"Hairy Peter & The Gallstone"

[Susan Strict]

Chapter Thirteen - Lunch, Explosions and a Mystery
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Lunch was, as were all meals at Fessewarts, a noisy occasion. The entire university was gathered in the main hall at a single sitting, and although a few of the professors were missing from the top table, few if any of the students wanted to miss a meal.
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"Hello," said a voice at Peter's side as he jostled his way towards the Grindonner tables. "I rather like you."
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By the time he turned to see who it was she was lost in the mass of students each eager to reach his or her own table. He recognised the voice. It had been Merry Shagger.
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Peter was pushing his way back to find her when someone else caught his elbow. This time it was Herniame.
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"I've thought about it," she said, "And I think we ought to give it a try. Don't tell anyone. I'll see you later tonight in the common room after everyone else has gone to bed."
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"I don't think..." began Peter, but Herniame too had vanished in the crowd and when Peter eventually reached the Grindonner table there were no free spaces anywhere near where either Herniame or Merry were sitting. He was completely unable to understand how it was that girls managed to move through a crowd of people with such ease and speed when it always took him at least three times as long. He gave up wondering about it, and sat down next to Don.
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"Hi," said Don between mouthfuls of steak and kidney pudding, "The food's good here, isn't it?"
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"Yes," agreed Peter as he watched Don cram more food into his mouth. "You need to keep your strength up. Violet would approve."
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Don choked and spluttered. Peter slapped him on the back helpfully.
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"I didn't have a lot of choice," Don pointed out as soon as he could speak again.
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"I suppose not," said Peter sympathetically. "So you won't be seeing her again?"
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"Not if I can help it," said Don emphatically, carefully not looking anywhere near the Smotherin table where Violet Shaw was cheerfully waving at him.
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"Actually," said Peter changing the subject completely, much to Don's relief, "What was it that Malcum Plokkoy said just before you went to hit him? He called Herniame a mudpod, or something like that. I've never heard that word before."
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"Broodpod," Don told him in a whisper. "It's probably the worst insult you could throw at any normal person. The 'pod' bit of course refers to 'vanilla' and that's bad enough on its own. Making it a pod rather than just vanilla is suggests that even that person's vanilla sexuality hasn't developed properly. It's a bit complicated. Just trust me; it's bad, very bad. The brood bit is to do with parents and family. It sort of says that the whole family is like that. It's a very nasty name for someone with vanilla parents."
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"I can see why Herniame was upset," said Peter. "And you thought you had to go and defend her?"
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Don blushed. "It's nothing," he said defensively. "I would have done the same if he had called anyone that name."
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Don stuffed more food into his mouth, effectively ending the conversation for a few minutes.
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"We have our first Safe Smothering lecture this afternoon," Don told Peter. "You haven't got a timetable yet, have you?"
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"I have," Peter contradicted him. "It's the map of the university I don't have. I'll copy it down this evening."
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Don went on eating, and although Peter knew it was particularly wicked to do it, he could not help but say it.
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"Is Violet in the same group as us for the Safe Smothering lecture?"
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It was fortunate that Peter was not particularly hungry. Don's violent choking knocked not only the rest of his own lunch off the table but Peter's too and the plate belonging to Neil Shortass who had made a remarkably rapid recovery in the University Hospital and was now sitting, a little uncomfortably, on the other side of Don.
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"Oi! I'd only just started that!" complained Neil.
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"Get another one," suggested Peter.
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"You would have thought," protested Neil as he looked at the long queue for food, "That this being a magical University they could have made the food appear magically."
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"Perhaps there's an incantation," said Peter.
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"If there is, they haven't mentioned it to me," Neil told him, "And I've been here for a year."
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Peter was tempted to tell him that perhaps they did mention it and Neil had forgotten, just as he seemed to have forgotten everything he must have once been taught about the Flying Phalluses. He decided that remaining silent was probably less likely to make an enemy.
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While Neil struggled from his seat and joined the queue for food, Peter left Don, whose choking did not seem to be life-threatening, and made his way towards the Grindonner common room. There was just about enough time, he hoped, to relax in relative peace before having to find his way to the Safe Smothering lecture.
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He was nearly at the painting of the Fat Facesitter when someone called him.
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"Hello there young Peter," boomed a voice down the passage. "Shouldn't you be eating?"
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"Hello, Ingrid," Peter replied, "I wasn't really very hungry."
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"You need to keep your strength up, you know," Ingrid told him. "There's a lot of physical activity at Fessewarts if you want any chance of passing your courses."
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"I know. That's just what I told Don," said Peter.
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"Why? Wasn't he eating either?"
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"Yes, but he... never mind. It's a long story. I was just going to relax a bit before this afternoon's lectures, that's all."
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"Don't let me stop you. I have work to do too." Ingrid started to walk away down the long corridor towards the North Wing, her heavy footsteps echoing from the stone walls.
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"Stop!"
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Ingrid turned. It was not Peter who had spoken.
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"Well, well. If it's not the Fat Facesitter herself," boomed Ingrid. "What can I do for you?"
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"I assume this young man wants to enter Grindonner Tower," said the Fat Facesitter, wriggling slightly on her seat who moaned and whose legs kicked and trembled desperately as the Fat Facesitter made herself comfortable.
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"So," continued the Fat Facesitter with a slap aimed at the groin of her seat to make him keep still, "I'll have your help with his task, if you don't mind."
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"I haven't the time," said Ingrid. "Fessewarts business. All very hush-hush. I have to be you-know-where to help with the security of you-know-what. Fumblebum's orders, it is. Can't be hanging around waiting for tasks."
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"It will only take a moment," pleaded the Fat Facesitter. "It's not something he can do on his own."
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"I don't know why you don't give him something he can do on his own," grumbled Ingrid. "All right. Quick now. You want me to sit on him?"
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The prospect of Ingrid sitting on him on the hard stone floor of the passage was not at all appealing to Peter, particularly after he had experienced her huge weight and extremely hairy buttocks in the Sorting Seat. He had almost decided that perhaps half an hour in the comfort of one of the common room armchairs was not such an appealing prospect, when the Fat Facesitter explained.
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"No," she said to Ingrid. "I want you to give him a blowjob."
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"That's all right then," declared Ingrid. "No problem with that. It will only take a second."
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Before Peter could object or even make a comment, Ingrid was on her knees and lifting his robes. After his recent experience with Merry, Peter was not really in the mood for this sort of attention, and although he might have welcomed it at any time from some of the girls, Ingrid was not exactly his idea of the perfect woman. Ingrid gripped his penis between finger and thumb and examined it.
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"He's not making an effort," Ingrid said to the Fat Facesitter. "I think I'm wasting my time. Just look at it!"
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"I'm tired," protested Peter. "We just had the lecture about vaginisms."
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The Fat Facesitter laughed. "We could try that instead," she said.
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"We could," agreed Ingrid, "If you can work the incantation. I haven't got my vibrator with me to focus the words, and you know I'm not all that good at some of this magic. Anyway, I'm not supposed to use it. You know how annoyed Chancellor Fumblebum gets, and he'll know for sure if I do it inside Fessewarts."
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"No!" said Peter quickly, terrified by the sudden picture of Ingrid clamped onto him in the throes of a vaginism. "Carry on doing that. It will be OK." He muttered erecto to correct the lack of enthusiasm that was quite obvious to both Ingrid and to the Fat Facesitter.
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As Ingrid's huge lips closed over Peter's hardness, it felt to Peter like something between being caught in the nozzle of a powerful vacuum pump and being crushed with a force that was at least as powerful as the grip of Merry's vaginism. He forced himself to remain calm, although every nerve in his body was screaming at him to fight against what was happening.
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"Spurticus," he muttered under his breath, praying that it would work without saying the incantation loudly enough for anyone to hear.
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It worked. In fact, it almost worked too well. He felt the odd sensation he had experienced before, but this time he watched a most peculiar expression go across Ingrid's face. Her cheeks bulged. Her eyes bulged, although not quite for the same reason. She swallowed several times.
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"Very good!" she said letting go and looking up at Peter. "I never thought you had it in you!"
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"I think he cheated," said the Fat Facesitter who had been watching closely.
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"Maybe," said Ingrid, clambering to her feet. "Maybe not. I really do have to be going."
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She lumbered away down the passage. The Fat Facesitter swung the painting open to reveal the staircase to Grindonner Tower.
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"You're too clever for your own good," she grumbled as Peter went through the opening and up the stairs.
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The common room was not empty as Peter had hoped. As he came into the room he was greeted by a series of small explosions, a cloud of pink smoke, and a smell that could well have resulted from an accident at a perfume factory. Through the smoke Peter could just make out two figures, and as it cleared he recognised Freda and Samantha, Don's twin sisters.
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"What are you doing!" asked Peter.
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"Hi Peter," said Samantha. "We didn't expect anyone up her at lunchtime."
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"I can see that," Peter told her, coung as the unearthly smell seemed to get even stronger. "You would have gassed everyone by now."
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"Sorry," Freda apologised. "Our experiments didn't go quite as planned. It was supposed to be an irresistible aroma that makes you fall in love the moment you smell it."
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"A bit like a love potion," explained Samantha. "Only this one makes you want to make love to the first person you see."
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"But why?" asked Peter.
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"No particular reason," said Freda. "We just thought it would be funny to set it off in the main hall when everyone's in there. Can you imagine it?"
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"Not really," said Peter, an image in his head of the professors throwing off their clothes and making love to each other. He shuddered. "Wouldn't it have been a bit of a problem if your experiment had worked? There's only the two of you here!"
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"Oh we don't mind," Samantha told him. "The effect shouldn't have lasted very long, and it's not as if it's the first time that we've... you know. A few of our experiments had that sort of result. But now you're here we can try again without worrying about that, can't we?"
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"I came up here to relax," pointed out Peter. "I'm exhausted."
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"You can relax and leave it all up to us," suggested Freda. "In fact, we don't even need to try the experiment again."
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"No!" said Peter firmly as the two of them advanced on him. "Some other time and I'd be delighted to help you, but right now I need to sit quietly for a while."
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"So do we," declared Samantha. "Preferably on you!"
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Peter made a rush towards the entrance to the male dormitory, but the twins were too quick for him. Freda tripped him up as he dived past her. He went sprawling on the floor. They stood over him.
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"It wouldn't have done you any good," Freda told him. "You can't go into our dormitory without loads of trouble, but there's nothing at all to stop us going into yours."
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Peter groaned, resigning himself to the inevitable. "I'm really tired," he told them again. "We had the first Basic Safety lecture this morning, all about vaginisms, and it didn't go too well for me. Then I had a problem getting past the Fat Facesitter, which wouldn't have been nearly as bad if Ingrid hadn't happened to be going along the passage just when the Fat Facesitter was trying to think of something she wanted me to do."
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The twins looked at each other. "Don't be silly," said Samantha, "You can't have seen Ingrid near here. She never comes into the main building except when she has to go to the main hall. She's always too busy outside in the grounds, or in her lodge on the edge of the forest."
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"She was in here today," Peter told her.
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Freda shook her head. "I knew it," she said. "It's that corridor in the north wing. I just knew she was involved. Whatever she brought back from the bank in Diaphragm Alley is up there, and she's in charge of it."
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"What did she bring back from the bank in Diaphragm Alley?" asked Peter.
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"I was going to ask you that," said Samantha. "You were with her."
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"I wasn't," said Peter. "I was having my robes fitted while she went to the bank. She did say something about Fessewarts business, but I thought she just went to get the money from my account. I didn't know I had any money until she told me. Anyway, how do you know about it?"
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"We have our sources," said Samantha mysteriously.
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"What she means," said Freda, "Is that we were buying some books and we saw Ingrid go into the bank. She was there a long time, much longer than it ought to have taken to withdraw some money. She must have gone into one of the secure rooms in the tunnels under the bank to collect something. There's no other reason for staying that long in there. Those bankers are unpleasant little animals. Even Ingrid wouldn't spend longer with them than she could help."
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"She might have been putting something in, not taking something out," said Peter logically.
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"Perhaps," agreed Samantha, "But then she would have travelled back on the Fessewarts Express with the rest of us like she usually does and sent her bubblecar back on its own. She didn't. She rushed back in the bubblecar, so she must have had a very good reason for wanting to arrive here quickly. I'll bet she had something valuable she had just taken from the bank, and it's now up in the north wing."
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"I think you're jumping to conclusions," said Peter. "There are plenty of other explanations."
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"And I think we ought to sit on you," said Freda brightly. "After all, what's the point of having a man lying on his back on the floor if you don't sit on him?"
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"I quite agree," said Samantha. "And that's far more important than whatever might be in the north wing. Let's sit on him."
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And they did.
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Susan Strict's books are available from A1 Adult eBooks

[Susan Strict]

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Susan