Learning History

First, she wanted to try the spells herself. But to do that she’d need privacy—she wasn’t going to get herself stuck with wet pants in the middle of a lesson or surrounded by other students in the library. So step one was the bathroom.
She went into one of the individual stall bathrooms instead of the one shared by the rest of the girls in her dormitory. She wanted to make sure, above anything, that she could vanish the pee from her clothes and the floor after going. If she could do that without fail, then she could move on to the more intricate bits—like going in public without anyone seeing, which she found awfully enticing.
So she made sure to drink plenty during dinner one Sunday evening, and then went off to work on an Arithmancy essay in the library for a couple of hours. Harry and Ron didn’t join her, as they weren’t Arithmancy students, just as she had planned—so there was no one to see her duck into the loo on the way back to Gryffindor Tower shortly before curfew. She was desperate, but only mildly so: if she’d had to, she could easily have held on long enough to return to her dormitory. Still, she held herself as she rocked back and forth as she stood on the tile floor, not quite willing to let go in her clothes when there was a toilet right beside her.
But holding herself like that had an effect. She found it was pleasurable to rock her pelvis into the heel of her palm, the seam of her trousers hitting right in the perfect spot. The fullness of her bladder added a dimension to the sensation, as with each little thrust into her palm she felt its fullness, felt how close she was to being unable to hold it in any longer. Her pelvic muscles were clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. And then, almost without having to force it, she was pissing, hot streams running down her legs and pooling in her boots, her hand still between her legs. She looked down and saw the golden liquid running through her fingers and splashing on the floor, where a puddle was already beginning to grow.
It felt good. It felt better than she had imagined—and she’d been imagining it, all those hours reading in the library. And there were all the hours remembering the encounter with Gwenog Jones.
“I thought she was a bit full of herself,” she’d said to Ron, and it was true, she’d been confident, standing there pissing herself amidst a party full of people.
Now, her own pee still flowing ceaselessly, Hermione wondered if it felt as good for Gwenog as it felt for her now. Did she go home and rub one out as soon as she left the party? Did she get a thrill from letting people see, from the risk? Hermione thought that was how she might feel.
The flow trickled to a stop, but Hermione needed an orgasm before she could worry about spells. And now wasn’t the time to transfigure a dildo: she needed fast and hard. So she straddled the corner of the sink—thankfully it was the right height!—and began to grind on it, her sodden jeans dripping still onto the floor beneath her. She’d soaked them almost entirely, front and back—she hadn’t realized how much piss she had inside her. So they were wet and heavy on her legs as she continued, pushing her pee-covered clit into the hard porcelain.
She looked up and saw herself in the mirror—flushed, panting slightly, mouth open and eyes wide as her gaze travelled down. She watched as her hips thrust once, twice, a third time, into the corner, and felt another spot of warmth bloom between her legs—more pee, or else other fluids, it didn’t matter to her at that moment. She gasped at the feeling, and, with another thrust, she watched herself come. She shook uncontrollably as she held on with all her might through waves of pleasure, and more spurts of warm—her legs had momentarily stopped working.
At last, she opened her eyes and shakily stood. She had never had an orgasm that strong before—in her bed, late at night, she brought herself off in a utilitarian sort of way, to send herself off to sleep. This, however, had been unstoppable.
Now time to practice the spell. But first, if she gave it a moment, she thought she could add a little more pee to what was after all a sizeable puddle on the floor, and warm over her jeans that had been cooling off in the air. This time, she watched herself in the mirror, as she pushed several more jets of hot pee into her knickers and down her legs. She could see if on the surface of her trousers, shining and spreading against the duller original piss. She couldn’t resist stroking herself once or twice when she was empty, as the aftershocks of her recent orgasm made her tremble again.
And then, without speaking the incantation aloud, she waved her wand, and it was all gone. Magic. She gave herself a devilish grin in the mirror. She would certainly be putting this skill to much good use, as soon as she had another full bladder.