This is a work of nasty fiction. Any similarity between this and any other work of literature is entirely coincidental.
Honest.
In order to read this you must be aged over 18 years and have a bloody good sense of humour.
Otherwise, piss off.
StrayFuck
strayf@gmail.com
Aug 2006
Harry Pothead and the Order of the Phallus
Harry woke up in his four-poster bed in the Gruff'n'Raw dormitory. Despite his excitement on starting a new year at Hogsnort's Academy, he was feeling slightly irritable due to his lack of sleep - Seamus and Dean, his fellow dorm-roommates had been at it until the early hours of the morning. Neither of them were noted for their subtlety and they were both screamers . . .
He looked down at the foot of his bed and gave a swift kick to Rod Greasley who was curled up there, asleep.
"Duty time, Greasley," he barked.
Rod was instantly alert. After three years he was well used to this routine. He crawled under the bedclothes from the foot of the bed, wriggled his way up to Harry's crotch and latched his lips around the head of Harry's wand.
"Little shit," murmured Harry, smacking Rod over the head through the bedclothes. "You should have been awake and ready for me . . ."
Harry relaxed and started pissing directly into Rod's eagerly gulping throat. He didn't have to pace the flow of his piss anymore - he just let rip. Rod had become a very good toilet over the last couple of years - not that Harry would ever admit that to him.
He put his hands behind his head and eased back on to the pillow while Rod continued to swallow his heavy early-morning piss. Harry sighed in contentment. It was good to be back at Hogsnorts - especially after having to spend his summer hols with his miserably dull aunt and uncle. They only ever let him shag females - and even then it had to be bloody boring missionary position. Once, out of sheer desperation, he'd tried to go down on Lilian Bayless's twat but his Uncle Vergon had appeared in an instant -
"Missionary only!!" he'd screamed. "Why do you have to try these other depraved things?! You're sick, lad, sick!"
Resignedly, Harry resumed humping Lilian Bayless in the approved manner as his uncle left the room, muttering "It's that bloody school, bloody Hogsnorts ... depraved bastards ...".
Lilian Bayless feigned a smile, her braces glimmering in the 40-watt light.
'How do they know?' thought Harry, robotically humping the grimacing Lilian 'How do they know when I stop fucking in missionary . . . ?
Harry's flow of piss dribbled to a stop and Rod sucked off the last drops.
"Skull fuck!" declared Harry as he grabbed Rod by the ears, threw him onto his back and rammed his dick repeatedly in and out of Rod's throat.
"And just who, may I ask, is going to skull-fuck me?" queried Hismione Grinder.
Harry, still fucking Rod's throat, turned to face Hismione and roared with laughter.
"Bloody hell, Hismione, what the fuck are you wearing?" he roared.
"Fuck off, Harry, " muttered Hismione, "It's within the limits of the Hogsnorts Dress Code"
Hismione flicked her wild auburn tresses to one side, spun round and presented her luscious black arse to Harry.
Harry snickered at the sight: Hismione - an enormous, muscle-bound black-African stud male draped in tightly bound leather straps with pink lace fringing presenting his/her winking fuck-hole - too much!
Harry pulled Rod's head back off his dick and ordered Rod to get his tongue up Hismione's butt. Once Hismione was happily groaning and grinding her muscular ass back on Rod's face, Harry dragged himself out of bed, showered and was dressed by one of the Gruff-n-Raw slaves. He elected to wear crocodile skin: boots, chaps, codpiece, a complicated metal chest piece and a huge black leather cape.
On his way to the main hall for breakfast, Harry passed Dracu Malboy who was in the throes of whipping a babbling second year student.
"What's the matter, Malboy," he asked. "Have you already whipped your usual cronies to death?"
"Fuck off, Pothead," snarled Malboy, "Or I'll string you up and have you begging me to whip you!"
The main hall was already three-quarters full by the time Harry got there. Everyone was excited about starting the new term. Most of the prefects had already selected their fags from the first-years and were instructing them on the finer details of their duties.
"... and if I so much as feel your teeth touch my dick, I'll string you up by the balls," Harry heard one prefect instruct his charge.
Eventually the gong sounded and everyone took their places at their respective House tables. Those on service duty slipped under the table, ready to perform whatever services were required of them. Harry beckoned one over to him and indicated his preference: a slow, lazy blowjob and some serious nut stretching.
Harry had a clear view over to the Slitherin House table where Dracu Malboy was holding court among his fellow fourth year Slitherins. Grabbe and Oyle sat on either side of him, licking his biceps. Even Harry had to admit that Malboy was looking fucking hot. He'd obviously put a lot of work into his body over the hols and his long lean muscles were sharp and defined. His straight blonde - almost white - hair draped over one shoulder and complemented his golden tan. He'd also had his nipples pierced, Harry noted, and two delicate golden rings glinted proudly in the centre of each of his sharp pecs.
Harry felt his dick throb and indicated for the duty boy to increase the pressure of his blowjob.
Rod and Hismione came and squeezed in on either side of Harry.
"I finished eating out Hismione's ass, Harry," said Rod. "She wanted me to fuck her too but I told her we'd be late."
"Jesus, Hismione," laughed Harry, "You are such a fucking slut! I bet you'd even let Malboy massage your prostate with his dickhead."
"That little shit?" scoffed Hismione, "There's no way he's crawling up my sweet little asshole."
"He is looking fucking hot, though," said Ron, staring admiringly at Malboy.
"You think Professor Smack's hot," sneered Harry.
"Nah, come on, Harry," said Hismione, "Rod's right. Malboy's really toned-up over the break ... I wouldn't mind using that sweet little ass of his to squeeze my dick."
Harry threw a quizzical glance at Hismione. "You'd fuck him?" he asked. "I thought your main goal in life was to take as much dick as possible up your own ass?"
"Harry, love," said Hismione, "I may be a screaming leather-transvestite but I've still got twelve inches of man meat that needs taking care of occasionally. Being a camp queen 24/7 just means that the testosterone builds up: baby, when I finally let loose a fuck, that boy is gonna stay fucked for a loooong time!"
Harry laughed. "Fair enough, Hismione. I wouldn't mind seeing you bust Malboy's cherry myself!"
"You could always fuck me, Hismione," said Rod.
Harry twisted Rod's nipple, playfully. "You're my butt-boy, Greasely ... I say when you get fucked ..." he murmured, absently. His mind was filled with an image of Hismione's huge black dick plundering Malboy's ass ...
The gong sounded again and everyone stood in silence as the Headmaster, Professor Thunderdork entered through the main door and made his way through the hall towards the head table. Thunderdork was well known for his insatiable sexual appetites and his endless variety of fetishes and passions. Today he wore a black rubber catsuit that showed off his huge muscular physique, a large, full black sable cape, and was attended by sixteen slender naked Asian catamites - three of whom were draped around his shoulders.
Thunderdork took his place at the head tables and gave the sign for everyone to be seated. Even the boys on service duty came out from under the tables and took their places on the bench seats.
Thunderdork surveyed the room. "Gentlemen," he boomed. "And Ladies ..." he consented, considering the smattering of transvestites.
"Welcome back to Hogsnorts. I trust you are all well rested and ready for the exertions of the coming term. First years will soon be oiled, greased and placed into their Houses. I'm sure you'll all do your best to make them feel welcome ...
"Prefects are to meet me in my study at 3.00pm in order to present their fags. Remember, an obedient fag is a good reflection on their Prefect ... I shall be trying them all out personally so please have them cleaned out and raring to go.
"Class lists have been drawn up and your schedules will be ready for you back at your House common-room. Please note that Professor Smack will be taking over the senior Bondage class and that Professor McGonad has kindly consented to take the juniors for Elementary Sphincter Stretching.
"Oh, and one final thing," he added, almost as an after-thought, "The east-wing passage on the third floor is strictly off-bounds for all students. If you're caught up there I'll make you a candidate for Eunuch School - got it?"
"Oh, fuck," muttered Harry as they all examined their class schedules back at the Gruff-n-Raw common room. "We've all got double Bondage last class on Fridays with Smack. That bastard hates my guts."
"You think that's bad?" replied Hismione, "I'm taking an extra suspension class and that's scheduled straight after the double period on Fridays! Triple Smack!"
"That's tough, Hismione," said Harry, sympathetically.
Hismione had taken off her auburn wig and replaced it with an intricate pattern of small mirrored tiles that were glued down all over her shaved head. They twinkled almost as much as her eyes as she said with a grin, "Oh, fuck Smack. I want to know why Thunderdork has forbidden us to go up to the Third Floor East Wing."
"He's probably just taking the Prefects up there with their fags," replied Harry. "He's been known to 'Try Them Out' for days on end."
"Holy crap," gulped Rod, "Can you imagine the sick shit they have to go through?"
"Not half as sick as the shit I'll put you through if you don't wrap your rectum around my dick, Greasely," hissed Harry. "Grab your ankles, faggot, 'cos here comes Harry!"
The rest of the day went off really well. Harry blasted a huge load during Tantric Sex, Hismione managed to get fucked by the entire senior Queeritch team (and the reserves), and Ron managed to squeeze on extra ring around his sac during CBT class.
Furthermore, Harry shared no classes that day with Dracu Malboy. In fact he'd only seen Malboy once after breakfast. Malboy had bound a first year tightly with piss-soaked hemp rope and was waiting for the rope to dry and tighten in the sun. As he waited, Malboy had the helpless boy lick and suck on his asshole.
"You're a sick little shit, Malboy ..." muttered Harry. "As that rope dries, it's gonna cut into his skin."
"You think I don't know that, Pothead?" hissed Malboy. "If I want this little ass-sucker to bleed, he'll bleed. Besides, I've seen you take the scarring knife to Greasely ..."
"That's entirely different," snapped Harry. "Rod begged for that. It was sacred, spiritual; not the sick, selfish, sadistic shit you get off on."
"You don't know how to live, Pothead. Your morals wouldn't survive a second in the Third Floor East Wing."
Despite himself, Harry was intrigued. "What do you know about the Third Floor ...?"
Malboy had the good grace to look somewhat taken aback. "Nothing," he said. "Not really. I've probably told you too much anyway ..."
"Bullshit, Malboy," scoffed Harry. "You don't know a fucking thing."
"Look, Pothead," hissed Malboy, "My Father knows a thing or two. He regularly whips the Minister of Testosterone until he's a bloody, quivering, gibbering mess. And what my Father knows, I know ..."
With that, Malboy turned on his heel and departed quickly.
Harry untied the first year student and fucked him silly in order to teach him Gratitude. While the boy was studying Worship by licking Harry's boots, Harry gave careful thought to Malboy's words: did he know what was going on in the East Wing of the Third Floor? Or was the sick little bastard lying?
Later, in the Common Room, Harry posed the question to Hismione and Rod. Harry had claimed the rim seat and was sitting back toking-up while Rod lay underneath him, slurping and sucking away on his shithole. Every now and then Rod writhed in ecstasy or pain as Hismione, now dressed in a one-piece rubber catsuit with enormous false tits, played with the electrical unit wired to Rods balls.
"Look," said Hismione, "Dracu Malboy is a sick little puppy who doesn't know shit from Crisco. He has no more idea of what's going on up there than we do. And that's the way it stays."
"MMMNGFFFUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuargh," said Rod
"Where the fuck do you hide your dick in that outfit?" asked Harry.
"WuWuuuWuuuuuuuuuoooooooooo," said Rod.
"Stick to the point, Pothead - and pass that fucking joint!"
"Let's go up there," said Harry.
"Are you that fucking stoned?" screeched Hismione.
"AAAAAAAAAAACH!!" said Rod.
"You heard Professor Thunderdork," Hismione continued, " 'If you're caught up there I'll make you a candidate for Eunuch School'. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm quite attached to my nuts."
"Ngooooooooooooooooooooo," said Rod.
"And so is Roddie," cooed Hismione.
"Come on, Hismione," pleaded Harry. "It'll be a fuckin' hoot!"
"No." said Hismione.
"I'll give you half a tab of E ..."
Hismione quavered.
"No," she said.
"I'll let you ride my FukMeister ..."
Hismione quivered. "Make it a full tab of E ..." simpered Hismione, her eyes glowing.
"Deal!" grinned Harry. "Come on, Rod. We're going to the East Wing: Third Floor."
Harry and Hismione ripped the electrodes off Rods nuts and untied him.
As the three set off towards the main corridor, Harry snorted with laughter.
"Holy crap, Hismione! Egg sized nuts, a fat thirteen inch dick ... I still don't understand where you put it all in that outfit ..."
"My dick is only twelve inches - don't wanna brag!" giggled Hismione. "And if you wanna know where it all goes you should've taken Transformation in your first year ..."
It was well after general curfew as the three slipped quietly into the ground-floor lobby. It was evident from the screams, moans and groans that surrounded them that most students were busy doing their homework.
They groped their way through the darkness until they came to the main staircase.
Hismione faltered.
"Don't you think we shoulda put bit of thought into this?" whispered Hismione. "We're already breaking curfew and the Third Floor East Wing is bound to be guarded by the Carcel Brigade."
"Oh, shit!" whispered Rod. "She's fucking right, Harry! If Thunderdork was serious about keeping us out he'd get the Carcel Brigade ... they'd make you a eunuch, like he said, sure - but they'd take a fucking painfully long time about it..."
All three shuddered at the thought.
"That's it," hissed Hismione, "I'm not gonna risk losing my fat black plums to a bunch of sadistic assholes like them! I'm outta here!"
"All right, Hismione," growled Harry quietly. "A full tab of E, a ride on my FukMeister and ... I'll let you swallow my cum."
"Yeah!" squealed Hismione silently. "What the fuck are we pissing around here for? Let's get up to the Third Floor!"
"Oh, shit ..." thought Rod.
The main corridor of the East Wing Third Floor was surprisingly quiet.
"Too bloody quiet, if you ask me," whimpered Rod.
"Shut the fuck up, Rod," hissed Harry, "Or you'll never suck my arse clean again."
There was but one solitary door at the end of the corridor which swung open with a gentle push. It opened into a small room, entirely black, which featured a bound, blond, rubber-clad teenage boy suspended in the centre of a web made of red rope. A catheter tube extended from his dick, vacuum pumps had engorged his nipples to mammoth proportions, and he had what appeared to be a wombat burrowing into his arsehole.
"Bloody hell!" expectulated Rod. "It's Malboy!"
"Fuck off, Greasley," groaned Malboy. "Slap this fucking wombat and get it burrowing deeper! Holy shit! This is fucking amazing!"
"We'll get the wombat to burrow deeper only if you tell us what the fuck is going on," said Harry.
But before Malboy could make another groan the door through which they'd entered suddenly slammed shut and the entire wall behind Malboy's suspension web slowly rolled up with a sickening rolling, crunching scream. Behind the rising wall were five enormous, naked muscle-bound men, all of them entirely hairless: their pubic area, heads, even their eyebrows, entirely devoid of hair. They carried rusty knives, cleavers, axes and sickles and grinned menacingly at the three intruders.
"Fucking hell!" yelped Rod. "The Carcel Brigade! Hismione was right! They'll have our nuts for sure!"
"Shut up, Greasley," snapped Harry, "this isn't the time to panic. Check the door!"
Rod desperately lunged for the door to the corridor and tugged frantically at the handle.
"It's locked!" he shreiked. "There's no other way out!"
"Hismione, you've read up on these goons," said Harry, cooly, " - what the fuck do we do?"
By now the Brigade was threading their way through the web, menacingly slowly.
"Thanks, Harry," muttered Hismione, "put the onus on me ... Let's see, they're ritualistic in nature with a great fascination for castration and inpaling ..."
"Cut the lecture, Hismione," hissed Harry, "cut to the chase: what the fuck do we do?"
Hismione suddenly shoved her hands behind her head. "Armpits!" she stated. "Hope none of you used deodorant tonight ..."
"What the fuck ...?"
"Don't argue," snapped Hismione. "Stand tall and display your armpits!"
As the three displayed their pits, the effect on the Carcel Brigade was almost instantaneous. Just disentangling themselves from the suspension web, they stopped, sniffed the air, slowly dropped their weapons and lowered themselves onto their bellies on the floor.
"What are they doing?" whimpered Rod
"Keep still," insisted Hismione. "It's part of their training. They may be sick, sadistic bastards but basically they're still just slaves: even slaves at this level of depravity need an 'off-switch'."
The five members of the Carcel Brigade were now slithering their way across the floor towards the three students, arms at their sides, tongues lolling, drooling. Upon reaching the three, they slowly, sensuously started licking their way up their bodies, spit-polishing their booted feet, lapping their inner thighs, nuzzling their crotches.
"Bloody hell!" moaned Rod, "Nobody's paid this much attention to me since ... since ... ah, fukkit! Nobody's EVER paid this much attention to me! These guys are fan-fucking-tastic!"
Harry moaned as one the Brigade wormed its talented, questing tongue between his cheeks and lapped at his puckered arsehole. "I still don't get it," he groaned. "Why their change in attitude?"
"They're trained to believe that worshipping their Master's body is their reward for a job well done," explained Hismione while her abs were worshipped. "To suckle their Master's armpits is the ultimate reward. By displaying our pits, we signalled to them that their work was over and they could claim their reward."
One the Brigade finally reached Harry's left armpit and started sniffing, lapping, suckling. "Oooh, shiiiit ..." he moaned. "I thought Rod was good at worshipping my pits but this bastard is amazing!"
The sounds of moaning, slurping and lapping was suddenly split asunder by a scream from Dracu Malboy, still securely bound onto the red rope web, as the wombat started entering his inner-sphincter and kicking at his prostate.
"You bastard, Pothead!" yelled Malboy. "It's forbidden to tame the Carcel Brigade! Only the True Master and his Minions may tame them! You're fucking around with the very balance of Sexual Depravity!"
Harry stared coldly at the bound boy and casually brushed off the two worshipping Carcel slaves as he stepped up in front of the web.
"Malboy," he said calmly, evenly, "When it comes to sexual depravity, you seem to have broken every barrier going ... And, purely out of interest, why do you have a wombat burrowing up your arse?"
Malboy groaned as the wombat managed to squeeze one hind leg completely up into his rectum.
"Ooooh - fuck!" he groaned. "Frankly, Pothead, I got bored with hamsters ..."
"I thought you were strictly Top - and a sadistic one at that," continued Harry.
"That's only during school hours," spat Malboy. "I do have an image to uphold. But Thunderdork himself has been training me as an Extreme Versatile. That's something you'll never be! He busted my arse open on our very first day at Hogsnorts - and believe me, once you've been shafted with His wand you just want more and more ... I'll do anything to get fucked by him! Anything! Tonight with this wombat is just another test of my devotion to Thunderdork's dick!"
"So that's why he forbade us to enter the East Wing Third Floor?" asked Harry.
"How the fuck should I know?!" yelled Malboy. "He's tested me all over the fucking school without forbidding anyone to go there. Now, for fuck's sake, will you please shove this wombat's other leg up my arse?!"
Harry turned back towards friends. The Carcel Brigade was still in worshipful, sweaty action. Hismione was getting her arse sucked out while another was riding her fat 12" clit whilst Rod, enjoying a rare opportunity to be in charge, was having his feet and pits worshipped and pissing up a Carcelian arse.
"You two are in-fucking-satiable." laughed Harry.
"So says the winner of the Hogsnort's Fuck Almighty cup," sniggered Hismione.
"Come on you two," said Harry. "Scrape off those slavish oafs. Something's going on here and I want to find out what."
Eventually they were able to leave the Carcel Brigade in a happily sweaty, heaving pile as they pleasured each other, and the three friends discussed their situation.
"I don't get it," whimpered Rod. "Thunderdork forbade us from entering this area because of what he was doing to Malboy. Mystery over."
"No," said Harry firmly. "I don't believe that Thunderdork would ever use a Hogsnorts' student the way Malboy says he has ..."
Malboy groaned slightly and strained against his bonds.
"Fuck off, Harry," said Hismione, "Malboy said it was Thunderdork. Couldn't be anyone else. Unless ...."
All three suddenly reached the same conclusion and gasped in unison.
"You mean," gulped Rod, "it was ..."
"Vulgarmort!" proclaimed Harry.
"Ugh!" shuddered Hismione. "I don't know how you can say that creature's name."
"You forget," said Harry bitterly, "that it was Vulgarmort who gave the scar on my scrotum ..."
"We haven't forgotten," sighed Hismione. "You've been going on about it for three years ... Anyway, we're at the end of the line. We're locked inside the only room in the wing and there's no other entrance anywhere. I vote we fuck ourselves senseless with the Carcel slaves and forget about the whole bloody thing until someone lets us out of here."
"You're probably right," agreed Harry, somewhat relunctantly.
"Shame about that wombat though," sighed Hismione.
"What do you mean?" asked Harry.
"Well," explained Hismione. "I'd always fantasised about busting Malboy's arse wide open for myself but it seems he's a gaping pussy-boy already."
"That's it!" exclaimed Harry. "The entrance!"
It was a reasonably simple matter for the three friends to crawl up Dracu Malboy's capacious arse. The wombat, it seems, wasn't trying to enter - it was blocking the passageway into the inner sanctum.
"Fucking hell," gasped Rod, kicking aside a happily copulating pair of rodents, "Malboy wasn't kidding about those hamsters!"
"And now I know why the school dildo supply has been growing steadily less," sniggered Hismione. "He must have a sample of every kind scattered around in here."
Harry agreed that Malboy's arse certainly had been having a damned good workout. His rectum had been stretched so far that the three could easily stand up. The passage towards the large intestine was like an echoing vault far above their heads. Hamsters scampered all over the place.
"Well," asked Hismione, " What now?"
"We could always throw ourselves repeatedly against Malboy's prostate," suggested Rod. "Just for kicks ..."
"No," laughed Harry, "That'd give the little shit too much pleasure!"
"And pleasure," boomed a huge voice from the darkness above their heads, "is something that little shit doesn't deserve!"
"Who's there?!" yelled Harry.
"I was wondering when you nosey little bastards would turn up," replied the Voice.
"It's Professor Thunderdork!" exclaimed Hismione, pointing up into the gloom. And indeed, as all three peered up into the darkness, they could make out the shape of Professor Thunderdork sitting on the edge of a rectal fold, his legs dangling over the edge.
"Professor Thunderdork!" exclaimed Harry, "Then Malboy was telling the truth, you've been training him as an Extreme Versatile. I assumed it was Vulgarmort who ..."
"Bullshit," spat the Professor. "I haven't been training Dracu Malboy, Harry. I've been using him. Malboy is a vile, sadistic little cunt who deserves to be used and abused. You, however, are an aggressive yet careful and caring Top. Mister Greasley is a deliciously worm-like, devoted sub. And Ms Grinder has a body that could stop buses - and a thirteen inch dick ..."
"It's only twelve inches ..." blushed Hismione.
"Not by the time I've finished with it," chuckled Professor Thunderdork. "Mr Greasley - I believe you wanted to ram yourself against Dracu Malboy's prostate. I suggest you do it now."
Rod gulped hard, took a few steps back, ran, and threw himself against the huge throbbing prostate gland. It instantly let off an eerie glow that lit up the entire rectal cavity. The three friends gaped at what they saw: on the various rectal folds above them were hundreds of the Sexual world's must studly men. Some were on their knees in chains or rope; others stood proudly in leather or rubber, holding whips and other implements of pain and pleasure. Slender Asian boys were strung from the rectal ceiling, an army of booted skinheads grinned at them from the opening of the large intestine. There were bears, twinks, cowboys, g-stringed muscle-freaks ... every level of sexual perversity was represented in superbly testeronic splendour.
"Gentlemen!" boomed Professor Thunderdork. "And lady ..." he added, grinning at Hismione. "Welcome to The Order Of The Phallus! Let the Games commence!!"
"Fucking hell!" grinned Rod ...
Feedback on this story would be appreciated: there probably won't be a sequel ... this was a bit of fun for me.
Cheers --
StrayFuck
strayf@gmail.com