“So… how do I compare to young Miss Sweeting?” Professor Garlick broke the silence first - but she didn’t break the spell her kiss had put over Miguel.
The young wizard was in a stupor, face flushed, heart pounding hard against his ribcage. He was barely able to keep steady on legs turned to jelly. Other things, however, were struck with rigidness. Was this the natural enchantment of women? And Merlin, the way she was looking at him with that smile and the glee shining in her eyes.
The Hero of Hogwarts opened and closed his mouth in a valiant effort to find his voice again. He succeeded… eventually.
“I… you… Good. It was good.” Miguel’s cheeks burned. He hoped beyond hope that the professor didn’t notice the crack in his voice. Thankfully, she mentioned nothing of it. Instead, he faced a different sort of shame as the older woman’s brow went up.
“Only good?” She asked pointedly - though if Miguel’s nerves hadn’t been on the fritz, he might have noticed she was only teasing him.
“No. No! Very good! Great, actually! Probably the best kiss I’ve ever had!” Miguel insisted quickly. Merlin, why wouldn’t his heart just settle down?
“Oh?” Mirabel’s new look offered the young man no salvation. A smirk over folded arms… and eyes that pierced right through him. Like he was made of nothing but smoke. “You’ve kissed plenty of witches, then?”
Miguel swallowed.
“No.” He admitted, wincing. “Just you. Poppy. Another girl from back home.”
Mirabel studied him for a moment. A few excruciating seconds.
“Hm. The high praise is flattering all the same. You were not so bad yourself, you know.”
Her words jolted him, putting some stiffness back into his bones. He read the redhead’s face and saw she wasn’t teasing him then. There was warmth in his cheeks again. The more welcome sort.
“Really?” Miguel blurted out. At least his voice didn’t crack this time.
Mirabel once again found his flustered expression amusing. She patted his chest, pretending to brush away dirt that wasn’t there. Miguel enjoyed her touch… though he tried not to show it too hard.
“Yes, really. And I’ve kissed quite a few people. Other girls, mostly.”
Just when he thought he’d gotten his wits in order, she had to go and say something like that. A beautiful young witch kissing other beautiful young witches. Miguel’s mind endured a flood of thoughts. Vivid, detailed thoughts. Were they simple, little kisses like what he did with Poppy? Slow, exploring kisses like what Mirabel had done with him? Or were they deeper, fiery, passionate kisses like what he’d read about in his father’s hidden books-
“Men.” Mirabel snickered. She had that look again, like she was seeing right through him. “Always so fascinated by the sapphic. You look more dazed now than when I kissed you.”
“I- Sorry. My mind wanders.”
“At least it wandered somewhere nice. Kissing girls is fun, isn’t it?”
Miguel nodded emphatically, letting loose a long, shaky breath. “It’s the greatest thing in the world.”
Stifled laughter sweetened the air as the professor made a half-hearted attempt to cover her mouth. Miguel’s face was burning again but Mirabel soothed him with gentle pats on the chest.
“Greatest in the world? Not quite. But it’s close. You’ll come to understand that soon enough.”
“I will?” His embarrassment forgotten for a moment, Miguel hung on the older witch’s words. A new sort of shine came to her eyes then as she seemed to drink him in. She was considering him, he realized, and the way she was chewing on her lower lip nearly had Miguel’s mind wandering to sweeter places again. Thankfully, what Mirabel said to him next gripped his full, undivided attention.
“You’re already my assistant. Perhaps… I can teach you how to kiss. And other things as well. Important things.”
“Important?” Miguel nearly croaked the word.
“Important for a young man to know.” Mirabel clarified. Her hands on his chest were so warm, her touch so gentle. Smooth, little circles lighting up the nerves of his skin, even through his shirt. “How to court a young witch… and how to treat her afterward. How to be intimate. Would you like that, Miguel?”
The young hero’s heart was right back to hammering.
“By intimate… you mean…?”
“Romance. Making love. Sex.” The words sounded sweeter than music as they floated from the professor’s lips. Mirabel looked him straight in the eye as she spoke and Miguel could see there was no teasing. Not anymore. She slid her hands up, touching his face now. “I can teach you to be the young wizard straight from Miss Sweeting’s dreams.
It was an incredible offer. Yet that was why Miguel could hardly believe it. Even if Miss Garlick was projecting the very vision of sincerity. He’d survived beasts, dark wizards, rogue goblins, all manner of wicked things, but this? His luck wasn’t that good. Hero of Hogwarts be damned.
Perhaps he was dreaming? Hallucinating, maybe? Perhaps the thorn that’d pricked his finger was poisonous and he was-
A quick little kiss banished all thoughts from his mind. He’d felt Mirabel’s peck just fine.
“I know that look.” The professor gave an amused hum. “No, you’re not dreaming. And my offer is genuine.”
She was pressed so close that he felt the warmth of her breath on his lips. The tingling sent a jolt down his spine that buzzed deep into his gut. It kindled a new warmth there, strong and growing stronger.
Miguel took a deep breath, nodding - though he pinched the back of his hand, just to be sure.
“Right. I’m just… Wow.”
“Wow is good. But it’s not an answer.” Mirabel reminded him. She wore a little, knowing smile. Merlin, she really was so pretty…
Vivid thoughts started seeping back into his mind. The professor, though, seemed to anticipate that. Before Miguel could react, she took him by the wrist… and planted his hand on her breast.
Miguel’s heart jumped into his throat.
He was frozen, mind and body, as Mirabel held his hand firmly to her bosom. She even went so far as to close her fingers around his, pressing him to grope her. Her flesh yielded to him so splendidly that he took another squeeze all on his own, purely on deeply rooted instinct. The sound that came from her then, that soft little sigh… Bloody hell, he wanted to hear that sound every moment of every day for the rest of his life.
“That doesn’t feel like a ‘no’...” Mirabel teased him in a smooth, musical voice. “But I still need a real answer from you, Miguel.”
Through the storm of shock and utter jubilation rolling through him then, the Hero of Hogwarts managed to find his voice again.
“Yes!” He blurted, eyes darting between Mirabel’s face to that hand of his still settled on her chest. “Absolutely yes!”
“Oh? Absolutely?” Mirabel cocked a brow. “You must be quite serious about this then.”
“I am!” He declared, nodding furiously. “As any wizard should!”
The professor broke from his gaze then, stifling her little smile. She held back a giggle. Her hand remained planted over his, keeping his touch upon her breast. His fingers acted on their own, pressing into the softness of her bosom again. The feel of her body pleased him in such an indescribable way, stirring him to the very pit of his soul. The little sight that floated from her lips was just another drop of honey in that sweetness. He wanted more. He ached for it down to his bones.
“First lesson then…” Mirabel huffed out. She had a blush across her cheeks now, one to match his. “You know how to kiss a witch, but do you know how to touch her?”
“Aren’t I touching you now?” Miguel asked dumbly. Immediately, he winced at himself. But pretty Professor Garlick only smiled.
“Are you? I think you can stand to get a bit closer.”
She released his hand then, brushing it aside. Miguel mourned the loss of his palm-on-breast… until he saw the professor was unbuttoning her blouse. One button popped open, then two, then three. Her fingers went down one by one and Miguel could only stare, stupified as the fabric gave way to reveal smooth, creamy skin. Flawless, just like the rest of her.
“Oh.” Miguel was thankful he didn’t croak that time. “Oh, wow.”
“Have you ever seen a woman’s bare bosom before?” Mirabel asked as she parted her blouse. Her breasts pushed forth into view. Never before had Miguel been so entranced by simple, supple roundness.
The young hero couldn’t speak. He could hardly breathe. He thought Mirabel’s breasts had felt soft, but drinking in the sight of them now… Garlick was clearly no slip of a schoolgirl. She was a grown woman, feminine and developed. Her breasts were near-perfect teardrops and so splendidly caught by gravity that their faint swaying had Miguel’s loins stirring up hot. He was hard between his legs now, throbbing in his trousers.
“Only… only in pictures.” He finally answered, though his voice came faint. His thoughts, his focus, they were miles away. Pictures were nice, but flesh and blood was a different realm entirely.
The redhead gave a snort. Yet again, Mirabel found his wonder amusing. She said nothing however, only standing before him with her blouse open. As if she was offering herself to him. There was a new sort of flicker across her pretty features. A look of expectation… and a tiny bit of impatience.
Even after the kiss, after the groping, after Mirabel’s very clear and explicit offer, this felt too good to be true. So as Miguel started to hover his hand over those pale, perky breasts, still, still he hesitated.
Just like before, the professor helped him the rest of the way. With a roll of her eyes she took his hand and planted it directly on her bare breast. Her soft, warm, exquisitely lush breast.
The witch let out one of those lovely little sighs again, her eyes fluttering shut as Miguel’s fingers pressed into the yielding flesh. Miguel groaned - he could not hold it in. It was like touching heaven.
“It’s true, you know.” Mirabel’s soft voice brought him back to the world.
“What’s true?” Miguel asked, half-interested. His focus was split and most of it was on the round pink nipple that capped Garlick’s breast and how it felt as he pressed his thumb over it. He circled it next, savoring the sound Mirabel made as his thumb brushed along the areola.
“The strongest spell a witch can cast on a man…” She breathed. “Is the one she doesn’t even need to speak.”
That got a grin out of him. He filled both his palms with her breasts then, squeezing softly, gently, slowly. He took his time, savoring the warmth, the impossible softness, how perfect they felt weighing in his hands. Perfection spilled over his fingers as he hefted the mounds up. And they were perfect. Like they were meant to be held like this, touched like this, enjoyed like this.
Mirabel was moaning again, cooing ever so quietly. She was a vision straight from Miguel’s most lurid dreams with those lidded eyes, blushing cheeks, and parted lips. Miguel burned the sight to memory… or tried to. He was interrupted by a shock of sensation. A squeeze down between his legs.
The young wizard damn near yelped. Cock and balls both caught in a firm - yet not unpleasant - grip.
It was Mirabel’s, obviously, yet it still shook him to see her hand down there at his groin. The woman gave another squeeze then, her fingers rousing his cock to stir and twitch against his trousers. The heat in his gut had become a furnace, putting his blood into a boil and the seed in his balls into a froth.
A shudder rocked Miguel’s body. Somehow, his legs didn’t give out from under him. But if it wasn’t Mirabel’s hand that turned his legs to jelly, it would be her eyes. They were smoky, inviting. The way she looked at him then… like he wasn’t a student, but a man. Like she wanted him.
“I think it’s only fair that I do some exploring of my own. Don’t you agree?” She asked him in a voice dripping with honey. Another grope to his cock had him grunting through grit teeth.
Miguel could only nod.
Mirabel’s eyes glimmered bright with victory. She guided them over to a chair and sat him down. She leaned over him then and the way her breasts swept down, swaying there in front of his face… Miguel almost didn’t notice her hands going to work on his belt.
She kissed him again and wisps of that silky red hair tickled his face. Then his belt was undone and the buttons too. Miguel gasped into Mirabel’s mouth. She’d slipped her hand into his pants. As her fingers found his cock, her tongue swept into his mouth, teasing at his, each stroke making him groan, making his head spin.
It felt like all of his wits were spilling out of him - and he didn’t want it to stop.