Chapter 13

You feel the chill of the morning air as you make your way to the quidditch pitch. The castle is still mostly asleep, the corridors echoing with the soft patter of your footsteps. You're dressed in your house colours, the fabric of your robes whispering against your skin with each step. You can't help but smirk, thinking about the day ahead and the games you'll play.

As you approach the pitch, the sound of a snitch's wings flutters in the distance. Rose Potter is already there, her athletic form silhouetted against the pale dawn sky. Her short hair is flapping in the wind, and she's wearing the quidditch gear that accentuates her toned legs and firm ass. She's in her element, her face alight with determination as she practices her moves on her broom.

As Rose's hand closes around the fluttering Snitch, her triumphant grin fades into a look of surprise when she notices you leaning against the stands. She steers her broom towards you, her athletic thighs gripping the handle as she descends gracefully onto the pitch. Her chest heaves from the exertion, her firm breasts rising and falling beneath her Quidditch jersey, nipples faintly visible through the fabric hardened from the cool morning air.

"Malfoy, what do you want?" Rose asks, her tone guarded. She lands a few feet away from you, her eyes scanning your face for clues. Her gaze is as intense as ever.

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards into a smirk as you regard Rose Potter, her athletic form still flushed from the thrill of the chase. You step forward, the morning light casting a silvery glow on your blond hair, a stark contrast to her fiery red.

"Rose," you begin, your voice smooth like velvet, "I've come to apologize for my past actions. I realize now that my rivalry with Harry has clouded my judgment."

Her green eyes narrow slightly, scepticism etched on her face. "And why should I believe you, Malfoy?" she retorts, her hand still clutching the Snitch, the metallic winged ball catching the light and throwing sparks of colour across her face.

You take another step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her sweat mingling with the cool morning air.

Your smirk widens into a confident grin as you propose the challenge, your grey eyes twinkling with mischief. "Release that Snitch, Rose," you say, your voice carrying an undertone of excitement. "If you get it first, you have to give me a chance to make amends. If you win, you can ask whatever forfeit you want."

Rose's eyebrows arch in surprise, the Snitch now forgotten in her hand. She looks at you, her gaze flickering over your face, trying to discern your sincerity. "And what makes you think I'd accept such a wager, Malfoy?" she asks, her tone wary yet curious.

You lean in closer, your breath fanning across Rose's face, your grey eyes locked onto hers. "You've got nothing to lose, plus think about it," you whisper, your voice a low, seductive hum. "You'd have the chance to make me do whatever embarrassing thing you want."

Rose's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, a mix of irritation and intrigue playing across her features. She glances down at the Snitch, then back up at you, her green eyes flickering with defiance. "Fine," she concedes, her voice firm. "But if you're planning some Slytherin trickery, Malfoy, I swear I'll—"

You cut her off with a laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. "No tricks, Rose. Just a friendly wager."

The chill of the early morning air nips at your skin as you stride towards the locker room, your footsteps echoing against the stone walls of Hogwarts. Your heart thrums with anticipation, the challenge you've just laid before Rose Potter igniting a spark of excitement within you. You push open the heavy wooden door, the scent of well-worn leather and polished wood greeting you as you step inside.

Your broom, a sleek Nimbus 2001, rests against the wall, its handle cool to the touch. You grip it firmly, the familiar feel of the broom bringing a sense of focus. You can almost hear the rush of the wind, the thrill of the chase, as you make your way back outside to the waiting Potter triplet.

Rose stands on the edge of the pitch, the Snitch clasped tightly in her hand. As you approach, you can see the determination etched on her face, her green eyes bright with the thrill of the impending competition. Rose's athletic build is evident even beneath her robes, her muscular legs and toned arms a testament to her dedication to Quidditch. Her short red hair is already windswept, a few stray locks framing her flushed cheeks.

With a swift motion, Rose releases the Snitch. It hovers in the air for a moment before darting off into the distance, its golden wings shimmering in the early morning sunlight. Without a second's hesitation, you mount your broom, feeling the magic coursing through it as it vibrates beneath you.

"Let the best wizard win," you call out to Rose, a challenging grin on your face.

As you soar through the air, the Snitch a mere speck in the distance, you can't help but feel a twinge of admiration for Rose's prowess on a broom. Her every move is a testament to her athleticism and determination, her body perfectly in tune with the rhythm of the game. Despite your own skill, Rose manoeuvres her broom with an agility that is almost predatory, her eyes locked onto the Snitch with a focus that is unwavering.

The game is intense, a dance of speed and strategy high above the grounds of Hogwarts. You push yourself to the limit, your muscles straining as you weave through the air, but it becomes increasingly clear that Rose is in a league of her own. In the end, Rose captures the Snitch with ease, her hand closing around it like a falcon securing its prey mid-flight. You can't help but feel a grudging respect for her victory, the flush of exertion on her cheeks only accentuating her fiery determination. As you both land, Rose's green eyes meet yours, sparkling with triumph yet tempered by a curiosity that seems to cut through the residual adrenaline of the game.

"Well done, Potter," you concede, your voice laced with genuine admiration despite the bitterness of defeat.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Rose responds, her breathing steady despite the rigorous flight. You dismount from your broom, stepping toward her with a calculated look. "As for what I want from you for winning, I want you to strip naked and run a lap around the pitch."

As the words tumble from Rose's lips, a playful challenge hanging in the air between you, there's a flicker of surprise in her green eyes. She doesn't expect you to comply, to bare yourself in such a brazen display. But you see an opportunity, a chance to chip away at the walls she's built around herself.

With a smirk playing on your lips, you reach for the hem of your robes and drop them and your underwear in one fluid motion. The cool air of the pitch kisses your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stand there. Rose's eyes widen, her gaze travelling over your body, taking in the contours of your muscles, the flat plane of your stomach, and the thatch of hair at the base of your rapidly hardening cock.

As you start running, your cock bouncing with each stride, you can't help but notice the flush that creeps up Rose's neck and onto her cheeks. Her green eyes are wide, locked onto the sight of your naked form circling the pitch.

Your feet pound against the grass, the cool breeze teasing your skin, making your nipples harden and your cock twitch with every step. You can hear Rose's soft gasps behind you, each one music to your ears. You know the effect you're having on her, the potent mix of shock and embarrassment that's coursing through her veins.

As you complete the lap, your chest heaving with exertion, you come to a stop in front of Rose. Your cock, now fully erect, juts out proudly from your body, the evidence of your arousal undeniable. Droplets of sweat glisten on your skin, tracing the lines of your muscles, and you can feel the heat radiating off your body in the cool morning air.

Rose's gaze is fixed on your groin, her eyes wide with shock. Her breath hitches in her throat as she drags her eyes up to meet yours. You can see the conflict within her; the proper Gryffindor girl, embarrassed by the brazen display of nudity.

You slip into your robe, the fabric cool against your heated skin. The robe hangs open, framing your still-erect penis, which stands proudly against the backdrop of the morning light. You tie the robe loosely, allowing for easy access, should the need arise.

"Ready for another round, Rose?" you ask, your voice smooth and confident. You hold her gaze, a challenge burning in your eyes. "Let's see if you can catch the Snitch this time."

Rose blinks, her surprise slowly morphing into determination. She squares her shoulders, her small breasts pressing against the fabric of her Quidditch jersey.

As the countdown begins, the air between you and Rose crackles with tension. "Three," you say, your voice echoing across the empty Quidditch pitch. Rose's eyes are locked onto yours, her competitive spirit flaring. "Two," you continue, and you can see her muscles tense, ready to spring into action. "One," you finish, and with a swift motion, Rose releases the Snitch.

The golden ball zips into the sky, its wings shimmering in the sunlight. You both kick off the ground, your brooms vibrating with magical energy between your legs. The wind whips against your face, and you can feel the adrenaline surging through your veins as you give chase. Rose is a fierce competitor, her body low and streamlined on her broom.

Your eyes, sharp and predatory, track the gleaming Snitch as it darts through the air like a wayward firefly. The cool morning air rushing past you does nothing to dampen the heat of the chase. Rose, usually a vision of grace and agility on her broom, seems uncharacteristically flustered. Her rhythm is off, her focus slipping as she steals glimpses of your form, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You can't help but smirk at the advantage your naked sprint has granted you.

As the Snitch flutters in the air, you see Rose's hesitation, her body language betraying her discomfort. The chase is almost unfair; her usual fiery determination is dimmed by the spectacle of your naked run. You seize the moment, your hand darting out with practised ease, fingers closing around the wriggling golden ball. The Snitch's capture is anticlimactic, its struggle ceasing instantly in your grasp.

"I win," you declare, your voice carrying across the pitch. Rose slows her broom, circling back to you with a look of resigned acceptance. Her green eyes, usually so full of fire, are clouded with a mix of emotions: embarrassment and frustration. You land gracefully, your feet touching the dew-kissed grass of the Quidditch pitch.

The morning sun casts a warm glow over the Hogwarts grounds as you walk towards the Quidditch locker room with Rose, her footsteps lagging behind yours. You can sense her internal struggle, her pride wounded by her performance on the pitch, and her surprise at your victory. Yet beneath that, you detect a spark of curiosity about the forfeit you might demand.

As you approach the stone building, the cool shadow of the structure falls over you both, a stark contrast to the heated tension simmering between you. You push open the heavy wooden door, revealing the dimly lit interior of the locker room, the air rich with the scent of polished wood and well-worn leather. Rows of hooks line the walls, heavy robes hanging from them like spectral guardians of the athletes' privacy.

As you stride into the locker room, the echo of your footsteps bounces off the stone walls, mingling with the rustle of fabric as Rose follows behind you. The air is thick with the musky scent of sweat and the sharp tang of cleaning potions, a heady combination that speaks of hard work and dedication.

You reach into a small bag you had the foresight to leave here earlier, your fingers brushing against the cool glass of a water bottle. The liquid inside sloshes gently, the corruption potion tainting it. With a flick of your wrist, you send the bottle arcing through the air towards Rose.

She catches it reflexively, her fingers closing around the cool surface. Her eyes flicker to yours, a question in their green depths.

You twist the cap off your water bottle, the seal breaking with a soft pop. Bringing the bottle to your lips, you take a long, refreshing drink, the cool water soothing your parched throat. You can feel the sweat drying on your skin, the chill of the liquid a welcome respite from the exertion of the chase.

"The exercise must have made you thirsty," you remark casually, watching Rose closely. Her eyes dart to the water bottle in her hand, the liquid inside glinting invitingly in the dim light of the locker room. You see her swallow, her throat working nervously before she brings the bottle to her lips and drinks.

As she swallows the potion-laced water, you can't help but imagine your cum sliding down her throat, the thought sending a jolt of arousal straight to your cock.

As Rose drains the bottle, her throat working as she swallows the potion-laced water, you take a seat on the worn wooden bench that runs along the far wall of the locker room. The cool air of the stone room causes goosebumps to rise on your bare skin, the sensation a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun outside.

You watch her intently, your gaze tracing the lines of her athletic form. Her Quidditch robes cling to her slim figure, outlining the toned muscles of her legs and the subtle swell of her small breasts. Her short red hair is damp with sweat, tendrils clinging to her flushed cheeks. You imagine the outline of her nipples through the fabric of her jersey, hardened either from the chill or the effects of the potion.

The last drops of the potion-laced water trickle down Rose's throat, the cool liquid settling heavily in her stomach. You can see the faint tremor in her hands, the bottle slipping from her fingers to land with a hollow thud on the wooden bench beside you. Her green eyes meet yours, a mixture of defiance and uncertainty swirling within their depths.

"Rose," you say, your voice echoing in the cavernous locker room. "It's time for your forfeit."

Her breath hitches, her small breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her sweat-dampened Quidditch jersey. You can see her mind racing, trying to anticipate what depraved demand you might make of her.

"I want you across my lap," you instruct. "I'm going to spank your bare ass." Rose's eyes widen, a flash of indignation crossing her face before the potion's influence seems to soften her expression. She hesitates, her body tensed as if ready to bolt, but then she takes a step forward, her competitive spirit not allowing her to back down from a challenge.

"You wouldn't dare," she retorts, her voice steady despite the tremor you can see running through her.

"Try me," you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, Rose moves towards you, her every step filled with **** resolve. She stops in front of you, her gaze locked onto yours, a silent battle of wills taking place between you. Then, with a defiant lift of her chin, she turns and positions herself across your lap.

As you slide down her quidditch pants and panties, the fabric dragging over her toned thighs and firm buttocks, Rose inhales sharply, a mix of anticipation and arousal colouring her face a deeper shade of red. The cool air of the locker room kisses her now-bared skin, causing the flesh to pebble and goosebumps to rise.

Her ass is a vision of youthful firmness, two perfectly shaped cheeks that clench in anticipation of the spanking. You appreciate the view, your cock twitching in response to the sight. You can see the faint outline of her pussy lips, framed by the gentle swell of her buttocks, a hint of pink peeking out from between her thigh.

Raising your hand, you let it hover above her skin for a moment, relishing in the tension that fills the air.

Your hand descends, stroking her ass cheeks gently, the skin soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. You feel the muscles tense under your touch, a quiet whimper escaping Rose's lips as she anticipates the sting of your palm. You take a moment to caress the curve of her buttocks, tracing the line where her skin meets the shadow of her thighs, the contrast between the cool air and the warmth of your hand making her squirm in your lap.

Then, without warning, you lift your hand and bring it down with a sharp smack on her right cheek. The sound echoes through the locker room, a stark, audible reminder of your dominance over her. Rose gasps, her body jerking at the sudden pain, her fingers clutching at the fabric of your robes. A red handprint blooms on her pale skin, a testament to your control over her.

You watch as the pink handprint on Rose's ass cheek darkens to a deeper shade of red, a visual reminder of your newfound control over her. The air is thick with the scent of her arousal, mingling with the lingering musk of sweat and the sharp tang of cleaning potions. You can see the outline of her pussy lips glistening with her wetness, evidence of the effect the potion is already having on her.

"Thank me, Rose," you command, your voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of dark desire. You see her swallow, her throat working nervously before she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you," she says, the words sounding foreign on her tongue, yet she speaks them willingly, the potion ensuring her obedience.

Your hand caresses the heated skin of Rose's ass, the flesh quivering under your touch. You can feel the warmth radiating from her, a stark contrast to the coolness of the locker room air. You stroke her gently, your fingers tracing the curve of her buttocks, delighting in the way her body responds to your touch.

Without warning, you lift your hand and bring it down on her left cheek with a resounding smack. The sound reverberates through the stone walls, a testament to the power dynamic shifting between you two. Rose's body bucks against your lap, a startled cry escaping her lips as the sting of the spanking radiates through her.

"Thank me for each one," you instruct, your voice echoing in the locker room.

Rose's breath comes in short, ragged gasps, her chest heaving against your thigh as she struggles to process the pain and the humiliating pleasure that accompanies it. The potion is doing its work, blurring the lines between discomfort and arousal, making her body crave the very thing her mind is rebelling against.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice shaky but obedient. The words hang in the air, a tangible sign of her submission.

You continue to stroke her ass, the skin now a delightful shade of pink, warmed by your discipline. Your fingers dance along the contours of her body, each touch sending ripples of sensation through her. You can feel the heat emanating from her pussy, the slickness of her arousal evident even without direct contact.

You rear your hand back once more, the anticipation building in the air between you and Rose. Her body is tense, a coiled spring awaiting release. You bring your hand down with a resounding smack, the sound sharp and clear in the quiet locker room. The impact jiggles her ass cheeks, sending a shudder through her body. A third handprint begins to form on her pale skin, a stark contrast to the previous two.

Rose's cry echoes off the stone walls, a mixture of pain and unexpected pleasure. The potion is working its magic, turning her discomfort into something more, something that makes her pussy throb with need. Her hands grip your robes tighter, her knuckles white with the effort.

"Say it, Rose," you remind her, your voice low and commanding. "Thank me." Rose's body relaxes momentarily after the impact, her breath hitching as she processes the sting of your latest spank. Her ass now bears the marks of your dominance, each handprint a vivid reminder of her submission to you. The air is thick with the scent of her arousal, a musky perfume that fills the locker room with the evidence of her body's betrayal.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her ragged breathing. The words are a surrender, an admission of the potion's influence over her. You can hear the **** in her voice, a testament to her strong will fighting against the effects of the potion.

Your hand lingers on the heated skin of her ass, the flesh now a delightful shade of red.

As you continue to admire the rosy hue of Rose's ass, your fingers trail lower, tracing the delicate crease between her buttocks. The tip of your finger lightly grazes her asshole, a forbidden zone that clenches reflexively at your touch. The sensation is new, a shock to her system that makes her gasp and squirm in your lap. You can feel the tension in her body, the instinctive resistance to this intimate intrusion.

Your finger circles the tight pucker, teasing and tantalizing, promising pleasures yet to be explored. Rose's breath hitches, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity colouring her reaction. You revel in the power you hold over her, the ability to evoke such raw and unfiltered responses from her body.

Then, just as quickly as you touched her there, you withdraw your finger, leaving her trembling with anticipation. You relish in the subtle tremors coursing through Rose's body, a visible manifestation of her confusion and arousal. Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, poised for the next spanking. With a swift, decisive motion, you bring your hand down onto the underside of her right ass cheek, eliciting a sharp cry from Rose. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the locker room, a harsh reminder of her **** position straddling your lap.

The **** of the impact jostles her body, causing her toned thighs to clench and her hips to buck. A new wave of colour blooms across her ass, the red handprint a vivid testament to your control over her. Your cock hardens at the sight, pressing almost painfully against the fabric of your robes.

"Thank you." Rose's voice is a whisper of submission, the potion weaving its insidious magic through her veins, making her acquiesce to your dominance. Her body relaxes for a brief moment, the tension in her muscles ebbing away as she accepts the sting of your discipline.

Your hand remains on her heated flesh, feeling the warmth radiating from her abused ass. You can't help but admire the way her body responds to your touch, the way her skin flushes under your palm. Your fingers trace the outline of the handprint you've left on her, a possessive mark that makes your cock twitch with primal satisfaction.

You let your hand wander lower, fingers brushing against the wetness that has gathered at the apex of her thighs. Rose inhales sharply as you make contact with her pussy, her body jerking in surprise.

As you acknowledge Rose's compliance, a reward seems only fitting. "You've taken your forfeit so well, Rose," you praise, your voice a low rumble that seems to fill the locker room. "It's only fair that you receive a reward." Your words hang in the air, heavy with the promise of pleasure amidst the remnants of pain.

Your fingers, slick with the evidence of her arousal, glide effortlessly over her swollen pussy lips, gathering the moisture that has pooled there. The scent of her desire is intoxicating, a potent mix of sweet and musky that speaks volumes of her body's betrayal. You can feel the heat of her core against your skin, a furnace that burns hotter with each passing moment.

With deliberate slowness, you trail your wet fingers back to the tight bud of her anus. The puckered entrance clenches reflexively as you approach, a final act of defiance from a body that is rapidly succumbing to your control. You circle the sensitive area with the pad of your finger, applying just enough pressure to tease and tantalize, but not enough to breach the tight ring of muscle. Rose's breath catches in her throat, trepidation and arousal colouring her ragged gasps.

"Relax, Rose," you murmur, your voice a soothing balm against the chaotic storm of emotions raging within her. "Let me in." Your words, combined with the potent effects of the potion, work in tandem to ease her tension. Slowly, ever so slowly, the muscles under your fingertip begin to unclench, allowing you access to her most intimate of places. With gentle persistence, you press your finger against the loosening entrance of Rose's ass. The digit slips past the initial resistance, disappearing into the tight, forbidden channel. A strangled gasp escapes Rose's lips as her body adjusts to the intrusion, the sensation of fullness both alien and tantalizing.

"Good girl," you praise, your voice laced with approval as you reward her compliance with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic movement of your finger inside her ass elicits a symphony of moans and whimpers from Rose, her body writhing on your lap in a mixture of discomfort and unabashed pleasure.

The potion's influence is undeniable, transforming her initial resistance into a wanton craving for more. Your finger pumps in and out of Rose's ass, each thrust met with a lewd squelch that echoes in the otherwise silent locker room. The tight ring of muscle clings to your digit, the walls of her rectum pulsating around the invading presence. You can feel the heat of her body enveloping your finger, the slick lubrication of her pussy juice easing the way for your exploration.

Rose's breathing is erratic, her chest heaving as she struggles to process the onslaught of sensations. Her green eyes are wide, the pupils dilated with a mix of shock and arousal. The flush that creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks is a clear indication of her embarrassment, yet the wetness that coats your finger is evidence of her body's treacherous response.

"You're doing so well, Rose." Your words, soft yet firm, seem to anchor her amidst the tempest of sensation. "Look at you, taking my finger in your tight little ass. Such a good girl for me." The praise, coupled with the relentless rhythm of your finger, sends a jolt of arousal straight to your aching cock, straining painfully against your robes, eager for release.

Rose shudders in your lap, her body's response a testament to the potion's effectiveness. Her cheeks burn a deep crimson at your words, but she cannot deny the heat that pools between her legs, the betrayal of her own body against her will. Her pussy lips, engorged with desire, part slightly with each thrust of your finger into her ass, revealing the glistening wetness within.

"Fuck." The word slips from her lips, barely more than a whisper, but it hangs in the air between you like a challenge, raw and real. Rose, the fiery Gryffindor tomboy, has never been one to back down, even now, under your influence.

Your finger continues its steady rhythm, sliding in and out of her tight ass, slick with her arousal. Each thrust elicits a moan from Rose, her voice a mixture of shame and need. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, pushing back against your finger, craving the depth and fullness it provides.

Her body, athletic and honed from years of Quidditch, betrays her. The same muscles that power her broomstick chasing now twitch and clench around your invading finger, pulling you deeper into her forbidden channel.

With Rose already stretched and accommodating to the intrusion, you decide it's time to intensify her experience. "I think you can take more, Rose," you murmur, your voice a dark promise in her ear. You withdraw your finger almost completely before slowly pushing it back into her ass, adding a second digit alongside the first.

The additional thickness stretches her wider, a slight burn accompanying the invasion. Rose's body tenses momentarily, a gasp escaping her lips as she adjusts to the increased fullness. The sound of her ragged breaths fills the locker room, mingling with the wet, filthy squelches of your fingers fucking her ass.

Your cock throbs with need, the ache intensifying as you watch her take not one, but two fingers into her most private orifice.

As your second finger slides into Rose's ass, you lean in close, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Such a good anal whore," you whisper, your voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Coming undone without me even touching your pussy."

Rose shivers at your words, her body both revolted and entranced by the filthy epithets you're lavishing upon her. Her mind, once so strong-willed and fiery, is now a battleground between her inherent sense of dignity and the all-consuming need for submission that the potion has instilled in her. The latter is winning, her body responding to your touch and your words with a treacherous eagerness that leaves her both mortified and exhilarated.

The slick sounds of your fingers plunging into Rose's ass echo off the stone walls of the locker room, a lewd symphony that underscores the raw, carnal act taking place. You can feel the tight ring of muscle clenching around your digits, the resistance heightening the erotic friction with each thrust. Rose's body, once taut with tension, now sways in time with your movements, her hips subtly rocking back to meet your fingers.

"You're going to make yourself cum for me, Rose," you command your voice a low growl that brooks no argument. "Just from my fingers in your ass. Show me how much of an anal whore you can be for me."

Her face flushes an even deeper shade of crimson at your words, but her body responds with an undeniable fervour. Rose's breath hitches as she grapples with the intensity of the sensations coursing through her. The potion's influence has stripped away her defences, leaving her **** to your every whim. Your words, crass and degrading, only serve to stoke the flames of her arousal, despite the shame that colours her cheeks a fiery red.

Her green eyes, once filled with a fiery spirit, now glisten with a mixture of embarrassment and raw need. The sight of her succumbing to such a base desire, driven by the potion and your expert manipulation, is a heady sensation. It's a power trip like no other, watching the once proud and fierce Rose Potter reduced to a quivering mess of wanton desire, all because of your twisted machinations.

As your fingers work Rose's ass with ruthless precision, you tilt her head towards you, capturing her lips in a deep, dominating kiss. The taste of her mouth, a mixture of innocence lost and the bitter tang of the potion, fuels your desire. Your tongue invades her mouth, claiming it as your own, just as your fingers are claiming her ass.

Rose's body is a taut bowstring, vibrating with tension as you drive her closer and closer to the edge. The potion has turned her own body against her, transforming every filthy touch and word into instruments of pleasure. Her hips buck wildly against your hand, the friction of your robes against her clit providing just enough stimulation to send her spiralling towards an orgasm that she both craves and fears.

"Cum for me, Rose." The command growled against her lips, is the final push that sends Rose tumbling over the edge. Her body convulses, a strangled cry muffled by your kiss as she surrenders to the most intense orgasm of her life. Her ass clenches around your fingers, the rhythmic pulsations milking them as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You feel the exact moment her orgasm crests; her entire body stiffens, her back arching as she rides the waves of ecstasy. The muscles in her athletic legs quiver, her toes curling against the cold stone floor of the locker room. Her pussy, untouched and yet so thoroughly involved in this depraved act, weeps with need, the slick evidence of her arousal painting her inner thighs. As Rose's orgasm subsides, her body goes limp in your arms, the aftershocks of her climax making her tremble. Her green eyes, now soft and dazed, meet yours, a silent acknowledgement of the power you hold over her. The potion has done its work, binding her to your will, turning her into a pliant, obedient toy for your pleasure.

As Rose's body trembles in the aftermath of her orgasm, you withdraw your fingers from her ass, the slick digits leaving her feeling hollow and needy. You can see the confusion and vulnerability in her dazed green eyes, a stark contrast to the fiery determination that usually burned within them. With a gentle hand, you guide her panties and quidditch pants back up her toned legs, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the rough treatment her body has just endured.

She leans into you, her body still weak from the intensity of her climax. You support her weight easily, a smirk playing on your lips as you feel her cling to you for support. The potion has done its job well; Rose Potter, the fierce Gryffindor tomboy, is starting to become dependent on your whims, her body and mind both ensnared by your corrupting influence.

With one hand supporting Rose's lean, athletic frame, you use the other to cradle her chin, tilting her face upward to meet your gaze. Her green eyes, still glazed over with the remnants of her climax, search yours for a moment of tenderness amidst the depravity. Your lips descend upon hers, claiming her mouth with a possessive ferocity that leaves no doubt as to who owns her now.

The kiss is deep and passionate, a stark contrast to the rough treatment her body has just endured. Your tongue slips past her lips, dancing with hers in a rhythm as old as time. She yields to you completely, her body melting into yours as she returns the kiss with a newfound eagerness.

As you gently break the kiss, you gaze into Rose's dazed green eyes, her face flushed with a mix of post-orgasmic bliss and the slowly fading haze of the potion's influence. You can feel her heart pounding against her chest, syncing with the steady rhythm of your own. Her body, still leaning heavily against yours, is a testament to the power you now wield over her.

"Rose," you say, your voice a low rumble that resonates in the quiet locker room, "you're free to challenge me later, on the Quidditch pitch or anywhere else you please. But remember this," you continue, your hand trailing down her spine to rest possessively on the curve of her ass, "if you lose, I'll be balls deep in this tight little ass of yours. And who knows," you add with a dark smirk, "perhaps you'll find a way to throw the challenge, just to feel my cock filling you up from behind."

Her breath hitches at your words, a fresh wave of colour blooming across her cheeks. The thought of intentionally losing to experience the raw, carnal pleasure of your cock in her ass is both thrilling and mortifying.

With your parting words hanging heavily in the air, you release Rose from your embrace, her body still trembling from the potent mix of pleasure and confusion. Her green eyes, once so full of fire and independence, now gaze up at you with a complex blend of lust, fear, and a growing sense of subservience. The transformation is intoxicating, a testament to the potency of your potion and the effectiveness of your dominance.

You turn on your heel, the fabric of your robes rustling softly against the stone floor of the locker room. Each step you take is measured, and confident, the echo a stark reminder to Rose of the power you hold over her. You can't help but smirk as you imagine her standing there, her quidditch pants barely concealing the wetness that your fingers and your potion have coaxed from her.