Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4480022.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      VH_-_A_Harry_Potter_Roleplay_Site
  Relationship:
      Penny_Kennedy-Porter/Parker_McAdams
  Character:
      Penny_Kennedy-Porter_(VH19), mentions_of_Parker_McAdams_(VH17)
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Fantasizing, VH21_(2023-2024)
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Penny/Parker_Canon_Chronicles
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-02 Words: 1354
****** never stop ******
by adaptation
Summary
     There was a secondhand kind of satisfaction that came from that form
     of culmination in romance novels, and Penny loved it. She recognized
     that this probably had a lot to do with the fact that she was a
     virgin, and romance novels were the most action she’d ever had.
It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in July. Penny Kennedy-Porter had resigned
herself immediately after awakening that morning to the fact that she would
spend the entirety of the day curled up in her bedroom. The rain always made
her feel a little bit agoraphobic, and so she preferred to spend days like
today in her room, watching movies on her computer or reading in bed.

After enjoying her forty-third viewing of Beauty and the Beast, she perused her
bookshelf for something literary to entertain her. She lingered over an
anthology of short mystery stories, but instead selected a paperback romance
that she’d picked up from a used bookshop in London the week before. It had
only cost her fifty pence and promised to be a light and entertaining, if not
particularly thought-provoking, read.

Kicking her fuzzy slippers off, she crawled under the blankets on her bed and
turned on the lamp next to it. The storm outside left little natural light in
her room, but the lamp provided ample reading light. She angled toward it,
turning to the first chapter, and quickly found herself immersed in a dramatic
story depicting two people desperately in love, but who hadn’t realized it yet.

As with all trashy romances, it had its smutty moments. It was full of sexual
tension, and for the first three hours that she was reading, this remained
wholly unresolved. Penny was curled in her bed, flipping page after page and
envisioning the story as it unfolded; a handsome wizard rancher and the
beautiful Muggle nanny who watched his young daughter as he worked. She wanted
them to kiss long before they had, and once they’d done that, she’d wanted them
to sleep together. There was a secondhand kind of satisfaction that came from
that form of culmination in romance novels, and Penny loved it. She recognized
that this probably had a lot to do with the fact that she was a virgin, and
romance novels were the most action she’d ever had.

This also leant a good deal of frustration to the curious redhead. When she
read of passionate kisses, she felt her lips tingle with anticipation. She
wondered what it would feel like to have someone’s mouth on hers, pressing,
opening, exploring. What her first kiss would feel like. How it would taste. If
it would be as good as they seemed in these books. The boy she kissed – how
would he smell? Would he hold her close, or be too tentative to touch her?
Would he know what he was doing, or would he end up slobbering on her chin?

The love scenes created similar curiosity in her. Was sex as burning and
passionate as this author – Trysta Truelove – had described? How would it feel
to have hands on her body like that? To feel the weight of a man between her
legs. To fist her fingers in a head of thick hair, to feel hot, harsh breath
coming in pants against her skin. Would it make her sweaty? Would she quiver
with need? The book made it all seem so wonderful. She couldn’t help but wonder
why anybody waited to have sex. If it was this fantastic, surely everyone would
be doing it. And she understood that romance novels exaggerated, as it came
with the territory, but someone out there must have sex as good as it was in
the books. Maybe it would be her.

But as it was, she’d never felt anything like all that. She didn’t know what it
felt like to have someone inside her. She’d never had a tongue on the sensitive
flesh between her legs, and she didn’t know what it was like to have an orgasm
that was induced by anyone but herself.

Sure, she touched herself. She was independent and curious; it was natural that
she would have progressed to that form of exploration. And by the time she
finished the first love scene in the trashy romance she held, she was sure she
was about to do it again.

The erotic writing in the novel and the sexy nature of her thoughts had set her
skin to humming. The way she was lying, her thighs rubbed together and caused a
distracting friction. It didn’t take long for her to set the book aside, turn
her lamp off, and flop onto her back.

One quick shove had her cotton pants down around her ankles along with the
comforter, and her knees fell open. The cold air hit the damp flesh between her
legs, and she bit down lightly on her lip. Her left hand slid up from her knee,
tracing the line of her inner thigh toward her center, and her skin tingled
with anticipation. Her first two fingers framed her entrance, gently massaging
the lips of her pussy. She sighed and her eyes fell closed. As the pad of her
finger dipped into her opening, she let her imagination take over.

First, she envisioned the hunky hero in the novel she’d abandoned. Tall, dark,
handsome. Well-muscled. Stubble on a hard jaw, piercing eyes. His voice would
be husky as he told her he wanted her. His stubble would scratch at her tender
skin as he kissed his way across her chest. His hands would be rough with
calluses from working the ranch. Maybe he’d fuck her with his jeans on, and the
denim would irritate the skin of her thighs.

This vision fueled her for several minutes as she circled her opening and
worked her clitoris. Then the man in her fantasy changed to some guy she’d
never met, couldn’t recognize. Just a guy. Cocky kind of guy, the kind that
would fuck her from behind. He’d pull her hair, and talk to her while they
fucked, all the while whispering dirty little things to her that just made her
wetter.

It didn’t take long for her to start the climb toward orgasm. It never did.
When she touched herself, it was never meant to be some long, drawn out
process. She didn’t make love to herself, she just got herself off. That’s all
she needed, all she wanted. It took ten minutes at the most. Often times, it
took nowhere near that.

She was getting close then, her breath coming in ragged pants and the sheet
under her sticking to her sweaty body. Her hair was tangled against the pillow,
but she didn’t care. Her bottom lip was swollen from the way she’d been biting
it, and her wrist was getting tired from the vigorous motion. She arched off
the bed, knowing it was coming.

And then her mind did something she’d never expected. The nameless man she’d
been fantasy-fucking turned into someone she could easily recognize. Parker
McAdams appeared between her legs, smiling crookedly up at her as he cupped her
thighs in his hands and pressed his tongue against her, testing her reaction.
He held her eyes with his, that pretty ocean blue sparkling with amusement and
arousal as he held her by the hips. She swiveled, trying to get closer, and his
tongue dipped into her, and then she came into her own hand, her toes curling
hard into the mattress.

When the tremors of orgasm subsided, she lay there silently, staring at her
ceiling with her arm flopped over her forehead. “Huh,” she exhaled. 

Parker.

She’d never fantasized about Parker before. Not like that, anyway. When she’d
been younger, she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him, because she'd
had a vicious crush on him and she'd been too young to think about sex much.
But he was good-looking in a scampy sort of way. He had the kind of hair that
made her fingers itch to touch it, and now that she thought about it, he had
exactly the kind of waist she could see with her legs wrapped around it.

Hmming thoughtfully, she rolled over and checked the clock on her nightstand.
5:03. She had just enough time to shower before dinner. Perfect.

Without another thought about it, she arranged her pajamas and made her way
into the bathroom.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!