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The stone floor of Greenhouse Five should have felt cold and hard against Professor Mirabel Garlick's knees, but the woman kneeling before Hermione showed no discomfort. Her emerald teaching robes pooled around her like liquid, auburn hair cascading over her shoulders in waves that caught the golden afternoon light streaming through the fogged glass panels.
Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs. This was nothing like her encounters with Luna's dreamy surrender, Ginny's fierce passion, Susan's enthusiastic curiosity, or even Professor Sinistra's sophisticated seduction. Mirabel Garlick exuded a confident sensuality that made Hermione's nine inches strain painfully against her school skirt.
"Well?" Mirabel prompted, her green eyes bright with mischief. "Don't keep a lady waiting, Ms. Granger."
With trembling fingers, she reached for the hem of her skirt, lifting it slowly to reveal her plain cotton underwear, the fabric tented obscenely by her erection.
"My, my," Mirabel breathed, her gaze fixed on the prominent bulge. "Aurora wasn't exaggerating."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Professor Sinistra shouldn't have told you about me."
Mirabel tilted her head, copper hair falling across one eye in a way that was unfairly seductive. "Are you truly upset about that? Given our current... positioning?" Her hands slid up Hermione's bare thighs, fingertips tracing delicate patterns that raised goosebumps across Hermione's flesh.
"I suppose not," Hermione admitted, her voice catching as Mirabel's fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear.
"That's what I thought," Mirabel replied with a knowing smile. "Now, let me see this magical appendage of yours."
With deliberate slowness, she drew the cotton underwear down, releasing Hermione's cock from its confines. It sprang free, thick and rigid, bouncing slightly with the sudden freedom.
"Magnificent," Mirabel whispered, her eyes widening appreciatively. "Truly extraordinary magic."
The praise sent a flush of pride through Hermione, along with a deeper arousal that made her cock twitch visibly. Mirabel noticed, her smile deepening at the corners.
"Responsive, too," she observed, bringing her face closer without touching. Her warm breath caressed Hermione's sensitive skin, making it jump again. "I appreciate an... instrument... that communicates its desires so clearly."
Without warning, Mirabel leaned forward and placed a single, delicate kiss on the very tip of Hermione's cock. The contact was so light, so fleeting, that Hermione might have imagined it if not for the electric current that shot through her entire body.
"Oh!" she gasped, her knees threatening to buckle.
"Steady," Mirabel murmured, placing her hands on Hermione's thighs to stabilize her. "We've only just begun."
With that, she began a maddening campaign of featherlight kisses, starting at the tip and working her way down the shaft to the base, then back up again. Each press of her lips sent fresh waves of pleasure coursing through Hermione's body, building a tension that coiled tighter with every heartbeat.
"Professor—Mirabel—please," Hermione whimpered, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
"Please what, Ms. Granger?" Mirabel asked, pausing her ministrations to look up. The afternoon sunlight caught her eyes, turning them from deep green to luminous emerald. "You'll need to be specific about what you want."
Hermione, despite her previous experiences, found herself blushing. "Please... take me in your mouth."
"Such a polite request," Mirabel purred, rewarding her with a long, slow lick from base to tip that drew a strangled moan from Hermione's throat. "Since you asked so nicely..."
Finally, blessedly, Mirabel parted her full lips and took the head of Hermione's cock into her mouth. The wet heat enveloping her was so intense that Hermione had to bite her own lip to keep from crying out. Mirabel's tongue swirled expertly around the sensitive glans, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive Hermione wild without pushing her over the edge.
"Merlin's beard," Hermione whispered, one hand moving instinctively to touch Mirabel's auburn hair.
The professor pulled back immediately, releasing Hermione's cock with a soft pop. "Did I say you could touch me, Ms. Granger?"
The sudden return to her surname sent a thrill of submission through Hermione. "No, Professor."
"Hands at your sides," Mirabel instructed firmly. "Or shall we end this lesson now?"
"No!" Hermione replied too quickly, then composed herself. "I mean, I'll keep my hands down."
"Good girl," Mirabel said, the praise sending another unexpected pulse of pleasure through Hermione's body. "This is still my classroom, and in my classroom, you follow my instructions."
Without further warning, she took Hermione back into her mouth, deeper this time, her lips sliding halfway down the shaft before retreating. The slow, rhythmic motion had Hermione's hips twitching forward involuntarily, seeking more of that incredible warmth.
Mirabel adapted instantly, one hand gripping Hermione's hip to control her movements while the other wrapped around the base of her shaft, squeezing firmly—just enough to prevent Hermione from reaching climax too quickly.
"Not yet," she admonished, releasing Hermione's cock again. "You've much to learn about patience, Ms. Granger."
Hermione's chest heaved with labored breathing, her school shirt damp with sweat beneath her robes. "I'm trying," she managed, her voice strained.
"Trying isn't succeeding," Mirabel replied, rising gracefully to her feet. "Wait here."
The command was unnecessary—Hermione couldn't have moved if the greenhouse had caught fire. She watched, transfixed, as Mirabel glided to a glass cabinet at the far end of the workspace. The professor's movements were sensual, the sway of her hips pronounced as she selected a small crystal vial from among dozens of identical containers.
"One advantage of being a Herbology specialist," Mirabel explained, returning with the vial, "is understanding how plants can enhance human pleasure." She removed the stopper, releasing a scent so intoxicating that Hermione felt her head swim—honey and jasmine. "This oil is extracted from the Midnight Bloom of southern Madagascar. The flowers only open for one hour each lunar cycle."
She tipped a single drop onto her fingertip, the liquid shimmering with an inner luminescence. "The oil heightens sensation while prolonging stamina," she explained, her voice taking on the educational tone she used during lectures. "It's traditionally used in coming-of-age rituals by the local magical community."
Without warning, she reached out and smeared the drop along the underside of Hermione's cock, from base to tip in one smooth motion.
The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. Heat blossomed wherever the oil touched, not burning but intensifying every sensation tenfold. Hermione's knees truly did buckle this time, and she grabbed the edge of the workbench to keep from collapsing.
"Oh gods," she moaned, her cock twitching violently, precum beading at the tip.
"Powerful, isn't it?" Mirabel observed with clinical interest, though her dilated pupils betrayed her own arousal. "The sensation will build for about ten minutes before plateauing. By then, you'll be capable of maintaining a state of near-orgasm for hours without release."
"Hours?" Hermione gasped, already feeling as though she might explode at any moment.
"Unless I permit you to come sooner," Mirabel clarified, her smile turning predatory. "Which will depend entirely on how well you follow my instructions."
She returned to her knees, but this time, instead of taking Hermione into her mouth, she merely blew gently across the oil-slicked skin. The cool air against the sensitized flesh drew a helpless whimper from Hermione's lips.
"You've been quite the topic of conversation between Aurora and myself," Mirabel continued conversationally, as though they were discussing homework rather than Hermione's magically enhanced genitalia. "She described your performance as... enthusiastic but unrefined."
Despite her overwhelming arousal, Hermione felt a flash of indignation. "Unrefined?"
"Don't pout," Mirabel laughed, finally taking pity and wrapping her lips around Hermione's cock once more. This time, with the oil enhancing every sensation, the wet heat of her mouth was almost too much to bear. Hermione's vision blurred at the edges, a tingling pressure building at the base of her spine signaling imminent release.
Sensing this, Mirabel immediately pulled back, squeezing firmly at the base. "Not. Yet." The words were commanding, brooking no argument.
Hermione let out a frustrated groan, her hips jerking helplessly in search of the friction that had been denied. "Please," she begged, past caring how desperate she sounded.
"Patience is more than a virtue, Ms. Granger," Mirabel said, rising to her feet again. "It's a skill. One that will serve you well in all your... encounters." She began unbuttoning her emerald teaching robes, revealing the fitted blouse beneath that strained against her substantial curves. "The ability to delay gratification separates the merely adequate from the truly exceptional."
As the robes fell open completely, Hermione's mouth went dry. Beneath them, Mirabel wore not the expected professional attire but a tight, low-cut blouse that showcased her impressive cleavage and a matching skirt that hugged her hips before flaring out just above the knee. The outfit would have been considered modest in the Muggle world, but by Hogwarts' standards, it was positively scandalous.
"Like what you see?" Mirabel asked, shrugging the robes off her shoulders entirely. They fell to the greenhouse floor with a soft rustle. "Aurora mentioned you have an appreciation for the female form as well as your newfound... equipment."
Hermione could only nod, her gaze fixed on the swell of Mirabel's breasts against the silky fabric. Her cock twitched in response, a drop of clear fluid forming at the tip.
"Good," Mirabel purred, slowly working the buttons of her blouse. "Because seeing is only the beginning."
One by one, the buttons gave way to her nimble fingers, revealing more creamy skin with each passing second. Finally, the blouse hung open, exposing a lacy emerald bra that matched her eyes perfectly. Her breasts, full and heavy, strained against the delicate fabric, the dusky circles of her areolae just visible through the pattern of the lace.
"Still with me, Ms. Granger?" Mirabel asked, amusement coloring her tone.
Hermione realized she'd been staring openly, her mouth slightly agape. She snapped it shut, swallowing hard. "Yes, Professor."
"Excellent," Mirabel said, hopping up to sit on the edge of the workbench, her skirt riding up to reveal toned thighs. "Because I believe it's time for another lesson."
She beckoned Hermione closer with one crooked finger. When Hermione stood before her, she took the student's hands in her own and placed them deliberately on her own breasts. "Show me what you've learned from your... extra-curricular activities."
The weight of Mirabel's breasts in her hands sent a fresh surge of arousal through Hermione's body. They filled her palms perfectly, soft yet firm, and when she experimentally brushed her thumbs across the fabric-covered nipples, Mirabel's sharp intake of breath told her she was on the right track.
Emboldened, Hermione continued her ministrations, alternating between gentle squeezes and focused attention on the increasingly prominent nipples. Mirabel's breathing quickened, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench as she arched slightly into Hermione's touch.
"Not bad," she murmured, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "But I think you need a more comprehensive examination."
With that, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra in one fluid motion, allowing it to fall forward and freeing her breasts entirely. They were magnificent—full and round, tipped with dusky pink nipples that had hardened to tight peaks.
Hermione couldn't help herself. She leaned forward, taking one perfect nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it the way Luna had taught her. Mirabel's soft gasp was all the encouragement she needed to continue, alternating between gentle suction and nimble flicks of her tongue.
"Very good," Mirabel breathed, one hand coming up to tangle in Hermione's curls, holding her in place. "Clearly someone has been teaching you well."
The praise sent a ripple of pleasure down Hermione's spine, intensifying the ache between her legs. Her cock, still slick with the magical oil, throbbed painfully, demanding attention.
As if reading her thoughts, Mirabel gently pushed her back. "Not yet," she admonished. "You haven't earned your release."
She slid off the workbench and turned Hermione around so that their positions were reversed—now Hermione leaned against the wooden surface while Mirabel stood before her. With deliberate movements, the professor sank back to her knees, bringing her face level with Hermione's straining erection once more.
"Let's see how much control you've truly developed," she challenged, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Without further preamble, she took Hermione's entire length into her mouth in one smooth motion, her throat relaxing to accommodate the impressive size.
The sight of her proper Herbology professor on her knees, auburn hair falling around her face as she deep-throated Hermione's cock, was almost as overwhelming as the physical sensation itself. Hermione's head fell back, a guttural moan escaping her lips as Mirabel began to move, establishing a rhythm that brought her repeatedly to the edge without allowing her to tip over.
Every time Hermione felt her orgasm approaching, Mirabel would slow down or change technique, keeping her suspended in a state of exquisite torture. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the magical oil amplifying every sensation until Hermione was a trembling, whimpering mess.
"Please," she finally begged, beyond pride or pretense. "Please let me come."
Mirabel pulled back, her lips glistening and slightly swollen from her efforts. "Not yet, Ms. Granger," she replied, her voice husky with her own arousal. "First, you're going to demonstrate what else you've learned in your... private studies."
She rose once more, hitching her skirt up around her waist to reveal emerald lace panties that matched her discarded bra. With a graceful movement, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid them down her legs, stepping out of them and kicking them aside.
"Your next assignment," she announced, boosting herself back onto the workbench and spreading her thighs wide, "is right here."
The sight of Mirabel's exposed sex, glistening with evidence of her arousal, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through Hermione. The professor's auburn curls were neatly trimmed, framing pink folds that practically begged for attention.
"Well?" Mirabel prompted, leaning back on her hands. "Show me what you can do with that clever tongue of yours, Ms. Granger."
Despite her previous experiences with Luna, Ginny, and Susan, Hermione felt a momentary flutter of nervousness. This was different—a fully grown woman, experienced and expectant, evaluating her performance with the same critical eye she might apply to a poorly executed Herbology project.
As if sensing her hesitation, Mirabel's expression softened slightly. "Come here," she encouraged, her voice gentler. "I'll guide you."
Hermione stepped forward, positioning herself between Mirabel's spread thighs. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione leaned in and placed a tentative kiss on Mirabel's inner thigh, just inches from her center. The professor shivered in response, her fingers threading through Hermione's curls in silent encouragement.
"Don't tease," Mirabel admonished, though her breathless tone belied any real irritation. "Not unless you're prepared to follow through."
Taking the hint, Hermione moved higher, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin until she reached her destination. With newfound confidence, she ran her tongue along Mirabel's slit in one long, deliberate stroke from bottom to top, ending with a swirl around the swollen bud of her clitoris.
Emboldened, she repeated the motion, exploring and memorizing every fold and texture, noting which areas drew the strongest reactions.
"Yes," Mirabel hissed, her hips tilting upward to increase the contact. "Just like that."
The praise spurred Hermione on, her initial nervousness transforming into determined enthusiasm. She settled into a rhythm, alternating broad strokes with focused attention on Mirabel's clit, occasionally dipping her tongue inside to taste more of the professor's essence.
Mirabel's breathing grew more ragged, her fingers tightening in Hermione's hair. "You're a fast learner," she gasped, her professional demeanor cracking under the assault of Hermione's increasingly confident tongue. "Now use your fingers—two inside, curl them upward."
Hermione complied eagerly, sliding two fingers into Mirabel's slick heat while maintaining the rhythm of her tongue. The professor was hot and tight around her fingers, inner walls clenching as Hermione curled her digits upward, searching for that special spot.
She knew she'd found it when Mirabel jerked suddenly, a strangled cry escaping her lips. "There!" she commanded, her voice strained. "Don't stop!"
Hermione redoubled her efforts, her tongue circling and flicking in time with the thrusting of her fingers, gradually increasing the pace as Mirabel's responses grew more frantic. Her cock throbbed painfully between her legs, leaking precum onto the greenhouse floor, but she ignored her own need, focused entirely on bringing the professor to climax.
"Oh gods," Mirabel moaned, her hips now moving of their own accord, grinding against Hermione's face. "I'm close—don't you dare stop—"
The professional mask had fallen completely now, replaced by raw, uninhibited desire. Hermione felt a surge of power at reducing her composed professor to this state, her confidence growing with every gasp and shudder she elicited.
Suddenly, Mirabel's thighs clamped around Hermione's head, her back arching as she cried out. "Yes! Right there, right—oh fuck!"
The professor's release washed over her in waves, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around Hermione's fingers as she continued her ministrations, drawing out the orgasm for as long as possible. Only when Mirabel's hand gently pushed her away did she finally relent, sitting back on her heels to admire her handiwork.
Mirabel lay sprawled on the workbench, chest heaving, a flush spreading from her cheeks down to her exposed breasts. Her eyes, when they finally fluttered open, held a new respect as they fixed on Hermione.
"Well," she managed between breaths, "it seems Aurora was right about your potential, if not your current skill level."
Despite the qualified praise, Hermione felt a surge of pride. She had done this—reduced a grown woman, a professor, to a quivering, gasping mess.
Mirabel pushed herself up on her elbows, her hair delightfully disheveled, her expression soft with post-orgasmic glow. "You've earned a reward, I think," she said, her voice warm with affection. "You've been such a good girl."
Those words—"good girl"—stirred something unexpected in Hermione's chest. She'd heard them before, of course. Luna had whispered them reverently in the Astronomy Tower, Ginny had gasped them in the prefects' bathroom, Professor Sinistra had murmured them in her office, and Susan had giggled them in the library stacks.
But hearing them from Mirabel's lips, seeing the genuine approval in those emerald eyes—something shifted inside Hermione. A subtle realignment, like puzzle pieces falling into their proper places.
"Have I?" Hermione heard herself ask, her voice lower than usual, almost challenging.
Mirabel's eyebrows rose slightly, noting the change in tone. "Indeed you have," she replied, sliding off the workbench to stand before Hermione again. "But your education is far from complete."
"What's next on the curriculum, Professor?" Hermione asked, suddenly aware of her own nakedness from the waist down, her nine inches still rigid and aching, glistening with the magical oil and her own precum.
Mirabel's gaze dropped to Hermione's erection, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in an unconscious gesture of desire. "I believe it's time I properly appreciated your... unique anatomy," she said, reaching out to trail her fingers along Hermione's length.
Even that light touch sent shivers of pleasure racing up Hermione's spine, the oil having rendered her almost painfully sensitive. "I'd like that," she managed, her voice catching as Mirabel's fingers circled her girth.
"I'm sure you would," Mirabel smiled, a teasing glint in her eye. She sank gracefully to her knees once more, but this time, Hermione remained standing, looking down at her professor with new eyes.
From this angle, with Mirabel kneeling naked before her, the power dynamic seemed suddenly, startlingly reversed. No longer was she the student receiving instruction; now she towered above her teacher, her cock level with those perfect lips that had so recently been issuing commands.
"Do you know what I'm going to do now, Ms. Granger?" Mirabel asked, her breath warm against Hermione's sensitive skin.
"I have some ideas," Hermione replied, surprising herself with the confidence in her tone.
Mirabel's eyes widened slightly, a flash of recognition—and approval—crossing her features. "I'm going to take this magnificent cock into my mouth," she said, her fingers still stroking Hermione with maddening lightness. "And this time, I'm going to let you come."
"Is that so?" Hermione heard herself say, one hand moving to cup Mirabel's cheek. The gesture was tender but somehow possessive, her thumb brushing across Mirabel's lower lip. "And what if I have other plans?"
A visible shiver ran through the professor's body, her pupils dilating further. "Other plans?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Mmmm," Hermione hummed noncommittally, her thumb pressing more firmly against Mirabel's plush lower lip. "Open your mouth, Professor."
The command hung in the air between them. For a moment, neither moved, each assessing this new territory they'd wandered into.
Then, slowly, Mirabel parted her lips, allowing Hermione's thumb to slip into the wet heat of her mouth. The gesture was undeniably submissive, a surrender of control that sent a heady rush of power through Hermione's veins.
"That's it," Hermione breathed, gently withdrawing her thumb to trace the moisture along Mirabel's cheek. "Now, I want you to show me exactly how deep you can take me."
Mirabel's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and arousal at Hermione's directness. "Yes, Ms. Granger," she replied, the formal address now taking on an entirely different connotation.
Hermione's hand moved to tangle in Mirabel's auburn hair, not forcefully but with clear intent. "Don't tease this time," she instructed, echoing the professor's earlier words back to her. "Not unless you're prepared to follow through."
A smile quirked the corner of Mirabel's mouth, appreciation for the callback evident in her expression. "No teasing," she agreed, leaning forward to place a reverent kiss on the tip of Hermione's cock. "Just pleasure."
With that, she opened her mouth wide and took Hermione in, sliding halfway down her length in one smooth motion. The wet heat engulfing her sent sparks dancing behind Hermione's eyelids, the magical oil amplifying every sensation tenfold.
"Oh gods," Hermione gasped, her fingers tightening involuntarily in Mirabel's hair.
Encouraged by this response, Mirabel took her deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate Hermione's impressive size. Her eyes watered slightly with the effort, but she didn't stop until her nose pressed against Hermione's lower abdomen, her lips stretched wide around the base of her shaft.
The sight of her Herbology professor kneeling naked before her, taking all nine inches down her throat without hesitation, awakened something in Hermione. Her hips jerked forward of their own accord, pressing even deeper into that welcoming heat.
Mirabel made a small choking sound, but didn't pull away. Instead, her hands came up to grip Hermione's thighs, steadying herself as she adjusted to the intrusion.
"Sorry," Hermione began, loosening her grip on Mirabel's hair.
But the professor shook her head slightly, eyes looking up to meet Hermione's with a clear message: Don't stop.
Understanding dawned, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through Hermione's body. "You want me to fuck your mouth, don't you, Professor?" she asked, her voice rough with desire.
Mirabel couldn't speak with her mouth so thoroughly occupied, but the eager gleam in her eyes was answer enough.
"Very well," Hermione said, both hands now tangled in Mirabel's auburn waves. "Since you asked so nicely."
With careful, measured movements, she began to withdraw, pulling back until only the head remained between Mirabel's lips, then slowly pushing forward again. Each thrust went a little deeper, a little faster, establishing a rhythm that had Mirabel moaning around her cock, the vibrations adding yet another layer to the overwhelming pleasure.
"That's it," Hermione encouraged, watching Mirabel's face for any sign of discomfort. "Take it all."
The greenhouse filled with obscene wet sounds as Hermione's pace increased, her control gradually slipping as the combination of the magical oil, Mirabel's expert technique, and the sheer erotic power of the situation drove her closer to the edge.
Mirabel's eyes never left hers, watering slightly from the effort but blazing with unmistakable desire. One of her hands had moved between her own legs, fingers working frantically as she pleasured herself in time with Hermione's thrusts.
"Look at you," Hermione marveled, her voice husky with exertion. "The esteemed Professor Garlick, touching herself while choking on a student's cock."
The crude words surprised even Hermione herself—she'd never spoken so brazenly before. Yet they felt right in this moment.
Mirabel's eyes widened at the dirty talk, a fresh moan vibrating around Hermione's length. Her fingers moved faster between her legs, her arousal clearly heightened by Hermione's newfound dominance.
"Do you like that, Professor?" Hermione continued, emboldened by the response. "Being on your knees for me? Taking my cock down your throat like a—"
She caught herself before completing the vulgar comparison, still not entirely comfortable with such explicit language despite her rapidly evolving sexual confidence.
Mirabel, however, seemed to have no such reservations. She pulled back just enough to free her mouth, her hand replacing her lips to keep stimulating Hermione's shaft. "Like a what, Ms. Granger?" she challenged, her voice raspy from the throat-fucking. "Like a slut? Is that what you were going to say?"
Hermione's cheeks burned, but she didn't back down. "Yes," she admitted. "Like a slut."
"Then say it," Mirabel demanded, her hand still working Hermione's cock with expert precision. "Tell me exactly what I am to you right now."
The professor's unexpected eagerness for degradation both shocked and aroused Hermione further. "You're taking my cock down your throat like a slut," she said, the words feeling foreign yet thrilling on her tongue.
"Yes," Mirabel hissed, her eyes blazing with approval. "And do you know why, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione shook her head, momentarily speechless.
"Because I've wanted to taste you since the moment Aurora told me about your transformation," Mirabel confessed, her free hand still working between her own legs. "I've fantasized about this magnificent cock for weeks."
The admission sent a fresh surge of arousal through Hermione's body. "Then get back to work, Professor," she commanded, guiding Mirabel's head back toward her erection. "Show me how badly you've wanted it."
With a moan of pure desire, Mirabel obediently opened her mouth, allowing Hermione to slide back between her lips. This time, there was no hesitation, no gradual build-up—Hermione thrust forward with newfound confidence, burying herself to the hilt in Mirabel's willing throat.
The professor took it beautifully, her eyes watering but still fixed on Hermione's face with undisguised hunger. Her hands gripped Hermione's thighs for support as she surrendered control completely, allowing her student to use her mouth at will.
"That's it," Hermione praised, falling into a rhythm that had them both moaning. "Take it all, Professor. Show me what that clever mouth can really do."
Each thrust pushed Hermione closer to the edge, the magical oil ensuring that every sensation was amplified to nearly unbearable intensity. She could feel her orgasm building at the base of her spine, a gathering pressure that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment.
"I'm getting close," she warned, her fingers tightening in Mirabel's hair. "Do you want me to stop?"
Mirabel's response was to dig her nails into Hermione's thighs, urging her to continue without breaking the rhythm.
"You want me to come in your mouth?" Hermione asked, needing verbal confirmation despite the obvious answer.
Mirabel pulled back just enough to gasp, "Yes," before engulfing Hermione once more, her enthusiasm unmistakable.
That single word of permission was all Hermione needed. With a few final, powerful thrusts, she buried herself in Mirabel's throat and let go, her release crashing over her like a tidal wave.
"Oh fuck, Mirabel!" she cried, abandoning formality entirely as pleasure exploded through her body. Her knees threatened to buckle as pulse after pulse of her seed flooded Mirabel's eager mouth, the professor swallowing diligently around her.
The intensity of her orgasm was unlike anything Hermione had experienced before—whether due to the magical oil, the forbidden nature of their encounter, or her own emerging dominance, she couldn't say. All she knew was that for several glorious moments, the universe contracted to a single point of pure, white-hot pleasure.
When she finally came back to herself, she found Mirabel looking up at her with an expression of smug satisfaction, a single drop of Hermione's release clinging to the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, Hermione brushed it away with her thumb, then offered it to Mirabel, who sucked it clean with obvious relish.
"Well," the professor said, her voice hoarse but pleased, "it seems you've been holding out on poor Aurora. That was... commanding."
Hermione helped Mirabel to her feet, surprised to find her own legs somewhat unsteady. "I've never... that is, I haven't..."
"Been quite so dominant before?" Mirabel supplied, reaching for her discarded blouse. "I thought as much. It suits you, though."
"You think so?" Hermione asked, suddenly self-conscious now that the heat of the moment had passed.
Mirabel paused, blouse hanging open, to cup Hermione's face between her hands. "Hermione, you're a natural leader in every other aspect of your life. Why should this be any different?"
The observation struck Hermione as profoundly insightful. It was true—she took charge in the classroom, in prefect duties. Why had she assumed her sexual identity would follow a different pattern?
"Besides," Mirabel continued, a wicked gleam returning to her eye as she noted Hermione's cock, which hadn't softened despite her recent orgasm—another effect of the magical oil, apparently. "We're far from finished here."
She turned away from Hermione, bending over the workbench, her skirt still bunched around her waist. The position displayed her perfect, heart-shaped ass and the glistening pink of her sex, still wet from her earlier orgasm and subsequent self-pleasuring.
Looking over her shoulder, she fixed Hermione with a challenging stare. "Unless you're satisfied with just one lesson today, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione's cock twitched in response, already hardening to its full nine inches once more. The sight of her professor presented so wantonly, offering herself up for Hermione's pleasure, sent fresh heat coursing through her veins.
"No, Professor," she replied, stepping forward to place her hands on Mirabel's hips. "I believe I have much more to learn."
Mirabel's smile was pure seduction, her auburn hair falling across her face as she arched her back invitingly. "Then show me what else you can do with that magnificent cock of yours, Hermione. I'm waiting."
Hermione approached Mirabel's inviting form, her mind racing with possibilities. This wasn't like her first nervous coupling with Luna, nor Ginny's competitive fire, nor Susan's enthusiastic experimentation, nor even Professor Sinistra's sophisticated guidance. This was something new entirely—Mirabel had deliberately handed over control, challenging Hermione to embrace a dominant side she'd only glimpsed within herself.
"Are you just going to stand there admiring the view, Ms. Granger?" Mirabel teased, wiggling her hips slightly. "Not that I mind the appreciation, but I'd prefer something more... substantial."
The playful taunt ignited a fire in Hermione's chest. With newfound confidence, she stepped forward and delivered a sharp, unexpected smack to Mirabel's right cheek. The sound echoed through the greenhouse, followed immediately by Mirabel's startled gasp.
"Patience, Professor," Hermione said, echoing Mirabel's earlier admonishment. "Or have you forgotten your own lesson so quickly?"
Mirabel looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide with surprise and unmistakable excitement. "My apologies," she replied, her voice breathy. "Please continue at your own pace."
"That's better," Hermione murmured, running her palm soothingly over the slight pink mark she'd left. Mirabel's skin was impossibly soft, warm beneath her touch. "I think I'll take my time exploring what's being offered so... generously."
She trailed her fingers down the cleft of Mirabel's ass, dipping briefly between her legs to find her still slick with arousal. "So wet," she observed, circling Mirabel's entrance without penetrating. "Is this all for me, Professor?"
"Yes," Mirabel breathed, pushing back against Hermione's teasing fingers. "Please, Hermione—"
Another sharp smack cut off her plea, this time to her left cheek. "I didn't give you permission to beg, did I?" Hermione asked, surprising herself with how naturally the words came. "You'll take what I give you, when I choose to give it."
A visible shudder ran through Mirabel's body, goosebumps rising across her exposed flesh. "Yes, Ms. Granger," she whispered, lowering her gaze submissively.
Hermione felt a heady rush of power at the sight of her professor's surrender. She traced the curve of Mirabel's spine with her fingertips, from the nape of her neck all the way down to the dimples just above her ass. Her skin was like silk, flushed with desire and slightly damp with perspiration.
"You have a beautiful body, Professor," Hermione observed, her hands moving to knead Mirabel's ass cheeks appreciatively. "It would be a shame not to give it the thorough attention it deserves."
Without warning, she dropped to her knees behind Mirabel, bringing her face level with the professor's perfect heart-shaped posterior. From this angle, she could see everything—the glistening pink of Mirabel's sex, swollen with arousal, and above it, the tight ring of her other entrance, a shade darker than the surrounding skin.
"What are you—oh!" Mirabel's question dissolved into a shocked moan as Hermione leaned forward and placed a deliberate kiss directly on her right cheek, then her left, then directly on the sensitive skin between her legs.
"Did Professor Sinistra tell you about this particular skill of mine?" Hermione asked, her breath hot against Mirabel's most intimate areas.
"N-no," Mirabel stammered, her fingers clutching the edge of the workbench. "She didn't mention this."
"Good," Hermione replied, pleased to know she was about to introduce her professor to something new. "Then consider this an extra credit assignment."
With that, she spread Mirabel's cheeks with her hands and ran her tongue in a long, deliberate stroke from her clit all the way up to the small of her back. Mirabel's entire body jerked at the contact, a strangled cry escaping her lips.
"Merlin's beard!" she gasped, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the workbench harder.
Encouraged by this reaction, Hermione repeated the motion, this time lingering at Mirabel's other entrance, circling it teasingly with the tip of her tongue. The taboo nature of the act sent a fresh surge of arousal to her already aching cock.
"Has anyone ever touched you here, Professor?" she asked, punctuating the question with another exploratory lick.
"No," Mirabel admitted, her voice thick with desire. "Never like this."
The confession filled Hermione with a possessive pride. "Then I'm honored to be the first," she said, before returning to her ministrations with renewed enthusiasm.
She worked methodically, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention, learning which movements drew the strongest reactions from the increasingly vocal professor. Mirabel's restraint was crumbling rapidly, her formal demeanor replaced by raw, uninhibited responses.
"Oh gods," Mirabel moaned, her hips pushing back against Hermione's mouth. "That feels incredible."
Hermione hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. With careful attention, she circled Mirabel's tight entrance with her tongue, gradually increasing the pressure until the muscle relaxed enough to allow the tip of her tongue to slip inside.
Mirabel's reaction was immediate and explosive. "Fuck!" she cried, her back arching sharply. "Hermione!"
The sound of her given name—not "Ms. Granger," not "you," but "Hermione"—spurred her on. She worked her tongue deeper, one hand reaching between Mirabel's legs to slide two fingers into her dripping wet center.
The dual stimulation proved too much for the professor. Within moments, her thighs began to tremble, her internal muscles clenching around Hermione's fingers as she balanced on the precipice of release.
"Please," Mirabel begged, abandoning all pretense of control. "Please let me come, Hermione, please—"
Hermione pulled back just enough to speak, her fingers still working inside the professor. "Come for me, Mirabel," she commanded. "Now."
As if her body had been waiting for permission, Mirabel shattered instantly, a keening wail escaping her as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Hermione continued her attentions throughout, drawing out the orgasm until Mirabel collapsed forward onto the workbench, her legs barely supporting her weight.
"Magnificent," Hermione murmured, rising to her feet and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her own arousal was reaching painful levels, her nine inches standing proudly at attention, the magical oil ensuring she remained almost painfully sensitive.
Mirabel looked back at her, face flushed and hair wild, her eyes glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. "Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Hermione smiled enigmatically. "I'm a quick study, Professor. Isn't that what all my instructors say?"
Mirabel laughed breathlessly. "Clearly they underestimate just how quick." She pushed herself up on shaky arms, assuming her previous position with her ass presented invitingly. "But I believe there's still one more lesson to complete today."
The sight of her professor offering herself so wantonly sent a fresh pulse of desire through Hermione's body. She stepped forward, positioning herself behind Mirabel, the head of her cock brushing teasingly against her entrance.
"Are you ready for me, Professor?" she asked, her hands gripping Mirabel's hips firmly.
"Yes," Mirabel breathed, pushing back eagerly. "Please, Hermione. I need to feel you inside me."
The naked want in her voice was all the encouragement Hermione needed. With one smooth thrust, she buried herself to the hilt in Mirabel's waiting heat. Both women moaned in unison, the sensation overwhelming after so much buildup.
"Oh fuck," Mirabel gasped, her inner walls fluttering around Hermione's considerable length. "You're so deep—I can feel you everywhere."
The tight, wet heat enveloping Hermione was exquisite, amplified by the magical oil that still coated her shaft. She remained still for a moment, allowing both of them to adjust to the intense sensation.
"You feel amazing," Hermione murmured, her hands sliding up to cup Mirabel's breasts, which hung heavy beneath her, nipples brushing against the wooden workbench with each slight movement. "So tight around me."
"Please move," Mirabel urged, wiggling her hips impatiently. "I need you to fuck me, Hermione."
The crude request from her proper professor's lips sent a jolt of arousal straight to Hermione's core. She withdrew slowly until only the head remained inside, then slammed forward with a force that pushed Mirabel against the workbench, drawing a startled cry from her lips.
"Like that, Professor?" Hermione asked, repeating the motion with equal force. "Is this what you need?"
"Yes!" Mirabel cried, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wooden surface. "Harder—please, Hermione, harder!"
Hermione obliged, establishing a punishing rhythm that had the workbench creaking beneath them. The greenhouse filled with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh, Mirabel's moans growing increasingly uninhibited with each powerful thrust.
On impulse, Hermione delivered another sharp smack to Mirabel's rear, the impact leaving a perfect red handprint on her pale skin. The professor's reaction was instantaneous—a shuddering gasp followed by a tightening of her inner muscles that nearly pushed Hermione over the edge.
"You like that, don't you?" Hermione observed, delivering another smack to the opposite cheek. "The esteemed Professor Garlick enjoys being spanked while she's being fucked."
"Yes," Mirabel admitted shamelessly, pushing back to meet each thrust. "Gods, yes—don't stop, please don't stop!"
Hermione established a rhythm—thrust, smack, thrust, smack—that had Mirabel babbling incoherently, reduced to nothing but raw sensation and need. The power of it was intoxicating, watching her composed, intelligent professor come completely undone beneath her.
"Who do you belong to right now, Professor?" Hermione demanded, her voice rough with exertion. The question surprised even her—it was possessive, unlike anything she'd ever said before.
"You," Mirabel gasped without hesitation. "I'm yours, Hermione—all yours!"
"Say my name again," Hermione commanded, her pace increasing as she felt her own release building, the magical oil ensuring each thrust sent waves of almost unbearable pleasure through her body.
"Hermione," Mirabel moaned. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!"
The sound of her name falling from those lips like a prayer pushed Hermione to the edge. She could feel Mirabel's inner walls beginning to clench again, signaling another approaching orgasm.
"Are you going to come for me again, Professor?" she asked, reaching around to circle Mirabel's swollen clit with her fingers.
"Yes!" Mirabel cried, her whole body tensing. "I'm so close—please, Hermione, come with me!"
Hermione increased her pace to a near frenzy, her hips slapping against Mirabel's ass with enough force to leave marks. "I'm going to fill you up," she promised, her voice barely recognizable through her own haze of pleasure. "Going to come so deep inside you, Mirabel."
"Yes!" Mirabel screamed, her body going rigid as her orgasm crashed over her. "Now, Hermione—now!"
The feeling of Mirabel's inner walls clamping down on her cock was Hermione's undoing. With a final, powerful thrust, she buried herself to the hilt and let go, her release erupting in hot pulses deep inside the professor's welcoming body. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, more intense than anything she'd ever experienced before.
Time seemed to suspend as they rode out their shared climax, bodies locked together in perfect union. Only when the last aftershock had passed did Hermione collapse forward, her chest pressing against Mirabel's sweat-slicked back, both women gasping for breath.
"Merlin's beard," Mirabel whispered after several moments of silence, her voice filled with awe. "That was..."
"Extraordinary," Hermione finished for her, carefully withdrawing and helping Mirabel stand upright. She turned the professor in her arms, studying her flushed face with newfound tenderness. "Are you alright? I got a bit... carried away."
Mirabel laughed, the sound light and genuine. "More than alright, Hermione. You're a natural dominant, whether you realized it or not." She reached up to brush a stray curl from Hermione's forehead, the gesture unexpectedly intimate. "Aurora will be quite jealous when I tell her."
The mention of Professor Sinistra brought reality crashing back. Hermione suddenly became acutely aware of their surroundings—the greenhouse, the school, the fact that she'd just thoroughly fucked one of her professors against a workbench.
"Don't worry," Mirabel said, accurately reading Hermione's expression. "What happens in Greenhouse Five stays in Greenhouse Five." She pressed a soft kiss to Hermione's lips, their first actual kiss since the encounter began. "Though I do hope we'll have the opportunity to continue your... education... in the future."
Hermione smiled, relaxing into the warmth of Mirabel's embrace. "I'd like that, Professor." She glanced down at herself, suddenly remembering she was still half-naked, her school skirt bunched around her waist, her softening cock sticky with the evidence of their coupling. "We should probably get dressed before someone comes looking for us."
"Indeed," Mirabel agreed, reluctantly stepping away to retrieve her scattered clothing. "Though I've placed enough wards on the door to keep out anyone short of Dumbledore himself."
They dressed in companionable silence, Hermione occasionally catching Mirabel's eye and sharing a secret smile.
"You know," Mirabel said as she buttoned her blouse, her fingers still slightly unsteady, "I might be able to help with your research into what caused your transformation. I have some connections in the experimental herbology community that might have insights."
"That would be wonderful," Hermione replied earnestly, tucking in her uniform shirt. "Though I'm not entirely sure I want to reverse it anymore."
Mirabel smiled knowingly. "I can certainly understand why. It seems to have brought you some rather... memorable experiences."
Before Hermione could respond, a silvery cat materialized through the greenhouse wall, padding silently across the floor to stop before them. Professor McGonagall's Patronus, Hermione recognized with a jolt of alarm.
The cat opened its mouth, and McGonagall's crisp Scottish brogue filled the greenhouse: "Ms. Granger, your presence is required in the hospital wing immediately. Ms. Lovegood has been attacked."
The silvery cat Patronus dissolved into mist, leaving a chilling emptiness in its wake. The warmth that had suffused the greenhouse moments before evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold dread that settled in Hermione's stomach like lead.
"Luna," she whispered, color draining from her face.
Mirabel's expression shifted from post-coital contentment to professional concern in an instant. "Go," she urged, helping Hermione straighten her uniform tie. "I'll clean up here."
Hermione's mind raced as she hastily gathered her belongings, shoving them haphazardly into her school bag. Luna had been following Draco—had he discovered her? Or had someone else caught her spying? The possibilities multiplied with each passing second, each more alarming than the last.
"Hermione," Mirabel said softly, catching her arm as she turned to leave. "When you can, let me know she's alright."
The genuine worry in Mirabel's eyes momentarily penetrated Hermione's rising panic. She nodded, touched by the professor's concern for a student she barely knew. "I will. And thank you... for everything."
Mirabel smiled gently, tucking a stray curl behind Hermione's ear. "What happened between us—it wasn't just..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "It wasn't just physical for me. I want you to know that."
"For me neither," she admitted. "But right now—"
"You need to go," Mirabel finished for her, stepping back and assuming her professional demeanor once more. "We'll talk later. Go to your friend."
With a grateful nod, Hermione hurried to the greenhouse door, pausing only long enough for Mirabel to remove the locking charms. The cool air of the corridor was a shock after the tropical warmth of Greenhouse Five, helping to clear her head as she broke into a run toward the castle's main building.
Her footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, most students still in their final classes of the day. Her mind spun with questions and fears. Luna had been so careful, so cautious in her surveillance of Draco. What had gone wrong? And how badly was she hurt? McGonagall's message had been typically terse, revealing nothing about the nature or severity of the attack.
As she rounded the corner to the hospital wing, Hermione forced herself to slow down, to compose herself before facing whatever waited beyond those doors. She couldn't bear the thought of Luna—gentle, perceptive Luna who saw beauty in the strangest places—lying injured because of a mission Hermione had asked her to undertake.
"Please be okay," she whispered to herself, straightening her robes and pushing open the heavy wooden doors.
The antiseptic smell of the hospital wing hit her immediately, along with the hushed atmosphere that always pervaded Madam Pomfrey's domain. Several beds were occupied, curtains drawn around them for privacy. At the far end, a cluster of figures stood in quiet conversation—Professor McGonagall's tall, straight-backed silhouette immediately recognizable among them.
Hermione approached with measured steps, her heart thundering in her chest. As she drew nearer, the group parted, revealing a pale figure in the bed, blonde hair spread across the pillow like a halo.
Luna's eyes were closed, her face unnaturally white except for an angry red that went from under her ear to her neck.
McGonagall turned, noticing Hermione's approach. "Ms. Granger," she said quietly, her usual sternness tempered with genuine concern. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
Hermione barely heard her, her focus entirely on Luna's still form. "What happened to her?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We don't know Hermione," It took a moment for Hermione to remember that Harry was also there, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Luna concerned. "I found her lying on the snow, she was bleeding out, but Madam Rosmerta reassured me that she will be fine, but it will take a while."
"Thank you, Harry." Hermione said with genuine affection as she sat down, looking at Luna's face. Whoever did this would pay.
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