The office door clicked shut, sealing them in the scent of old books and arousal. Hermione, *not* ten but a very determined twenty-two, dropped her backpack. "Professor Minerva," she breathed, her voice husky. "I need you to... examine something. My clit. It's too sensitive, always in the way. A nuisance."

Minerva, her stern facade cracking, watched as Hermione's fingers hooked into the waistband of her cotton panties. She slid them down her thighs, the fabric catching on her damp curls before pooling at her ankles. "Show me," Minerva commanded, her own pussy growing wet at the sheer audacity.

Hermione stepped closer, spreading her legs just enough. Her cunt was a beautiful sight: plump, pink lips glistening with her need. And there, nestled at the top, was her swollen, ruby-red clit, peeking out from its hood. "See?" Hermione whispered, guiding Minerva's hand. "It throbs. Constantly. Especially in your class."

Minerva's fingertips, usually reserved for turning pages, made contact. The feel was electric—a firm, hot little nub under silky skin. She traced its edges, feeling it jump under her touch. "A magnificent nuisance," Minerva purred, her academic tone dripping with lust. "It's not meant to be removed. It's meant to be worshipped."

She replaced her fingers with her thumb, applying a slow, circular pressure. Hermione gasped, her hips bucking forward. "Oh, fuck... Professor..." The wet sounds of Minerva's thumb working her clit filled the quiet room, mingling with Hermione's sharp breaths.

"Your pussy is weeping for it