Blaise's smile widened. "I'm proposing that you fuck me."
Pansy's brain short-circuited.
"You... want me to..."
"I want you to put your cock in my arse and fuck me properly." He said it as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "I've been fantasising about you since I found out, and frankly, you look like you're about to explode. I'd say that it's a perfect arrangement."
Her cock jumped at the words, fully hard now, making an obvious tent in her skirt. She saw Blaise's eyes drop to it, saw the flicker of interest in his expression.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"Probably."
"If anyone finds out—"
"They won't. I'm very discreet."
"I've never—with a man—with anyone—"
"Don't worry. We'll figure it out together."
Pansy stood frozen, desire and terror warring inside her. Every logical part of her brain screamed that this was a terrible idea. That she should walk away, go back to her dormitory, and handle things herself as she had been.
But her hand wasn't enough anymore. She knew that. And Blaise was right here, offering something she desperately needed.
Wasn't her answer obvious? How could she resist? At this point, she must have felt more tempted than even Eve…
"Fine," she said, before she could change her mind. Just the thought of actually putting her dick somewhere... "But if you tell anyone—"
"I won't."
"—I will make your life a living hell."
"Understood." Blaise was already pulling out his wand. "Now, let's make this space more appropriate, shall we?"
He cast a series of spells in quick succession—Colloportus on the door, a silencing charm on the walls, Scourgify on the dusty floor. Then, with a flourish, he conjured a plush green sofa, perfectly Slytherin in its aesthetic.
"Impressive," Pansy admitted reluctantly.
"I like to be prepared." Blaise set his wand aside and turned to face her. "Now. Shall we?"
Very romantic, she thought dryly, but decided to leave it be.
He began unbuttoning his robes.
Pansy watched, transfixed, as layer after layer fell away. Blaise had always been handsome—she could acknowledge that objectively—but seeing him undress was different. His skin was smooth and dark, his body lean and well-proportioned. When he pushed down his trousers and pants in one motion, she got her first look at his cock.
It was... small.
Smaller than hers, certainly. Smaller than Lavender's, based on Granger's description; she didn't look in the hospital wing.
His cock was perhaps three inches at most, slender and neat, nestled in a trim patch of dark hair.
Blaise caught her looking and smirked. "Disappointed?"
"No, I—" Pansy shook herself. "I wasn't expecting—"
"I know I'm not well-endowed. It's never bothered me." He turned and leaned against the sofa, presenting his arse to her. It was firm, round, and undeniably attractive. "Size matters less when you're on the receiving end, I reckon. Now. Your turn."
Pansy's hands trembled as she undressed. She'd never felt so exposed—not even in the presence of the other dickgirls.
Because this was different, this was intentional.
When she finally stood naked, her cock jutting out proudly in front of her, Blaise looked over his shoulder and made an appreciative sound.
"Very nice. Bigger than I expected."
"Is that... a problem?"
"Not at all." He shifted position, spreading his legs slightly wider. "Come here."
Pansy approached on unsteady legs. This close, she could see everything—the curve of his spine, the dimples at the base of his back, the cleft of his arse. Her cock brushed against his thigh, and they both shuddered.
"Wait," she said suddenly. "I don't—I don't know how to—"
"Let me show you something." Blaise reached for his wand. "There are preparation spells. Essential, really, for this kind of thing."
He murmured an incantation Pansy didn't recognise, pointing the wand behind himself. She saw him shiver, his breath catching.
"What was that?"
"Cleaning and loosening charms. Makes things more comfortable for both parties." He set the wand aside again. "I'll teach you the incantations afterwards. You might find them useful."
"I—yes. Thank you."
"Of course." Blaise wiggled his hips impatiently. "Now, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to fuck me?"
The crude words sent a bolt of heat through her.
Pansy reached out, running her hands over his arse, marvelling at the firmness of it. Blaise hummed encouragingly.
"That's it. Take your time. Get comfortable."
She pressed closer, her cock sliding between his cheeks, and gasped at the sensation. So warm. So different from her own hand.
"Wait," she said. "I want to try something first."
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached around, finding Blaise's small cock with her hand. He made a startled sound.
"Pansy—"
"Fair's fair," she murmured. "You've seen mine. I want to feel yours."
She stroked him experimentally, feeling him harden further in her grip. His cock was delicate, almost cute—a sharp contrast to her own demanding erection. On impulse, she pressed her hips forward, trapping his cock against his stomach while her own slid along his crack.
"Oh," Blaise breathed. "That's—yes, like that—"
She rutted against him slowly, her cock rubbing against his, their combined precum making everything slippery. It felt incredible—the friction, the warmth, the intimacy of another body against hers.
"Enough," Blaise gasped after a minute. "Enough teasing. I want you inside me."
"Tell me if it hurts."
"I will."
Pansy positioned herself at his entrance, feeling the loosened muscle against her tip.
His arse, it was so enticing.
She couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to, and she definitely didn't want to.
Pansy pushed forward slowly, carefully, and—
Oh.
Oh, Merlin.
Blaise's body opened for her, tight heat enveloping her cock inch by inch. It was nothing like her hand. Nothing like anything she'd ever imagined. He was so warm, so snug, his inner walls gripping her with every slight movement.
"Fuck," she heard herself say. "Blaise, you feel—"
"Ah… Keep going. Please. All. The. Way."
She pushed deeper until her hips were flush against his arse, her entire length buried inside him. They both held still for a moment, breathing hard.
"Move," Blaise pleaded.
Pansy pulled back and thrust forward.
The sound Blaise made was deeply gratifying—a low, guttural moan that vibrated through his entire body. She did it again, finding a rhythm, her hands gripping his hips for leverage.
It was clumsy at first. She thrust too hard, too shallow, couldn't find the right angle. But Blaise guided her with gasped instructions—"slower," "deeper," "right there, fuck, right there"—and gradually she learned what worked.
"You're a natural," Blaise panted. "God, Pansy, you're—"
She changed her angle slightly, and he keened, his back arching.
"There! Don't stop—"
She didn't stop. She couldn't have stopped if she wanted to. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in her belly, and every thrust wound it tighter. Blaise was pushing back to meet her, his small cock bouncing with each impact, and the sight of it—of him, coming undone because of her—was intoxicating.
"I'm close," she warned. "Blaise, I'm—"
"Me too. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop—"
She leaned on him and reached around, grasping his cock, stroking in time with her thrusts. Blaise cried out, his body clenching around her, and then he was coming, spilling over her fingers and the conjured sofa.
The squeeze of his asshole pushed her over the edge.
Pansy buried herself as deeply as she could and came, her vision blurring out as pleasure crashed through her in waves. She could feel herself pulsing inside him, filling him, and the sensation was so intense she thought she might actually pass out.
When it finally ended, she slumped forward against Blaise's back, both of them panting.
"Well," Blaise said eventually, his voice hoarse. "That answers my question."
"Which question?"
"Whether I swing for girls with dicks." He laughed breathlessly. "The answer is a definitive yes."
Pansy found herself laughing too, giddy with relief and residual pleasure. "Glad I could help with your sexual identity crisis."
"Glad you could help with your raging erection."
"Mutual benefit."
"Very Slytherin."
They stayed like that for a while, tangled together on the conjured sofa, neither quite ready to move.
"Those spells," Pansy said eventually. "The preparation ones. You'll teach me?"
"Tomorrow. Come find me after dinner." Blaise stretched languidly beneath her. "I have a feeling we'll both benefit from repeat sessions."
"Is that your way of asking to do this again?"
"It's my way of stating a fact." He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Unless you'd prefer to go back to handling things the way you used to before?"
Pansy thought about her cramped bathroom sessions. The inadequate relief. The constant, grinding frustration.
"No," she admitted. "This is better."
"Much better," Blaise agreed. "Now. Help me clean up before someone comes looking for either of us."
As Pansy pulled out and reached for her wand, she felt something she hadn't felt since this nightmare began.
Hope.
Maybe—just maybe—she could survive this after all.
She also wondered what the others would say when they found out.
I'm so going to gloat.