fact, he thought, she was probably the lightest female who had ever sat on him and certainly far more pleasant even than Don's twin sisters Freda and Samantha. In all likelihood he would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience at any other time, but having suffered being crushed and suffocated under Ingrid, gassed and bruised under Professor Mackafart, and well and truly smothered and squashed under the others, all he really wanted was to be free from the chair.
"Go on," the chair encouraged him. "Show her how much you like her."
It took him a moment to work it out, and then Peter carefully put out his tongue and pressed it as far into Herniame as he could reach.
That was all it took. Herniame squealed. It was a squeal of surprised that turned into a squeal of pleasure, a shudder of delight and, without pausing to draw breath, a scream of orgasm that, to Peter at least, seemed to go on and on and on.
The muscles in Herniame's buttocks and upper thighs shook and rippled most alarmingly, squeezing Peter between them repeatedly even though the straps holding her allowed little real movement either up and down or from side to side. A cheer arose from some of the students, and applause from others as Herniame's orgasm slowly subsided.
"Well," said the chair. "Grindonner it is then; for both of you."
"Are you sure you don't need anyone else to sit on him?" called Freda who had been observing closely.
"Quite sure, thank you," replied the chair dryly as it released the straps holding Herniame on top of Peter and began to lower Peter from the underside of the seat. It did not hear Samantha's whispered comments to her sister, nor Freda's reply. To anyone who had heard them, there would have been absolutely no doubt that both were delighted to have Peter in their own House of Grindonner.
-
Chapter Six - The Sorting Seat
"To everyone new, welcome to Fessewarts, and to everyone else, welcome back."
The voice of Chancellor Fumblebum echoed around the hall, silencing the hubbub of conversation.
"Before we proceed with sorting our newcomers into Houses, I have a few announcements."
There was a general air of boredom. Many of the students fidgeted in their chairs, familiar with Fumblebum's customary speeches and determined to make themselves as comfortable as possible for what would undoubtedly be a long and boring wait.
"I'll keep it short." Fumblebum beamed at the students, "Unlike last term."
There was a ripple of laughter and scattered applause. Fumblebum held up his hand for silence.
"Firstly, I must tell you that this term we have had to make the second-floor corridor in the north wing out of bounds to all students. This is for your own safety. I will not go into details, but suffice it to say that a very painful death awaits anyone foolish enough to ignore my warning."
A low muttering broke out. This was most unusual, and the students were curious to know more. Fumblebum hurried on, leaving their questions unanswered.
"Secondly, I want to extend a warm welcome to two new professors this term. Professor Vanessa Valium will be teaching Vanilla Avoidance, and Professor Drusilla Drencham will be in charge of Defence Against Dirty Deeds. I also need to congratulate Ingrid who, in addition to her other duties, will be taking a new course we have decided to call "Sexual Satisfaction for Magical Creatures". It has just been approved by the Ministry of Sitting and Sadism, and not without considerable effort on my part I can tell you. The Minister was not too happy with the idea.
The Chancellor paused, smiling benignly around the room. Several of the students looked worried.
"Further," he continued, "We have reshuffled some of the existing roles. Professor Scrape will be taking Safe Sadism and Professor Mackafart has kindly agreed to impart her particular skills to the combined courses of Safe Smothering and Sitting Survival."
The professors stood up as Chancellor Fumblebum mentioned their names. Apart from Professor Scrape, they were all female.
"Finally," Fumblebum said to the gasps of surprise that he was actually finishing his speech so quickly, "I want to mention a few basic rules to our newcomers and to remind the rest of you. Pay attention. This is very important. I will remind you again to avoid the second-floor corridor in the north wing. There is no choice in this matter. As always, the Frumptious Forest is off limits unless you are accompanied by a professor who has my express permission to take you there."
Fumblebum turned and looked sternly at the row of professors seated behind him. They all nodded in agreement.
"Also as always, I strongly advise against trying out any of the techniques you are taught here unsupervised. There will be plenty of time for that when you have graduated, and a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing."
Peter noticed at this point that both Freda and Samantha were sniggering, and than many of the other students either looked highly embarrassed or were desperately trying to hide the expressions on their faces.
"I know," continued Fumblebum, "That most of you will ignore this advice. Well, that's up to you. I have given you my opinion and I will not dwell on it. I will, however, mention once again the rules about dormitories. The female dormitories are out of bounds to all males and, as some of you found out last term, they have magical protection to deter intruders of the wrong sex. This a deep and powerful magic built into the building itself, and beyond my power to counter. I can only point out that if any of you young men are so foolish as to stray where you should not go then nothing, and I do mean nothing, will free you from that dormitory until you have remained at least ten feet away from any female for a period of seventy-two hours precisely. I therefore also request the young ladies here to co-operate in this matter, and if an over-enthusiastic young man is found in there then please leave him alone. I really do not want a repetition of last term. Is Neil Shortass back? Ah, there you are Neil. Perhaps you could tell us all what it was like to be trapped in the Grindonner ladies' dormitory for eight weeks? No? I thought not."
Everyone was looking at Neil whose face was bright red with embarrassment.
"He was lucky to survive the Grindonners," said one of the young men sitting at the next table. There was much laughter, but looks of anger from the girls seated at the Grindonner table.
"Enough," said Fumblebum, clapping his hands. "It's time for the sorting."
A chair was placed in the middle of the hall, although it was not like any chair Peter had ever seen. It was highly ornate, with carvings of faces all over its back and sides. It might have been a trick of the light, but the carvings seemed to move. As soon as the chair had been positioned and the professors had stepped back, a voice came from it. Peter had not been mistaken when he thought the carvings had moved. The chair was speaking.
"I'm ready," it said.
Fumblebum produced a long roll of parchment and looked at the list of names on it.
"David Smith," he called.
A nervous youth stood up. "Here," he announced uncertainly.
"Lie face up under the chair," instructed Fumblebum kindly.
The youth did as he was told, his head positioned right under the seat. At once, and without anyone touching it, a leather strap buckled itself around the youth's neck and the base of the chair under his head moulded itself around him. It rose slowly until he was pressed against the underside of the padded seat, his face just visible through the hole.
"Who shall sit?" roared Fumblebum.
Apparently the question was not directed to the assembled students nor to the professors.
"Hum, let me see," said the chair thoughtfully. "Female, I think. A post-graduate from... Scratchenclaw!"
"How shall she sit?" called Fumblebum.
"As she is," said the chair.
After some pushing and arguing from the back of the hall, a young woman came forward. She sat carefully on the seat, completely covering the youth. Straps on the arms of the chair magically buckled themselves around her wrists and more straps held her thighs firmly in place. She could not move.
"Ah," said the chair, "This one is easy. SMOTHERIN!"
The straps immediately released the young woman and the base of the chair descended, freeing David Smith. He looked stunned and confused. Professor Mackafart took his hand and led him to the table where the students from Smotherin House were assembled.
"Amelia Merville," called Fumblebum.
The procedure was repeated, this time with the chair calling one of the professors to sit. For the next hour each new student was called to the chair in turn, and the chair picked a sitter it considered suitable. Sometimes, when Fumblebum called "How shall she sit?" (and in a few cases "How shall he sit?"), the chair issued different instructions. "Naked below the waist" was not uncommon, and neither was "Underwear only." On a few occasions the chair seemed to be having trouble in deciding which House was appropriate for the new student, and more than once he or she was released not far short of unconsciousness from lack of air.
Finally it was Peter's turn. "Good luck," said Freda, giving him a playful punch. "You want to hope it's Grindonner. That's where we are. Don's bound to be Grindonner. It runs in the family."
"Like noses," added Samantha.
Before Peter had worked out quite what she meant, he found himself in the middle of the Hall and lying under the Sorting Chair.
"Hello," said the chair quietly to him as the strap buckled itself securely around his neck and the base of the chair moulded itself around the sides of his face. "I've been waiting for you."
"Why me?" asked Peter in surprise.
"You're Peter," said the chair. "You have the clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock."
Peter groaned. "Does everyone know?" he asked.
"Pretty much," the chair told him. "Can I see it?"
"Now?" asked Peter, startled at the request.
"Well, I suppose not," replied the chair. "Maybe later. I suppose I ought to decide which House to put you in."
"Grindonner," said Peter at once.
"Why?" asked the chair. "I mean, I haven't checked your reaction to being sat on yet, but you look much more like a Smotherin to me."
To tell the truth, Peter had no particular reason for wanting to be in Grindonner other than what Freda had just told him. It was simply that he did not know anyone else at the University, and it had not been completely unpleasant spending so much time underneath Freda and her sister on the train journey.
"We'll have to check this very carefully," said the chair while it was positioning Peter's face in the centre of the hole in its seat.
"Who shall sit?" roared Fumblebum.
"Ingrid," replied the chair loudly. "I hope she doesn't break me," it added quietly to Peter, "I haven't asked her to sit before."
"What about me?" squealed Peter, horrified at the thought of Ingrid's huge bulk descending on his face.
"Oh, you'll be all right," said the chair optimistically, shouting "Nude!" in reply to Fumblebum's "How shall she sit?"
-
jenniferr10x10@y/a/h/o/o/d/o/t/c/o/m
How are you! hope you are fine and in perfect condition of health.I went through your profile and i read it and took intersest in it,please if you don't mind i will like you to write me on this ID(jenniferr10x10@y/a/h/o/o/d/o/t/c/o/m) -
Chapter Five - Fessewarts
Time passed remarkably quickly for Peter. It was, in fact, several hours from King's Cross to the station in the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning. After the years of abuse from Lotta Bottomley, it was almost a pleasure to have the more shapely backsides of Freda and Samantha wriggling around on his face for the duration of the journey.
"We're here," called Herniame who had been looking out of the window. She had been incredibly bored for the last two hours, ever since Don had run out of peppermint flavour Every Flavour Condoms, and had resorted to playing with her chocolate vibrators to pass the time much to Don's discomfort and to Herniame's delight.
"How did Ingrid manage to get here so quickly?" asked Peter when he spotted her huge bulk on the platform.
"It's her pink bubblecar," Freda told him knowingly. "It's much faster than the train."
"Everybody out," roared Ingrid. "You can't spend all day at Asfixi Station."
"He's right there," said Peter as he scrambled out onto the platform and followed the other students to where the carriages were waiting to take them all for Fessewarts.
Even though the village was quite some distance from the university, the old building could be seen from the station looming huge and imposing on the hill in the distance. It had not always been a university, of course. The university had been founded less than three thousand years previously, but the castle of Fessewarts had been built long before that by the Mad Mistress of Mooning who, according to popular legend, had used it for the sole purpose of incarcerating every man she could capture, lure or otherwise entice into it. It was only when one of them managed to escape before she or any of her disciples, the Mooning Maids, had smothered him to death, and he had managed to persuade the local population (who by that time were almost exclusively female) that the continued decimation of the male gender would eventually prove disastrous for everyone, that action was finally taken. The ensuing battle was, by all accounts, one of the most bizarre that had ever taken place.
The militia of Asfixi in the years long before the coming of He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon were highly skilled in the arts of erotic magic. Much of their art has been lost today, and what remains has mostly been corrupted into frivolous devices of no real significance such as the chocolate vibrators that Herniame found so enjoyable or the Every Flavour Condoms that so nearly proved to be Don's downfall. In those days, however, there was a far more serious purpose to their enchantments.
The militia sent their battle vibrators in first. Through every crack in every door and every window they buzzed and wriggled. Down every drain and up from every plughole and primitive toilet they thrust and vibrated their way inside. With their own unerring magical senses they found secret tunnels and hidden entrances that even the builders of Fessewarts Castle had long forgotten.
Naturally, there were innocent casualties. It could not be helped. The battle vibrators, much like their modern-day equivalent the chocolate vibrators, were not particular whose orifice or which orifice they entered, and unlike those chocolate vibrators these long-lost ancestors did not succumb to the heat and moisture or a human body and melt. Once embedded in their target they did what any good vibrator should do, and for any female in whom the vibrators had found the most appropriate orifice that meant unending orgasm until either exhaustion overcame them or someone with sufficient magical power was able to command the vibrators to cease and to withdraw. For those for whom the vibrators had not found the correct orifice, usually because they were either the wrong sex and did not possess that particular anatomical structure or that particular orifice was already occupied, the result was far less pleasant. The vibrators, not being particularly bright, tried to fulfil their natural purpose of creating an orgasm. Finding, usually, that this was not working, they tried harder. The end result when they worked themselves into a frustrated frenzy was, to say the least, quite disturbing. The details are better imagined than explained.
The Mistress of Mooning's disciples were, of course, well versed in the skills of sexual magic. It was surprise that the militia counted on, and they nearly got away with it. If it had not been for the fact that the Mistress herself and the majority of her disciples had the faces of their prisoners deeply embedded and busy with the aforementioned orifices at the very moment most of the battle vibrators entered the building, it might have been very different. As it was, the first the small army of facesitting women knew of the attack by the militia was when their seats began to squirm with more than their customary vigour and were clearly suffering in a way that could not be accounted for by smothering alone.
A few of the Mooning Maids had sufficient concern for their seats to apply the counter-magic in time to save them from too much suffering. Most of the Mooning Maids managed, for themselves at least, to avoid this first assault altogether, and were prepared for the next attack from the militia even though as yet they had no idea who it was they were fighting. Only a few fell and passed away in throes of ecstasy, overcome by orgasm after orgasm and quite unable to remember the appropriate magic (if, indeed, at that particular moment they wanted to remember anything at all) and too far from any of the others for their cries of pleasure to be recognised and for anyone to rush to the rescue.
For the Mistress of Mooning herself, it was quite another matter. She recognised the attack immediately and cast enchantments around her long before any of the battle vibrator had wriggled its way close enough to begin to consider which orifice it should make the subject of its irresistible attentions. She remained seated, oblivious to the panic around her and giving her whole attention to the pleasure she derived from the helpless face underneath her.
The second attack from the militia was quite different. Having been shown the weak points in Fessewarts Castle's defences by the ingenuity of the battle vibrators, the next step was to examine these possible points of entry and use the most easily accessible to force their way in.
It was not straightforward. The militia divided into four groups, intending to attack simultaneously from four directions. The groups were commanded by Suffron Smotherin, Groanna Grindonner, Swallow Suckenpuff and Sadise Scratchenclaw, all experienced leaders whose commitment to law and order was beyond question and whose abilities in combating the forces of evil were powerful and awesome.
Before Suffron's contingent had even reached the end of the hidden tunnel they were following, they were already in trouble. It was booby-trapped. An unearthly huge pair of fleshy breasts swung down from the roof of the tunnel, trapping and smothering the two members of Suffron's group who were leading the way. No amount of magic would release them and, reluctantly, Suffron decided eventually that to leave them and to retreat was the only option.
Swallow's contingent fared little better. Having forced their way through a rotting door at the rear of the castle they charged gleefully through the castle's corridors firing immobilisation spells in all directions with many happy shouts of stiffum et smotherum which was, obviously, the appropriate spell to put its victim into a coma-like state in which the victim could move nothing except his or her mouth and at the same time produce an arousal so intense and lasting that he or she was quite incapable of thinking of anything else like casting a counter-spell to reverse the effect. It was also noted by those who care about such things, that this had other distinct advantages for the attacker if she had the time to take advantage of it.
It was in the fifth corridor that it all went badly wrong for Swallow. Leading the group, she rushed into a large chamber with the usual shout of stiffum et smotherum. She had completely failed to notice that the Mooning Maids had lined the walls of the chamber with magic-reflecting mirrors, or that two of them wearing anti-spell suits were hiding behind the heavy iron door.
As Swallow and her second in command, Spit, reached the middle of the chamber to investigate the apparently empty smother seats positioned there, the door slammed behind them. At the same time, Swallow's own spell rebounding from mirror to mirror hit her and Spit at precisely the same second. Their arms slammed rigidly to their sides. Their legs ceased to support them. They fell, turning as they did, to land on their backs right inside the smother seats. With a cry of triumph the two Mooning Maids shed their anti-spell suits, slammed shut the smother seats and plonked their well-rounded buttocks on the faces of the immobilised Swallow and Spit. Despite the efforts of the rest of Swallow's contingent to rescue them, the door to the chamber remained magically locked and impenetrable to either brute force or the most sophisticated opening spells. It was, as Groanna Grindonner commented later, yet more evidence of the depravity of the Mistress of Mooning and her followers, for there was no doubt that the Mooning Maids in that room took as much pleasure from their treatment of Swallow and Spit as they would have done from any male they had forced into the same position.
Groanna had a little more luck, as did Sadise. Each of them with their eager force of spell-happy troops behind them, entered the castle quite simply through secret entrances the battle vibrators had uncovered and had left gaping open. They met with some resistance from the Maids. Spells flashed backwards and forwards down the corridors of that great castle, and many on both sides fell. It was, finally, the perversity of the Maids of Mooning that led to their downfall, for few could resist the temptation to sit on a fallen victim, and a seated, aroused Maid (or anyone else in such a position) finds it difficult to pay attention to anything other than the seat underneath them. Both Groanna and Sadise had the foresight to anticipate such a situation, and every one of their followers had been instructed to make a concentrated effort with her mouth and tongue if and when they fell victim to any of the castle's facesitters.
It worked. Within three hours every Mooning Maid in the castle had been rounded up and suitably restrained, and more than a few of the male prisoners had been freed before the battle vibrators had done too much damage. Swallow and Spit were also rescued, although such was the enthusiasm of the Mooning Maids who had captured and sat on them in the smother seats that neither were much use for anything else that day.
What puzzled everyone was that so far there was no sign of the Mistress of Mooning. They thought that every chamber in the castle had been searched, and still they had not found her.
Finally, it was Groanna who found her, and in the most obvious place.
Right in the centre of the castle's Great Bedroom she sat, surrounded by scores of restrained males. She moved from one to another, sitting on each with screams of ecstasy and shudders of orgasm.
"You'll never take me," she screamed as soon as she saw Groanna. "I must sit! I must sit! I must sit!" (which is partly why she was later referred to as "She-Who-Must-Sit", but that's another story).
It took forty of Groanna's guards, all of Sadise's sorcery, and all the skill of every one of the contingent led earlier that day by Swallow, to break through the barrier the Mistress of Mooning had put up around her and around the scores of men under her power.
With a scream of anger combined with a scream of pleasure (she had just reached a climax yet again), the Mistress of Mooning spun round on the face of her seat towards them. In a flash of red and green she vanished, leaving behind nothing but the restrained male she had been sitting on. She was never seen again but, remarkably, the male under her had survived. He coughed, spluttered, choked and then coughed again. A small object no bigger than a large marble shot out of his mouth and rose high in the air. Groanna caught it and examined it closely. She had no idea what it was, but she put it away in her pocket meaning to study it later.
The clear up operation did not take too long. In the following days the four leaders of the liberating forces spent many hours in deep discussion over what to do with Fessewarts Castle. It was decided that it should be a place of education where students would be taught the four S's: Safe Sitting and Safe Sex. They stayed on in the castle, the new University of Fessewarts, for many years, and the huge student dormitory and house areas took their names: Smotherin, Grindonner, Suckenpuff and Scratchenclaw. It was the start of an establishment that would endure for centuries, and outlast even such international disasters as the Smother Wars and the rise of He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon, and it was this establishment that Peter found himself rapidly approaching.
Peter, of course, knew nothing of the history of the University of Fessewarts. All he knew was that he was here, and that he was being taken steadily towards the sinister buildings that commanded the countryside for miles around.
He had no idea what would happen next.
-
Chapter Four - The Fessewarts Express
Now properly robed, with Ingrid back from her visit to the bank and with various other purchases under Peter's arm, they left Diaphragm Alley.
It was a pleasant day, and although Peter felt extremely silly in his new black robe that made him look like a transvestite with no dress sense, he and Ingrid walked slowly through Regent's Park on their way to King's Cross station. Fortunately for Peter no one commented on his attire, possibly because there were, as was usual in that part of London, many people whose clothes were far stranger than his. More fortunately still, there was no women in the park who Peter found the least attractive.
"You'll need to catch the train at platform eighteen," said Ingrid.
"Eighteen?" asked Peter in surprise. "That seems rather straightforward?"
"Of course," confirmed Ingrid. "It had to be eighteen. Anything less just wouldn't be right."
With that cryptic comment, she produced her long, pink vibrator, waved it and disappeared, leaving Peter on his own to make his way to platform eighteen at King's Cross Station.
The train was no different from any other. Ingrid had told Peter that it would depart at precisely five minutes past one, but at two o'clock it had not moved an inch. Peter found himself an empty compartment and sat down, listening for the announcements that he hoped would tell him what was happening.
"Shhhh hscrat for Feshhhhhwoooorts now leaving froom plashfoorm eitheeeeeen," spluttered the speaker in the roof of the compartment. The train lurched forward six inches and then stopped.
The door of Peter's compartment crashed open. A young witch closely followed by an equally young wizard burst in. Peter guessed they were about the same age as he was.
"Nearly missed the train," said the witch breathlessly. "Hello."
Peter held the front of his robe, struggling desperately to prevent it rolling upwards. He won the battle. The witch with long dark hair and wizard with short red hair sat down opposite him.
"I'm Herniame," said Herniame.
"I'm Don," said Don.
"I'm Peter," said Peter.
"Not...?" asked Herniame.
"Not who?" asked Peter.
"She means not THE Peter," said Don.
"I don't know," said Peter uncomfortably. "I've always been Peter."
"You're the Peter with the clump of green hair in the shape of a peacock just to the right of your genitals," said Herniame triumphantly. "I would have known you anywhere. Can I see it?"
Peter fought with his robe as it obligingly tried to show his clump of green hair to Herniame.
"No!" Peter told Herniame. "It's personal."
Herniame shrugged, and at that moment there was a commotion in the corridor outside the compartment.
"It's the trolley," announced Herniame.
Don stood up and went to the door. "Why are you always right?" he asked disgustedly.
"What trolley?" asked Peter.
"I've only known you five minutes, Don" pointed out Herniame. "We met while you were trying to find the platform."
"Yes," agreed Don, "And you knew exactly where it was."
"It was only a guess," said Herniame. "I had a hunch it might be between platform seventeen and platform nineteen. I am always right, of course. It's very observant of you to have spotted it so quickly."
"What trolley?" asked Peter again.
"THE trolley," Herniame told him "You know. The trolley that brings round anything you want to buy. It was in the University prospectus under 'facilities for undergraduates', right above the paragraph about whips, straps and restraints."
"I didn't see a prospectus," said Peter.
"A little bustard should have brought it," said Herniame knowledgeably. "Little bustards always bring everything."
"You'll miss the trolley if you sit there jawing," said Don searching his robes to find some money. He produced a single copper piece and looked at it miserably.
"You need a rich girlfriend," Herniame told him. "Don't worry, I'll buy you whatever you want if you'll let me sit on your face for the rest of the journey."
"No way!" Don objected. "It's four hours at least until we get to Fessewarts!"
"Four hours eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds without any delays," said Herniame. "That was in the prospectus too, and as we've now been moving for at least thirty seconds that would make it approximately four hours seventeen minutes and fifty-three seconds."
"It's all right," said Peter hurriedly. "I have some money. I'll buy whatever you want for both of you."
Peter stood back as Herniame and Don chose a number of items from the trolley. Peter was far from sure about any of the items on sale, but Herniame seemed to know what she wanted and Don seemed prepared to try anything.
"Those are new," said Don. "I haven't seen those anywhere else."
"What are they?" asked Peter.
"Gruntfuttock's Every Flavour Condoms," Don read from the packet. "I'm going to try those."
"Be careful," advised Herniame, "I read that..."
"Oh shut up," Don told her. "You can't believe everything you read in books."
"What have you bought?" asked Peter as he and Herniame sat down back in the compartment. Don had disappeared somewhere.
Herniame looked a little uncomfortable. "Well..." she began slowly.
"Yes?" insisted Peter, anxious to appear polite and interested.
"They're chocolate vibrators," said Herniame taking one from the bag and sucking it. It wriggled and vibrated until she bit the end off it and swallowed it. "You have to take care with these, because..."
Her explanation was cut short when the door of the compartment was flung open and Don stood there, his face as red as his hair.
"I can't get it off," he wailed.
"I told you to be careful," said Herniame. "You didn't really put one on without reading the instructions first, did you?"
"It's hurting me!" squealed Don. "How do I get it off?"
"You can't," Herniame told him. "Obviously. The only way to get it off is to have someone eat it off. That's why they're flavoured. If you don't make the effort to find someone who will do it fairly quickly then they start to tighten. I've no idea how much they tighten. The book didn't say. I would imagine it could be rather painful."
"Just get it off!" Don was becoming desperate.
"Let me see," said Herniame.
Don lifted his robe and Herniame examined the tightening condom with interest.
"It's really a clever bit of magic," she said. "I wonder who thought of it? Of course you would be in serious trouble if you had one of the really awful flavours. I mean, no one would want to eat it off, would they? With the possibility of every flavour it could be something just impossible to eat!"
Don was moaning in pain. Herniame took his condom-covered cock in one hand and sniffed it cautiously.
"You're in luck," she said. "It's peppermint, and I love peppermint. This won't take long."
She knelt down in front of Don and began to suck at the peppermint-flavoured condom. The door of the compartment opened again.
"Hello hello hello," said a voice. "You don't hang about, do you Don?"
Peter saw two identical faces surrounded by two identical mops of long, red hair above four extremely large almost-robe-covered breasts.
"Go away," said Don through gritted teeth.
"It's all right," Herniame explained, taking her mouth from Don's once again erect cock. "I'm just getting an Every Flavoured Condom off him."
"He should have had more sense," grinned Freda, Don's elder sister.
"He never had any sense," smiled Samantha, Don's other elder sister and Freda's twin.
"Oops. Watch those!" warned Freda pointing at Herniame's bag of chocolate vibrators that was on the point of falling off the seat.
"Why?" asked Peter, not sure he wanted to know.
"Because they have a mind of their own," said Freda. "Once they're out of the bag all they want to do is to find a nice warm orifice to squeeze into and then vibrate and wriggle until they melt. It's no joke, believe me. It's all very well if you're ready for it, but you can imagine how inconvenient it can be if it happens when you're not expecting it!"
"Who says it's no joke?" said Samantha grinning impishly. "You thought it was a joke when we threw two full bags of them into the boys' changing rooms last year! I've never heard so much shouting and complaining!"
"Quiet!" Freda warned her. "There will be so much trouble if they ever find out it was us!"
"That's Peter," said Herniame as she finished the last of the Every Flavoured Condom. "Mm," she added. "I quite enjoyed that. Are there any more peppermint ones? Go on, Don. Put one on. Actually, I think the taste is still there."
Herniame concentrated on sucking the last of the peppermint flavour from Don's erect manhood.
"Peter? Not THE Peter?" asked Freda.
Herniame nodded. Don yelped.
"Hey, Sam," Freda turned to her twin sister in excitement. "This is the Peter with the clump of green hair in the shape of a peacock just to the right of his genitals."
"Really?" Samantha immediately turned her full attention to Peter. "Let's see it."
Peter, who had just stood up, lost the brief battle with his robe.
"Wow," said Samantha. "I've never seen anything like that."
"Right," said Herniame swallowing quickly and turning to take a better look. "It's quite impressive, isn't it? I read that it would be."
"Shall we flip a coin?" asked Freda.
"Better," agreed Samantha. "I can't be bothered to fight you again. To be honest I can't decide which end I like best."
"What are you doing?" asked Peter with interest as the coin was thrown into the air and Samantha called 'tails'. He never received a reply. Before he knew what was happening he found himself on his back on the floor of the compartment with Freda's broad yet shapely buttocks planted firmly on his face. Samantha stroked the clump of green hair in the shape of a peacock just to the right of his genitals tenderly before lowering herself onto his erection.
"Good grief," said Don.
"How vulgar," commented Herniame. "I think we should leave."
"Yes," agreed Don. "I think I've found another peppermint Every Flavour Condom. Shall we...?"
"Oh yes," said Herniame. "Yes please."
-
Chapter Three - Diaphragm Alley
It was not long before Ingrid had explained to Peter all about him being a wizard and about the place reserved for him at the University of Fessewarts.
"We had better be going," said Ingrid as soon as Mrs Bottomley had managed to remove her finger from Peter's rectum and her hand from between his buttocks, all of which took rather longer than to explain about wizards and Fessewarts.
"What about me?" complained Lotta. "I'll have no one to sit on."
"I'm sure you'll manage," Peter assured her. "With those new legs all you have to do is to hide the rest of you."
"Come on," said Ingrid putting away her pink vibrator. "It seems I won't be needing this for the moment."
"You're not leaving," shouted Mr Bottomley brandishing his shotgun. He had been silent until now, stunned by the bizarre turn of events.
"We are," said Ingrid, "Unless you want a taste of my vibrator too."
Fortunately, Mr Bottomley decided he did not like the look of Ingrid's vibrator at all. He put down the shotgun and retreated towards his wife and daughter who were still standing naked at the bottom of the stairs. Inger reached out for her husband, trying to push Lotta out of the way.
"We'll go upstairs," said Inger as Peter and Ingrid were leaving. "I need to be warmed up."
"So do I," said Lotta, and Eustace Bottomley found himself being dragged up the stairs between his wife and daughter.
Peter mentally censored the remainder of that episode, and so shall we.
"I haven't any clothes," Peter reminded Ingrid as they left the island.
"I had noticed," said Ingrid. "You like me, don't you?"
"I need some clothes," insisted Peter. "I can't go to University without anything at all."
"It's all right," Ingrid assured him. "We have to stop off a Diaphragm Alley. We can buy some clothes there."
The journey to Diaphragm Alley was rapid and uneventful, other than Peter's insistence that he had to hide somewhere behind Ingrid every time they encountered anyone on route. Fortunately Ingrid's size made this easy, and her long coat made it relatively simple for Peter to conceal himself.
"Here we are," said Ingrid, opening the secret entrance to Diaphragm Alley.
Peter gaped at the mass of people all dressed in long, shiny robes and who were coming and going in the hidden street. None of them appeared to take any notice of him or of Ingrid, as though it was commonplace to see a naked youth in the company of a giantess.
"Robes," said Ingrid. "Mrs Sattonhim's Robe Emporium, I think. I'll lend you the money until we have time to go to your bank. I have something to collect there too."
Ingrid pushed open the door of a nearby shop.
"Don't tell me," said the tall, thin woman behind the counter. "I'm going to guess that you would like something for this young man to wear."
"How did you know?" asked Ingrid in surprise. "This is Peter."
"I know," replied Mrs Sattonhim. "He has the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals."
Peter looked down in surprise. She was right. There was a clump of green hair to the right of his genitals, and it was shaped exactly like a peacock. How strange that he had never noticed it before.
"Ur," agreed Ingrid. "That would be from the battle with He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon."
Mrs Sattonhim nodded wisely. "I suppose if Peter's mother hadn't tried to sit on He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon it would never have happened," she said. "Never mind. Robes. Now what's going to suit little Peter?"
"I think young wizards look nice in pink," said Ingrid.
"Rubbish," declared Mrs Sattonhim. "You think everything is nice in pink. Personally I think a nice puce would be just perfect for this one. Now, let's see if the puce robes like him."
She slipped a puce coloured robe over Peter's head and let it fall around him. Peter felt very uncomfortable. The robe was more like a long girl's dress, coming almost to his ankles.
"How does that feel?" Mrs Sattonhim asked.
"It feels very silly," said Peter.
"I wasn't asking you," said Mrs Sattonhim. "I was asking the robe."
As if the robe was answering her, Peter felt it tightening on him. It gripped his legs, binding them together tightly and squeezing around his hips, stomach and chest. He fell over and found he could not move, held tightly as though he had been wrapped up in the strong, shiny material of the robe.
"That's not the one for him," said Ingrid shaking her head sadly.
"No," agreed Mrs Sattonhim looking down at Peter. "All the same, it has its uses. I don't suppose that while he's down there and unable to move you'd like to...?"
"I'd love to," said Ingrid, "But we really don't have time. I need to go to the bank. Fessewarts business, you know. And I need to make a withdrawal for Peter too."
"If you'd like to leave him here for a while, I'll look after him until you have finished at the bank," offered Mrs Sattonhim.
"That's very kind of you," Ingrid thanked her. "See you later, Peter."
"Now Peter," said Mrs Sattonhim as soon as Ingrid had left the shop, "Let's get you into the back office and see what we can do with you."
"Get me out of this robe!" demanded Peter.
"Of course, of course," Mrs Sattonhim assured him. "All in good time."
With surprising strength Mrs Sattonhim dragged him into an office at the rear of the shop. Once there, she hoisted up her own loose robe and stood astride him. She wore nothing at all underneath the robe.
"Ready?" she asked, and without waiting for a reply she descended onto his face.
It took fifteen minutes, and another fifteen to find Peter a robe that did not tighten as soon as he put it on. Mrs Sattonhim explained that the first robe would simply have refused to loosen until he had been thoroughly sat on, and thanked him for his attention to her.
"It would have been so tedious," she said, "If you weren't able to make me orgasm like that. These robes are quite particular about it. I don't know where I could have found someone who orgasms more easily at this time of day, and we would have been stuck for hours until we did."
Peter examined his new, black robe suspiciously.
"Oh, that one's all right," she assured him. "It has quite a different character. You won't have that sort of problem now."
At that moment, a young witch came into the shop. She was quite unlike anyone Peter had seen so far in Diaphragm Alley. Her long blonde hair shone, reflecting hte lights. Her robe was tight around her perfect breasts, with a plunging v-shape at the top that revealed more than a little of her smooth, white skin.
Peter had never seen a girl he instantly found so attractive and desirable. Apparently his robe thought so too. It decided to act immediately, and the front rolled up to his waist exposing his obvious excitement.
"Nice," said the witch.
"Perfect," declared Mrs Sattonhim. "We've definitely found the right robe for you!"
-
Chapter Two - Ingrid
"Why are we running away?" asked Peter.
"Never you mind," Eustace Bottomley told him, pulling harder on the oars of the little rowing boat. "I'm not staying to be mobbed by those Little Bustards."
"I'm cold," wailed Lotta pulling the coats around her tightly and completely failing to cover the rolls of fat completely.
Her mother tried to comfort her. "We'll soon be there," she assured her.
Peter was cold too, dressed only in his pyjamas. He could see the island towards which they were rowing, half hidden by the spray from the waves.
"That's it," said Eustace jumping from the boat and trying to pull it up onto the little beach. He failed to move it even an inch from the water until Lotta and his wife had also climbed out.
"It's not very big," commented Peter, looking at the ramshackle cottage. "How long are we going to be here?"
"As long as it takes," Eustace told him.
It was soon evident to Peter that he would not be forced to sleep under the beds here. Firstly, there were no beds, just mattresses on the floor. Secondly, there was only one room upstairs and one room downstairs, with nowhere near enough space for three beds. It was now late evening, and he found himself huddled in the corner of the upstairs room where Lotta and her mother were preparing to sleep for the night. Eustace Bottomley, armed with a shotgun, was downstairs. He had declared that he would stand guard all night and "blast the hell" out of any Little Bustard that dared to come close to the island.
"I'm cold," wailed Lotta again, looking doubtfully at the single large mattress on the floor of the room. "Mother, I'm cold. Keep me warm, Mother."
It would be fair to say that Mrs Bottomley did her best. It was unfortunate that she was completely unable to put her arms around the huge bulk of her daughter, and attempting to do so only resulted in the coats slipping from the girl and falling in a heap on the floor. Peter looked away.
"Come here, Peter," ordered Inger Bottomley. "Lotta needs to be warmed up."
"I'm not very warm myself," declared Peter. "I don't think I'll be much help."
"Come here," Inger insisted. "I'm not asking you to think. I'm telling you to come here and warm up Lotta."
Reluctantly Peter stood up and went across the room to where Lotta and her mother were sitting on the large mattress. He stood in front of them, helplessly trying to work out what he could do to help.
"Don't just stand there like a spare prick at a wedding," Inger told him. "Come right here."
She reached forward and made a grab for him, missing her target completely and catching only the front of his pyjama trousers. The thin material ripped.
"Oh," said Inger.
"Ooh," said Lotta.
"Oh help," said Peter.
"You have become a big boy," said Inger.
Peter tried to cover himself with his hands. Inger grabbed one of his arms and pulled him down onto the mattress between them.
"He can warm me up right now," suggested Lotta brightly. "I need warming. Leave him alone, Mother. That's not nice."
"I'm only holding him to stop him getting away," explained her mother. "And a bit of friction like this helps to generate some heat."
"I suppose so," Lotta agreed. "Do you think his head is warm? I always like to hold my hot water bottle between my legs when it's cold. It makes my whole body glow with warmth."
"I should think so," said Inger. "You're quite right. Having something hot between your legs does make your whole body warm. I'm going to warm up too..."
At that moment there was an almighty crash from downstairs. All three of them jumped up, and with Lotta in the lead they headed nervously down the wooden staircase. A terrifying sight met their eyes.
"Hello," said the terrifying sight as soon as it saw Lotta. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't know you had had a sex change. It was always a possibility, of course. Each to his own. It just hadn't occurred to me."
"I'm Peter," said Peter, trying to peer round Lotta and failing.
"Course you are, course you are," said the terrifying sight. "Pity they didn't do anything about the voice when they did the sex change. I'd have thought some liposuction might have been good while they were at it too, but there it is. No accounting for tastes, I suppose."
"No, I'm Peter," said Peter more loudly but still not able to find his way past Lotta. Desperate that the newcomer should realise who was talking, Peter made the mistake of trying to crawl between Lotta's legs. He had only managed to get his head through when she closed them on his neck, almost encasing him completely in the thick, blubbery flesh of her thighs.
"Ah, there you are, Peter" said the terrifying sight. "I'm Ingrid. I can see we'll be getting along famously. You like that sort of activity, do you? I'm sorry I can't promise you anything as soft and extensive as that young lady at Fessewarts. I'm a bit more solid myself. We'll have to see what we can do for you."
"No," protested Peter, struggling to free himself from Lotta's heavy femoral embrace and failing. "I'm just stuck."
"I'll help you," said Inger from behind him.
He felt Inger's hands on his buttocks, pushing him forward. What remained of his torn pyjamas came loose completely and fell to the floor. She continued to push, but somehow one of her hands had found its way between his buttocks while the other, apparently only trying to steady him, was between his legs clasping his genitals firmly.
"No! No! It's all right," he tried to tell her, giving up trying to push himself forward and deciding to reverse instead. As he successfully moved backwards, one of Inger's fingers pressed against his sphincter and into his rectum. He gasped in surprise and discomfort.
"Oh, sorry," she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest and not making any effort to remove her finger.
Lotta, quite unaware of what her mother was doing, decided she wanted to be as far from the terrifying Ingrid as possible. She too tried to move backwards, forcing Peter further back so that Inger's finger went deeper into him.
"You're in a bit of a fix there," Ingrid told Peter, apparently sensing what was happening even though she could not possibly have seen it. "I'll help you out."
From under her coat, Ingrid produced a very large pink vibrator. She pointed it at Lotta and muttered a few words. A grey stream erupted from the end of the vibrator looking very unpleasant. It hit Lotta a few inches below the waist. Immediately, Lotta's huge legs shrank, now looking as though they belonged to a size zero model yet still supporting the rest of her bulk admirably.
With nothing in front of him, Peter was flung forward as though he had just been shot from a cannon. Involuntarily, his sphincter muscle closed on Inger's finger, pulling her forward with him. He ended up face down in front of Ingrid, his buttocks clenched tightly on Inger's hand and with her lying on the back of his legs.
He looked up at Ingrid. "I'm Peter," he said. "Pleased to meet you. It's not always like this."
"Glad to hear it," said Ingrid. "I'm not always like this either. Please don't tell anyone I did that. I'm not really supposed to use my vibrator."