The Allure and Charms of Professor Rancid Wormslug
Trouble at the castle...
The paneled walls and worn out chairs of the teachers lounge danced in the flickering light of the fire. I had my materials laid out on the coffee table between us; parchments, vials of potion, and a carefully chosen tome of enchantments, all placed in such a way as to make the preparation of my afternoon class as exciting for my students as possible. Professor Alden Crowe, the only other teacher in attendance, looked at me over the rim of his Earl Grey, his eyes narrowing.
“Honestly, Professor Wormslug. Your commitment to the folly of charms and enchantments never fails to surprise me...”
I gave him a measured, polite smile, trying my best to suppress my annoyance. “Perhaps you simply haven’t grasped its true potential, Alden.” I mixed the finely ground dragon scales and dried belladonna leaves, watching as the ingredients formed a delicate, iridescent powder. “A failure of the imagination, one might say.”
He sipped his tea and turned to the window overlooking the Quidditch field. “Quite.”
We lapsed into silence for a moment. It had been going on for months, this quiet rivalry. Professor Crowe, the esteemed Arithmancy instructor, was everything one would expect from a man obsessed with numbers and calculations: cold, condescending, and painfully logical. He had made his opinion of my class—Enchantments of Allure and Charms of Persuasion—abundantly clear.
For the most part, I let his comments wash over me without annoyance; we were teachers, after all, not students. But today, alone with him in the teachers lounge, I decided to push him a little.
“You really believe Charms and Enchantments do not carry any academic value beyond childish entertainment?”
“Now now, Professor Wormslug,” he said, his voice full of reproach. “I would never be so bold as to say–”
“Indeed,” I smiled sweetly, cutting him off. “Just bold enough to suggest it.”
He opened his mouth to respond but I cut him off again.
“If you’re so certain Charms and Enchantments are merely entertainment, then maybe it’s time I provided you with a demonstration? How about in my chambers, this evening, after curfew?”
He paused for a beat, my words taking him by surprise. A parliament of owls passed by the window outside, casting him in momentary shadow. “Very well,” he replied, a micro-expression of shock replaced with his familiar practiced disdain. “I’m sure I will be blown away.”
“Indeed,” I said, standing up from the table and stretching my arms over my head, elongating my body and letting him observe me doing so. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”
***
“Ridiculous. You really think that chanting a few pretty words and adding a flick of the wrist will actually achieve the same result as meticulously crafted Arithmancy?” Crowe scoffed, setting his glass down a bit too forcefully, the faintest flush creeping up his neck from the wine.
Or perhaps my outfit.
I leaned back in my armchair, uncrossing and recrossing my legs slowly as I held his gaze, aware that only the thinnest sheer material of my panties separated him from a perfect–but momentary–view of my smooth pussy.
“Emotion-driven magic is more than pretty words, Crowe.” I licked my lips.
“That is where you and I differ, Wormslug,” Crowe huffed, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. He straightened his waistcoat and I wondered if he was hard yet. If not, he would be soon. “I prefer magic that is precise, measurable. An art perfected through consistency and control.”
“Consistency and control,” I repeated, my voice dripping with mockery as I leaned forward, letting my scarf slip a bit from my shoulders and my cardigan falling open a little, the top of my heaving breasts bulging. “You sound so stiff.” I laughed, choosing the word carefully, planting ideas in his mind. “Isn’t it exhausting to feel nothing? Don’t you want to touch and taste and smell?”
He stared at me, expression faltering as I allowed my cardigan to fall even lower, the sheer fabric of my bra now visible. I didn’t look down at myself; not yet. That would give the game away. But the rush of cool air told me that my hard nipples were now visible through the thin material.
He quickly tore his gaze away from my exposed chest, looking to the wall instead. “My approach to magic simply values discipline over…spectacle.”
“Spectacle?” I tilted my head, smiling slightly. “You sound so frightened by it, Crowe. By the idea of a little unpredictability, a little surrender.”
“That’s not…” he began, his voice faltering as I let my hand drift, almost idly, to the top edge of my bra, fingers toying with it. He seemed transfixed, his usual stiff posture softening as he struggled to hold his composure.
“The thing you do not understand,” I began, taking my cardigan off completely now, exposing more of my tits, spilling over the bra that I knew was too small. “The most powerful enchantments, the ones that have lasted centuries, are rooted in desire, in passion.”
I ran my fingers over my nipples and gave a little moan.
“Professor Wormslug,” he managed, his voice wavering. “I’m not…sure this is the appropriate way to…prove your point.”
“Oh, but it is,” I said, opening my legs, hiking up my skirt.
Crowe swallowed hard. His cheeks, usually so stoic and pale, were now touched with a faint flush. “You’re…proving nothing,” he muttered, but his voice was softer, trailing off as he attempted to regain his footing. “This is just…another parlor trick. I’m here to discuss the merits of magical approaches, not be…distracted by…that.”
“Then don’t let yourself be distracted. If you’re so focused on logic, then prove it. Resist me.”
I rose from my chair and took a step back, letting his gaze follow as I turned, my fingers slipping down the sides of my skirt in a teasing motion. Slowly, deliberately, I bent over, my hands sliding up to hook under the band of my green lace panties. I could practically feel his gaze burn as I took my time, the fabric sliding inch by inch down my thighs, leaving my skirt in place.
I turned to him, letting him enjoy the knowledge that my smooth shaven pussy was now completely exposed. I took a step closer, feeling the heat radiate between us.
“Well, Professor Crowe,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Still think emotion-driven magic lacks power?”
“I…” His voice faltered.
“Take it out,” I said, my tone soft but unwavering.
He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting down in disbelief before meeting mine again, his face flushed.
“I’m sorry, Professor Wormslug, I’m not sure I quite know what you–”
“Take. It. Out.”
[Story conclusion and cosplay photo gallery after paywall]