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Whippet last won the day on July 13 2015

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About Whippet

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  • Birthday 01/22/1990

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  1. So I've been on night shifts again. Joy, bliss. Anyway, the nurse I worked with is the only person I work with who is aware of my bisexuality - and she only knows because I used myself as a living case study to help her out when her nephew came out as bisexual. We were talking, as women are wont to do, and she mentioned that "everybody" goes through a promiscuous phase (I know that 'everybody' doesn't), When I mentioned that I never have, she actually started encouraging me to go out and sleep around! Now, I'm not prudish, but I'm a homebody. I go out at most four times a year, usually less, to a big social event where it would be possible to meet someone. If I meet someone and it feels right I can go with it, but I'm not the kind of person to be proactive about seeking it out. Like I tell the everyone-I-know-except-my-mum-who-tell-me-I-need-a-man, I have doggies for company, social contact through work, and a vibrator for the rest. So it's really more of a curiosity thing than an actual plan to go out and "whore around" ... is being sexually independent actually all it's cracked up to be?
  2. So ... this is for HayzHayz, hope you enjoy it as much as the last one! It's another ancient and unedited Harry Potter fan fiction. This one is between Hermione Granger (who always turns me on and is always bisexual in my fics) and Fleur Delacour. For non-HP fans, Fleur is part-Veela which is HPverse version of a siren. *~-~* Drunk “We’ll have to do this again sometime…” The whisper brought Hermione abruptly awake. It took her a moment to get her bearings, before she realised she was wrapped up in her bed. She could hear Parvati muttering about Harry in her sleep, and Lavender’s audible breathing. She thought of Ron, gone back to his bed without her that night, and how he was probably now quite angry. She got up, and dressed, thinking to go to that place, the one where she had bumped into her that first night, the place they had both found as a comfort, a secret place to go when upset. Hermione tossed her winter cloak on over her pyjamas – a very sensible pink and red love-heart patterned flannel, and made her way quietly out of the dorm. She could see Ginny sitting alone on the couch before the fire, curled up like a cat, staring into the flames as if they could talk to her. She was probably waiting for Harry to realise he was in love with her and come to make love to her, secretly in that most unsafe of public places, as Ginny had once told her, Hermione, was her dream. Hermione crept past her and out the portrait hole, knowing Ginny wouldn’t even know she was there until she was gone. She made her way down the hallways, and one flight of stairs. The Ravenclaw entrance was down that darkened corridor, over there, and up that secret staircase, and behind that knight. Hermione gazed at it, wondering what exactly she was feeling, but never quite sure. She entered the small store cupboard, the one that had nothing in it but an old bench and the rusted shackles hanging from the roof. A moth-eaten blanket lay across the bench, which looked rotten like it wouldn’t hold anyone’s weight. Hermione sat down on it anyway. She was there. Hermione knew she was, standing near the door, as if she must have been behind it, listening for her approach. “Isn’t it interesting how we always end up here at the same time…” that warm, rich voice whispered to her. There was honey in that voice, dripping decadently from those lips that pressed against her skin in another moment. It was intoxicating, that voice and the smell of her skin, and other places. Her aura was enough to get Hermione drunk. There was never any logic, or thought, or anything but instinct in these meetings. The instant those sugary lips touched her skin Hermione’s senses became overwhelmed. The light touch of those beckoning finger tips on her back, drawing her closer, that tongue, that crawled across her skin, up her neck and over her jaw until finally Hermione felt that incredible mouth grasp her own in a kiss so deep Hermione could feel it in her toes. “Fleur…” she gasped, but was hushed. The girl’s mouth pushed against her own. Hermione couldn’t resist, her hands reached out and grasped Fleur to her, sighing and gasping at one moment as Fleur’s own hands made contact with her breasts. Hermione kissed Fleur eagerly, arching her back urgently into her touch. Her tongue reached Fleur’s and tingles of giddy ecstasy dribbled down her spine, ending in a hot arousal between her legs. Fleur ran her fingers along Hermione’s pyjama top, the button falling open one by one until the cold night air hit Hermione’s bare skin, stinging almost beyond endurance, until Fleur’s hands, as hot as her mouth, found Hermione’s breasts again, and pressed so deliciously, just a little too hard, so that it hurt in the best way. Hermione ran her hands up Fleur’s face, holding and stroking the soft, smooth flesh, trying to pull Fleur’s face closer to her own. She kissed her with a ferocity that surprised even herself, running her tongue along Fleur’s, that incredible tongue, feeling the smooth cleanness of her teeth, trying to find a passion there that reflected her own. “Are you going to make love to me again Hermione?” Fleur broke the kiss. Hermione was so frustrated she nearly yelled at her. She lunged at that honey-suckle mouth again, sucking on Fleur’s bottom lip and muttering, somehow at the same time, “Of course I am…” Fleur’s nails raked across Hermione’s nipples, causing her to pull back and gasp. “Take me then,” Fleur whispered, and Hermione could hear a triumphant smile in her voice. Hermione reached out in the dark, feeling for Fleur’s clothes, but they weren’t there. Just a thick cloak hung from her shoulders. Hermione heard herself moan from the very idea of the indecency that Fleur seemed to represent. She flung the cloak from Fleur’s shoulders and pushed her back so she lay upon it. Hermione trailed sloppy kisses down Fleur’s body, the way she knew the older girl liked it. She felt Fleur’s hands running down her exposed side, her fingers reaching for the waistband of her unattractive pyjama bottoms. Hermione knew what Fleur wanted. She crouched between the girls legs, and heard her whisper something in French that she couldn’t quite hear or understand. Hermione hesitated, overcome by the musky smell of her. Fleur’s other hand grasped her hand. A voice demanding, and half animal, grated through the silent night air: “Do it!” Hermione did. She leant closer, nuzzling Fleur’s silky wet folds with her nose, using just the tip of her tongue at first to taste her. Fleur arched under this tiny touch, and it astonished Hermione, somewhere in the back of her bedazzled mind, that Fleur never needed any sort of warm up before she was ready for her nether regions to be touched. Hermione herself didn’t like to be touched too soon… but the way Fleur’s hand was snaking under her pyjamas at the moment made her wish she too was being touched. Fleur’s legs climbed over Hermione’s shoulders, her lower body pulling its way closer to Hermione’s all-too willing mouth. She tickled Fleur’s clitoris, gently at first, and then harder, in circles, never touching the tip of the blonde’s arousal, for fear of being too direct. If there was anything Fleur loved, it was being teased. Hermione knew she was doing the right thing when Fleur’s hand in her hair pulled tighter, her nails snagging unruly strands and wrenching some of them free. The stinging pain caused Hermione’s head to jolt slightly, and Fleur pushed her hips up, laughing and sighing. Hermione reached one hand towards Fleur, licking her up and down and using one finger to stroke her sensitivity very gently and very slowly. Hermione knew Fleur didn’t have long left, and knew just how to go from here. Fleur’s hand was reaching down as far as it could, trying to pry into Hermione’s own dripping sex. Hermione longed to be touched but knew she had to finish Fleur first. It was the way it always went. Fleur first. That was the rules. Hermione knew Fleur wanted to come – she always knew what Fleur wanted, somehow. She placed her mouth around Fleur’s clitoris, sucking it gently, using her tongue to flick it every so often. She sank two fingers into her cavity, swooning herself at the heat and wet she found there. She felt around, prodding gently until she found that soft spot she sought. She pushed, rubbing hard and soft and suddenly Fleur came explosively, swearing in French and English, her hands tightening on Hermione, one pulling more hairs the other leaving cut marks in her back. Hermione held Fleur in her mouth, rubbing her gently with her fingers, keeping her there, until she was pushed off and Fleur lay flat on her back, panting loudly and twisting slightly from side to side as she let the pleasure rush through her. Then Hermione saw her drop her own hand down as she gently brought herself down. “Was it right?” Hermione whispered, slightly fearful, into the dark. “Oui, it was perfect. Mon Dieu,” Fleur gasped. She lay still for a half a minute or more, and then she reached out for Hermione and pulled her down atop her. They kissed, Fleur stroking Hermione’s tongue with her own. Hermione didn’t quite understand why Fleur was so turned on by tasting herself on her tongue, when she herself found it slightly disgusting, but it didn’t matter. “You turn…” Fleur rasped into her ear. Hermione felt herself tremble, juices between her legs making her uncomfortable. She thought she might have whispered ‘yes, please’ but wasn’t sure. She was overcome with desire, and when Fleur rolled her over and lay on her she didn’t resist. She felt her pyjamas pulled down to her knees, and her knees lifted to encircle Fleur. There would be no oral pleasure for Hermione today, but that was okay. Fleur knew ways to please that Hermione had never imagined – come to that, Hermione didn’t know much at all about sex (apart from the act itself) before she met Fleur that cold night in the closet. Fleur’s hands went to work on her, her mouth wrapped like a baby’s around one pert nipple. Hermione groaned and ground her hips into Fleur’s hand, wanting more depth, more everything. She knew it wouldn’t take her long to come. Fleur knew exactly what she was doing, which was far more than fifteen year old Hermione. Somewhere in her mind Hermione knew she shouldn’t even be doing this – it was against school rules, and the muggle law. But she didn’t care. Who could care when such ecstasy was to be had. Fleur stroked and rubbed and slid into Hermione with her fingers, first two then three and Hermione could feel herself contracting and pulsating. She could feel that rush of adrenaline, the feeling like a flame struggling to stay alight in a draft. She wanted Fleur to stop that draft. Fleur’s other hand was on her neck, scratching it lightly, enough to hurt just slightly. Her tongue (that fantastic tongue!) was caressing her nipple in the most devilish way. Hermione knew she couldn’t hold on any longer. She came in a yell, arching her back and squeezing her pelvic muscles so tight she was surprised Fleur’s fingers didn’t break. Her oscillations didn’t cease until Fleur had brought her down, so slowly and after so long that Hermione felt drained beyond any comparison to her Third year in school with the Time Turner. She felt her muscles slowly relax, filling her with warmth and relaxation in a way that only exertion can. Fleur dragged her body up over Hermione’s own, straddling her at the waist and leaning down, their bare breasts touching wonderfully, to kiss Hermione, with that alcoholic mouth, that deep kiss that Hermione could feel in her toes. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Fleur whispered, pinching her nipple one last time. Then the door opened and she was gone. Hermione felt dizzy, like she had passed out and just come to. She slowly got up and re-buttoned her top, wondering vaguely at Fleur’s ability to gather up a cloak that was being lain on. She made her slow way back up to Gryffindor tower. Ginny was still on the couch, but now Harry was curled up next to her. Well, on top of her, their bottom halves covered by the invisibility cloak, their top halves quite obviously naked. Hermione slipped past them, silent. She climbed back into bed. Parvati was still mumbling and Lavender was still breathing. Those final words of Fleur’s, always the same, echoed in her head. Goddammit, she was going to have to find a way to block that Veela magic before Fleur called her back again. Fin.