Dark
Dark Arts
Dark Heart... Never shared ...
Certainly not with colleagues...
Not even with the endless and varied parade
of flesh I've lured or allowed into my bed.
Flesh I've shared vile secrets with, done vile things to
...though never admitted into the deepest dark sea of my soul...
Not even during the lightest dark of pillow talk or painfully
extracted confessions of sordid fantasies.
What I want.
It sounds so simple, but just those three words cause my mind to
wander to the heavenly hell I long for and give me ice water chills.
A dream of the touch of gelatinous claw or clammy tentacle...
...Wrapped around the damp silk velvet of my cock.
When I realize the depths to which I'm willing to sink to indulge
my lust, sometimes, it shocks me (but not for long).
I have to sit as my knees go jellyfish weak.
It's a familiar fantasy but one that never fails to arouse me like
nothing else does anymore...especially when I know it doesn't
have to remain just a fantasy any longer.
Can I do it?
Yes.
I know I can.
I can with the help of the Unspeakable Book that I've had in
my possession since I was just a third year here at Hogwarts.
(So young? Not really: I think I was born mad).
The Book I've devoted as much time to as I did to my youthful studies
...right through to the lessons I now teach every day.
The Book, that if discovered, could mean the end of my position here.
Just the material of the binding alone is something which could cause more
hell for me to pay than even discovery of my spoiling of that sulky Malfoy brat...
(I think I've let on too much for his -my?- own good, but truly!
It was the only real fun I've had in such a long time ... perhaps it was
the watery paleness he shares with his father that spurred me on.)
I am going to do it.
I must: for in truth, I have become so jaded, that almost nothing but
my eldritch fantasies can excite me now ... and I do so need release.
The expensive hunk of octopus I paid for -out of my own pocket, no less-
(with which to ostensibly create an underwater breathing potion) has
gone in only a few weeks from merely stinking and rancid to almost
completely disintegrated and can no longer be used for its true purpose.
(I thank the Old Ones every day for the blessed cover of the long robes
I wear that hid the hard-on I got just from going into the fishmongers shop!)
Gossip runs so rampant between Hogwarts, Diagon and Knockturn that I
do not think I can get away with purchasing another so soon without much
unwanted attention and curious questioning as to just when that potion will
actually come into being (probably never, for although I desired to cover my
actual intent, I find that I am distracted beyond all but the simplest of tasks
these days and my temper -always short- breaks into fury at the slightest annoyance)...
I have however, not thrown the remains away -waste not, want not-
but preserved them in a glass jar filled with a formalin syrup and placed
it next to my bed ... simply: just the sight of it fuels the nightmares that
make me come in my sleep.
