Archive of Our Own

It hadn’t been his fault. Hagrid had intended to be well-behaved this year, not get himself into anything that would run the risk of drawing anyone’s attention. With the Boy Who Lived attending Hogwarts right now and the assorted tasks that comes with that, he’s busier than he normally would be, and he’s done his best to make sure that he’s available to his little friends whenever they might have need of him.

It hadn’t been his fault. He’d stumbled onto the pack of baby witch-sleeves clustered together on a blanket a little bit too close to his hut and a little bit too far away from the castle for anyone to be keeping an eye on them and they’d all been so adorable and bashful under his attention that he’d had to invite them back for tea at his place, assisted them in packing their stuff together to leave on trace behind of their presence, and snuck them into the privacy of his home with no one the wiser about what was going to happen to them. 

Based on the colour of their uniforms, he knows that the sleeves are Hufflepuffs, and a few leading questions tells him that they’re not just Hufflepuffs - they’re second year Hufflepuffs, which has always been one of his favourite breeds of cocksleeves, topped only by first years badgers and eagles. Two of them are little witches he’s had an eye on since their sorting last year, though he’s yet to have an opportunity to do more than look at anyone new to this point, as there just haven’t been enough opportunities for him for a while. The other three sets of warm holes are ones he’s never paid any particular attention to before, but all five sluts are cute enough that he wouldn’t have found any hardship in claiming any of them individually. That they’re coming as a colourful set is just an unexpected boon - two sleeves he’s been dying to dip his fingers into for a full year and another three to do whatever he wants with as well.

The fact that it’s Friday afternoon and the sleeves had been let out of their last class early for the weekend, that they had been assigned a project to work on together and had planned to spend the weekend on it and thereby won’t be expected by anyone else until at least Sunday morning before someone thinks to assemble a search party - which gives him around a full day before he has to find a way to deposit the used cum tunnels back in their dorm room - the fact that there’s no bed check on second year sleeves, and the knowledge that he has an entire tub of salve in the hut only makes it feel like it was something that was always meant to be.

In the short conversation he has with them where none of the sets of holes seem to pick up on how leading his questions are, he learns the other three holes names, promptly forgets the other holes three names, and mentally decides which order he’s going to take them all in for the sluts first introduction to the debauchery that is being a mating partner to a half-giant man such as himself.

He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t been looking for this specific opportunity, so if one thing happens to lead to another and Hagrid ends up with five inebriated pre-sleeves on the cusp of being old enough to stumble away from his hut pregnant - well, Albus has always said that what Hagrid intends matters more than what he actually ends up doing, so he knows the man will understand.

He hadn’t gone into today intending to spike five mugs of tea - hells, it’s a blasted miracle he even has enough mugs for them all - he hadn’t intended to down a potion that he’s been saving for the next time he had a free weekend and something to fuck, and that means that it’s not his fault if he ends up spending 12 to 18 hours filling five underage little sleeves with enough cum to knock up at least thirty adult witch-toys.

With no one seeing him leading his newest collection of warm holes into his hut, so far as anyone - Albus included - ever needs to know is that five cute little witches had come to him of their own accord, begged to have tea with him, and had been too much of a temptation to do anything but seduce Hagrid into defiling their little bodies with his inhuman desire. It's not his fault that he can't turn down an offer like that, not when jerking off is so much work and cleaning up the mess is so bloody inconvenient. It just makes more sense to use a self-cleaning hole instead of his own hand. 

They’re all young, so it’s possible that all five sets of holes will escape the fate of birthing a half-giant’s progeny, but he’s hopeful at the very least that he’ll have enough salve to coax his tree branch of a cock into ten fresh sleeves today and that if all goes extremely well, all five with wobble away with new life growing inside their underdeveloped wombs. By his best estimate, any witch-sleeves he manages to knock up end up carrying quarter giant babies, and in Hagrid’s experience, that’s more than manageable for a healthy human witch to squeeze out of her pussy-hole.

Anything with a big enough hole to be capable of taking his entire cock has enough space to carry the consequences of their coupling, even if when it’s a cute little pre-teen witch-sleeve like these ones are - she’d only made it to three months before he'd had to let her go undoubtedly lose the baby they were growing together, so while he doesn’t know how young is the youngest that can survive giving birth for him, the youngest sleeve he’s ever successfully bred had been an exceptionally adorable eight year old witch-hole that had gotten lost on a visit with her family to the castle a few years back. He hadn't ever bothered to learn the hole's name, but he'd grown quite fond of her in the three months before he'd had to let leave her at the edge of the forest to be discovered once hiding her had become an issue. 

The younger they are, the more malleable their magic is to manipulation - but the counterside to that is that the younger they are, the more susceptible their minds are to breaking quickly under the pressure of being mated by even a half-giant. There hadn't been much left of that girl at that point anywhere. She'd been stretched out, bloated and lumpy, with only enough consciousness to respond to only the most basic of commands, not capable of even understanding that she was growing another Hagrid Junior in her belly for him - but he had used her hard and continuously and even the strongest witch wouldn't be capable of holding out for more than a few months being used multiple times a day by him. It hadn't been her fault that she'd been so spectacularly broken, but he can never bring himself to regret any of the use he's gotten out of his toys.

It would be a right disaster if all five witch-sleeves end up commemorating the weekend with new life growing inside their busted wombs, as he’d have to admit what he’s done to Albus, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping that he’ll get to see it anyway, damn the consequences.

Hagrid hadn’t considered something like this weekend as a possibility as most of the groups that wander this close to this forest to study end up being mixed gender or are sleeves old enough that it’s not worth the risk of them telling someone, but it’s like the fates wanted him to have the chance to unwind properly this school year. He can only hope that if it does become a situation where Albus has to stick his bony fingers, that it’ll be discovered too late for anyone to magic away the impact of his seed, and that eleven months from now, there will be a few more Hagrid Juniors running around.

Since he hadn’t planned for or intentionally orchestrated it, there’s no way Albus can ever blame him for what happens. Not when he knows that Hagrid has always struggled with his impulses and can’t be expected to turn something like this down. And while the old man may have asked multiple times that Hagrid do his best to use contraceptives, everyone knows that Hagrid is absent-minded and forgetful about things - and he can already reasonably claim that he hadn’t thought any of the sleeves were old enough for it to reasonably take. He'd figured out fairly fast that the slabbering, cock-dumb, pregnant baby sleeve had been the result of Hagrid - at least once the set of holes had been found again - but he'd never directly acknowledged its pregnancy to Hagrid. As far as either of them need to be concerned: Hagrid hadn't known her age, hadn't known she was pregnant, and would have let her go eventually even without outside pressure. 

It’s a shame that none of his children ever end up attending Hogwarts, so he’s never had a chance to get to know any of them, but he knows for a fact that there’s creeping up on two dozen that he’s made since he started working for Hogwarts and just the knowledge that they’re out there somewhere is enough to make him feel like a proud, indulgent father.

The second, slightly smaller of the two blondes sleeves is the most coherent out of them, her head slumped to the side as she stares in exhausted confusion at him, mouth-hole moving sluggishly as she fails to make any sound other than a low moaning one, her eyes tracking his movements sluggishly. It had been easy to slip something into the tea and it’s easier still to put on a show of being distressed about it until all five cocksleeves had begrudgingly downed all of their lukewarm tea and begun to get hazy behind the eyes, slumping over in their chairs. Two sets of holes had hit the floor, but a quick check had confirmed that there wasn’t any blood and that any bruises from it would pale in comparison to the ones that will be left behind when he’s done.

The two that had hit the floor are completely out of it for now, eyes closed, chests moving in the most peaceful slumber they'll have for the rest of their little cum sock lives, but the redhead and other of the blondes have their mouth-holes slack and open, staring dreamily at Hagrid as he closes the curtains, stokes the fire, and makes sure all the locks are in place to prevent anyone from entering without giving him time to stow the witch-sleeves out of sight, and only then moves to undo his belt.

“What-What are you doing?” the little blonde sleeve slurs. “Mr- Hag-Hagrid?”

Hagrid chuckles, kicking off his boots so he can remove his pants. He’ll end up removing the clothes from his top half eventually as he’s bound to get warm, but for now he only gets naked from the waist down. Her eyes go unfocused for a few seconds as she stares at the motion of Hagrid’s hand, stroking what’s only about half of a hard-on so far, and then she gasps. “You wanna go first, girl?” he asks, having already planned to take her or the other of his favoured prizes first regardless. He might have picked the other one, but it’s hard to resist one that’s awake enough to be somewhat responsive to him. He likes them a little bit squirmy at first, so he can enjoy the experience of watching the light slowly fade from their eyes as his cock rewrites their destinies.

“Go-Go-Go-?” she doesn’t seem to understand, either because no one’s bothered to teach her anything yet, or because he’s got her too dumb to realise what’s happening. It doesn’t matter to Hagrid either way: either he’ll be the sleeve's first ever introduction to the concept of mating for them or he won’t be, but that’s not going to make it any less fun for him to know that all five of their bodies will never be quite the same one he’s done with them, and that they’ll never again have sex that can fully satisfy them - short of coming to him begging to be fucked again, something he’s hopeful at least one of them will do.

He can’t bind any of them to him legally, since none of them are muggleborns, but he can make himself irresistible and hope that it results in a new regular fuck to replace the holes that graduated at the end of last year. He’d had her since she was a tiny, wobbling firstie and the loss of access to that sleeve had been disappointing with no one already lined up to fill her emptied position. Even if he still had her, he's always on the lookout for convenient opportunities to shape waiting witch-sleeves into something that will fit his absurdly large cock, because a man can never have too many fucktoys - even if most of them do end up blurring together, devoid of anything that makes their holes distinct from each other beyond whatever personality they pretend to have while not wrapped around him. 

At the end of the day, there isn't a witch alive of any age that he wouldn't turn into a bloated, brain dead cum sock if given the right opportunity for it - some more violently than others, depending on how feisty they try to be about it - not when they're divided in his head solely in the categories of "pre-sleeve" and "sleeve." As long as their torso is long enough to fit him, they're old enough to be a toy as far as he's concerned, and even the ones not long enough have the capacity to be useful. If he had it his way, every stupid, delusional "witch" would just accept what they are and bare their holes when they saw him coming, and thank him for choosing them to bless with his seed when it's done, but he does have to be somewhat discreet and leave some witch-sleeves for the wizard population to breed.

He keeps some fairly large walking sticks in here and luckily for him, all five of the witch-sleeves had been small enough that he’d been able to get them strapped to one each. The pre-sleeves are currently hanging between stacks he’s made of the furniture, suspended in the air as they wait for their turn to be made useful. It’s not as stable as it would be if there were only one or two of them, but he’d had to make do with what was available to him and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and not make use of all five of them while he had the chance for it. When is Merlin ever going to send him another present as wonderful as this one, after all? He’ll have to be extremely well-behaved and not get caught doing anything again for at least a couple of years if this gets him Albus’s gaze - but Hagrid has enough decades working with the man under his belt to know exactly how much he can always get away with, even when being supervised.

Blood continuing to flow downward, Hagrid’s mouth grows wet at the way the sleeve's mouth-hole hangs open in awe at him. If she’s ever seen what passes for large among her own kind, even the largest fully human wizard's member isn’t even a quarter the size of Hagrid’s monstrosity of a cock. His father never talks about it, but Hagrid knows that his mother-sleeve wasn’t strong enough to survive the birth, but she’d been taking a full giant’s cock and birthed a half one - so she'd had to have been tough in a way these witch-sleeves won't be. 

All of them are deliciously small, even compared to him, but he’s yet to encounter a piece of pretty meat that wasn’t capable of taking him - with some assistance, at least. After the first time he'd taken a witch-sleeve only to mistakenly leave it to sleep it off without checking for internal damage, resulting in her bleeding to death in the hours after he’d finished fucking her into a pulp, he’s had to be more careful. She hadn't been his first sleeve, but she'd been the first to get him in trouble.

She’d been a muggleborn at least, so she’d been easy to clean up after, but Albus hadn’t trusted him anymore and had insisted on giving him an in depth lesson on how to safely turn a Hogwarts student of any age into a fucktoy for him to rut mindlessly into for a few hours. The man had known he was too large to not come with a high mortality rate unaided and that he didn’t have the self-control to stop himself when a set of warm holes throws itself at him.

He’s washed relatively recently, so he doesn’t bother stopping to clean up beyond washing his hands in the basin, walking straight towards the row of trussed up schoolgirl-sleeves as he dries off with his shirt. They’re all still wearing their skirts, but he’s torn all of their shirts open pre-emptively and only two had been wearing bras. None of them have anything close to a real chest yet, but if his seed takes, that’ll change quickly for them - but he tends to prefer the small chested to start. In addition to the view it makes once he’s inside their miniature bodies, there’s something intoxicating about taking something just on the cusp of development, when it’s only barely big enough to survive it, and turning it into a cocksleeve that’ll permanently be shaped for a half-giant’s pleasure. It’s a side-effect of the magic he’s been pressed into using, so Hagrid considers it more than enough of a trade for them.

The sleeves are guaranteed survival from being bloated with load after load of hot, half-giant cum in two of their holes - they can hardly be upset that the only cost for their survival was that their bodies would be forever changed in order for that to happen. And if they are, that’s a problem the dumb slags can take up with Albus instead of with him - Hagrid would have just as happily used the cheap salve he’d been paying for before then and accepted the risk of them turning out to be single-night use only sleeves. 

The witch-sleeve's hair is thin and a little wispy and she makes a confused sound when he grips her tight enough to force her skull up enough that he can see what his length looks like up against her face. It’s long enough already that if he were to take the time to get her mouth-hole the right shape as well - difficult, but manageable - he’d bulge out her throat and make it all the way into her stomach in his quest to get balls deep. It would be unlikely that she’d be able to breathe very well around him, but when he remembers to be careful, he’s able to time it so they never do more than just pass out while choking around him. He can just imagine how pretty this cum sock would look with her face slowly turning purple and her eyes growing glassier and glassier as she adjusts to her windpipe being turned into a pussy-hole.

The sleeve's mouth-hole isn’t big enough to wrap completely around him right now - not without salve or the guaranteed shattering of her jaw - and she makes a distressed sound when he ruts against her face and it makes pre-cum dribbles out over her eye. “You might only remember some of this,” Hagrid informs the set of pretty holes gruffly, licking his lips, “But I’ll make sure you enjoy it either way. As long as you’re a good sleeve for me, I won’t have to punish you. Do you understand, little girl?”

“Un-Un-” she’s unable to complete a full word, tears stinging her eyes as the sleeve desperately tries to blink her eye free of the glob travelling over her eyelid, big enough to cover the entire socket and then some. 

Releasing the sock's head, Hagrid removes the stick his newest cute little set of holes is attached to, and lays her carefully out on the only remaining table that he’s positioned and ready for this. It won’t be the only surface their holes get fucked over this weekend, but it’ll be the first one for all of them, since it’s the most convenient way to prep them each. Retying her so that her hands are bound behind her back and her legs are fitted surprisingly perfectly into splits on the stick, he holds the sleeve in position and slaps his cock onto her belly, measuring from this end as well.

“I’d prefer it if you weren’t too loud, as it may distress your friends,” he tells her, hungrily taking in the sight of her much too small body compared to his cock. It’s not anywhere near as large as his father’s, but even for his half-giant proportions, it’s large enough that it will distort her entire frame once it's in her, “But in case you’re aware enough to try: nobody outside this hut can hear you and I’m a little deaf in one ear, so if it manages to be loud enough to bother me, I’ll find a way to shut you up, but otherwise you're just tiring yourself out.”

Unable to lie flat with her arms the way they are, the witch-toy wiggles in place a little. She isn’t able to unbend her legs like this so the only thing she can really move is her pre-sleeve torso, which looks just as tiny with his massive cock bouncing on her stomach as it does when her stomach is still. All the way in, he’s going to make it to her collarbone and her waistline is going to increase enough that she’ll need some new skirts. She’ll have some reduced lung capacity most likely, poor thing, but her sleeve of a body will be able to make the necessary adjustments to accommodate him perfectly and that's the only thing that matters.

With the salve already set out on the table, Hagrid unscrews the lid and mentally calculates how much he’ll need to use. He doesn’t have enough that he can get all of their throat-holes as well, but he should have enough for two out of three of each of their holes - as long as he’s careful not to get too generous with it - and he’s got some shopping to do next weekend anyway. There’s no reason he can’t stop at the necessary store and immediately replenish what he tries to always keep on hand, so that he’s never without the supplies necessary to take advantage of a new opportunity to claim witch puss.

“If it were just you and me tonight,” Hagrid tells the blonde haired sleeve, “I probably would start with your other hole, get you nice and worked open for me from the back, and have you already dripping by the time I fill your womb, but I’ve got five futures to worry about so I’m starting with each of your puss first and then we’ll go from there. Don’t worry, though, I’m going to use your arse a few times as well tonight, it won’t be left out.”

The brown haired sets of holes are both slack jawed with enough drool coming down to have formed a puddle under each of them and the other blonde and redheaded ones aren’t doing much better off, just with their eyes eyes and processing at least some of what they’re seeing.

Her thin cotton panties got a little torn in his haste to remove them mid-tie, but they’re together enough when he discards them on the floor to give back to a random one of them later - he’s not going to remember whose puss belongs to which cum-catcher - and he starts first with his forefinger, just enough salve on it to get the much smaller hole between her legs to slowly start to widen around it. Less than a minute later, it’s all the way in, causing her face to go red and her eyes to bug out.

Waiting only until the cocksleeve has started to respond to the salve, Hagrid has her bouncing on two fingers in short order, mouth-hole split open in a silent scream as her pussy is stretched wider than a human wizard’s cock would ever get her. Three fingers is enough to get her going though, her hungry cunny swallowing up all the salve from his fingers and all too happily beginning its work to prepare her body for him. The skin around her hairless little cunt-hole ripples up as far as his fingers can get and while he can’t see all of what it’s doing, he knows it to be be doing incredible things to the lucky little slag. If he weren’t already risking not having quite enough, he might give her a fourth finger as a kindness, but Hagrid withdraws the three once he’s confident he’s taken her as far as he can with them, adds a little more on and around the head of his cock, and then positions it just barely up against the newly widened entrance to his sweet fucktoy.

“Are you ready?” he asks, roughly petting the sleeve's stomach with his free hand.

Eye glued completely shut now from the way he’s had her shaking on his fingers, the witch-toy's only response is to moan low in her throat when Hagrid forces her open around the tip of his cock and then she go stock still. Even aided already by her split legs, the bone in her little pelvis has no choice but to jerk and widen visibly, followed by the widening of her hips as he bursts past her cervix and keeps going. He has to work fast or risk needing another swipe of the salve, and so he doesn't hesitate to  pull her down to meet him without slowing, only stopping once he feels his sac hit her arse cheeks and he can feel the thin stretch of her womb lovingly encase him. 

It’s always one of the prettiest sights he gets to see. Even fully grown witch-toys are still only barely capable of taking him without there being a visible difference after in the shape and size of their torso - unless they were thin and reedy to start with - and Hagrid would be lying if he denied that half the fun is getting to see something that’s definitely too small to be able to do this be split open wide enough for him. Later, he might find a mirror and make them aware of the changes, pet and massage their more shapely hips, force the walking holes to see just how tighter their clothes are now that their bodies are just massively hollowed out cum tunnels, but the sight is always his alone to appreciate initially.

With her breath coming in rapidly, the witch-sleeve gasping as much as breathing as she adjusts to the new location and decreased size of her lungs, having shrunken to whatever was able to still fit on either side of her ribcage once his cock claimed so much space in the middle. Having already been fond of her and with the effects of the potion not kicking in until he’s cum once, Hagrid is happy to let her rest for several long seconds and come to terms with the new shape of her body post-introduction to its real purpose in life. He does try to be kind, after all. It's not a difficult life, being his cocksleeve, but that doesn't mean he feels the need to be cruel when educating them on their purpose - unless he's too far gone to care.

Even with the cute little skirt sliding up her waist and away from her hips and stretching as much as the material allows, the fabric can’t hide the way the sleeve's waist, stomach, and chest have all widened and visibly bloated just from the presence of his manhood in her body. She’s absolutely glorious, her body an incredible hot, wet, and painfully tight tunnel wrapped around him, and he’s already eager to start thrusting.

“I knew you’d be a good one, sweetheart,” he tells the set of holes in a rasp, glancing back at her friends. “I’ve got some more sampling to do, but unless your friend is as sweet as you are, you’re going to be my favourite tonight. You’ll never experience anything like me again, you’ll have to come back if you ever want to feel as good as I’ll make you.”

The little sleeve makes a gurgling noise, her ramrod straight back jerking as her body spasms in what is unmistakably an orgasm. His pubic hair is thick and rough enough that it does the work for him, rubbing painfully hard against whatever amount of clit the little witch-sleeve has, and he’s pretty sure that she’s going to cum several more times by the time he's done re-purposing her now misshapen womb into a home for the next little Hagrid. Greedy or not, there’s nothing like an already undersized, barely stretched hole that gets tighter, flexing and squeezing around him when it cums around him.

He probably won’t tie them all up the way he has her, but there’s something very enjoyable about using her legs as a handle, pushing her off him part way so he can shove back in with a satisfied groan, growling in delight at how good the witch-sleeve feels, the mixture of delight, agony, and hunger painted across her cock-dumb face. “You’re Hannah, aren’t you?” he asks the cocksleeve wrapped around him.

The name makes the set of holes moan and she squeeze her eyes shut, head jerking faintly. “I’m-I’m S-S-” she’s heaving for air, only able to focus her eye on him when he grips her by the scalp with one hand and forces her neck to follow the current line of her spine. Her mouth-hole moves sluggish, failing to finish her name, but he'd already known it.

“Susan,” Hagrid corrects himself, fucking into Susan-hole’s cunt with each sharp roll of his hips. “I’ve wanted your puss since I put you in your boat last year. You blushed when I picked you up and giggled when I called you a good girl, and I knew you were going to be mine some day.”

Making a sobbing sound, the witch-sleeve cums around him again as he forces her into the next thrust even harder, her already tight puss growing even tighter as liquid gushes around him, soaking his thighs. Her lips move and it looks like she might be begging, but the sounds out of her are more moan than anything. He did make the drink fairly strong, to compensate for any shortage of salve, so the sleeve has to be well on her way to delirious at this point.

Releasing her head, he pulls her off the table and allows the rock hard length of his cock keep her spine straight as he fucks her in the air in sight of her varyingly incoherent, pre-sleeve friends, her head hanging low with her hair spilling down, bouncing up and down with each thrust, wheezing sounds spilling out of her throat. She’s nothing but a warm, conveniently shaped toy for him, an unprotesting fuckdoll that exists solely to have her mind broken around a cock that her torso had barely been big enough to take fully without having to widen her throat as well even from this end - and he’s already enraptured by how perfect she feels.

Whether they’re starting to gain a little bit of consciousness back on their own or whether it’s just happening as a result of them catching sight of what’s happening to their housemate in front of them, all four pre-sleeves are staring wide-eyed with shock and horror as Hagrid pounds into the newest of his toys. She’s perfect, so sweet and pliant like this, not crying particularly hard as her fully restrained body is turned into a long, hot sheath for a half-giant cock - and they’ll all have met the same fate by nightfall tonight.

Tiny, barely bite sized nipples are pushed outward slightly with the rest of her chest, now at an angle instead of facing straight ahead, the opening of her little cunny is fully disguised by the amount of hair at the base of his cock - but he’s sure that it’s swollen, red, and dripping wet, based on how slick her arse and thighs have gotten - and she even looks like something he’s considered purchasing in the more seedy corners of the wizarding world - though he’s confident her cocksleeve of a body will last far more than what something purchased would without outright falling apart.

“Mine,” Hagrid growls, pulling her down for a particularly hard thrust that makes her start to spasm and shake around him for a third time, her one open eye rolled all the way back into her head so all he can see is the white, her tongue so slack it won’t stay in her mouth-hole as her head shakes.

It’s possible that she’s having a seizure instead of cumming, but they both tend to feel the same to Hagrid, and while it would be a shame having to explain to ‘Lia why her little niece wasn’t able to graduate Hogwarts with her peers and has to spend the rest of her life in the long-term ward at St Mungos, having been turned into a drooling, babbling incoherent cum receptical - Hagrid’s too far gone to stop and check. She hasn’t bit down on her tongue yet and that’s the only warning sign he cares about.

On this potion, it’s always best not to draw out his first orgasm and soon Hagrid is cumming with a roar, slamming himself into the undersized womb wrapped around him, and snarling at the immediately sight of her abdomen beginning to bloat at the first shot of seed.

She’s still shaking wildly by the time his release slows, so bloated that it makes her look pregnant with Hagrid Junior already: her entire stomach and part of her chest ballooned outward the way she’ll be if she makes it to a fourth month of pregnancy. Her stomach is taut, skin stretched tight around her swollen womb. It’s only the residual effect of the salve on what’s already been reshaped that prevents her from screaming in agony at the appearance of stretch marks on her skin, the way her organs are compressed even further by her new cream filling.

Pleased at how well she took it and already beginning to feel the tingle of the potion starting to take effect, Hagrid walks his bloated cum sock to the arm chair and presses her onto the back of it. Letting the little witch-sleeve slide down his still fully hard cock. He unsheathes and admires the sight of his release immediately beginning to bubble out of her split open hole, her neck bending as she comes to a stop on the cushion. Even with her torso like this and her cunny in the air, without something stopping her up like an overfull wineskin, there’s no stopping it from leaking out of her gaped hole. It's a shame, really, that witch-sleeves don't come with a built in cork, but they make cute little fountains.

Confirming that she won’t die if left unattended in this position, Hagrid sinks his teeth into one of her thighs and bites down hard enough that he tastes a hint of copper in his mouth. Stopping only then, with his teeth still sunk into her flesh, ignoring the way she’s begun to scream, Hagrid sucks hard at her skin. The bruise will fade eventually, but short of an embarrassing visit to the hospital ward, there won’t be anything she can do to prevent a scar from forming in the shape of his mouth. They’ll all have one, something to commemorate the wonderful night the six of them are sharing together. A half-giant's teeth marks to remind them what they are.

Slack jawed and too out of it still to come close to articulating a response, Hagrid’s next sets of stress relief hang limply in the air waiting for him. Eyes already on the other blonde sleeve, Hagrid flashes her a sharp, toothy smile. “Anna-Anna,” he says, shortening her name to something pleasing to say. If the other blonde was Susan, then she’s Hannah - and it’s been too long since the last time Hagrid sunk his cock into an Abbott, much longer than the last time he took a Bones. “Are you ready to join your friend?”

The slightly plumper blonde sleeve makes a whimpering sound, body jerking in the binds as he removes her and drops the stick over his shoulder. Repositioning the other three a little to keep them stable, Hagrid pats the sleeve's rump as he carries the set of holes cheerfully to the salve. She doesn’t struggle at all once she’s released from the rope, sagging and moaning weakly as her splayed open body is felt over roughly, Hagrid enjoying the current, pre-sleeve shape of her with his hands.

He paws at her, plucking at her perky little nipples, and lowers himself so he can kiss her. Her and her friend have always been sweet on him, often stopping to say good morning or good night to him after meals, but Hannah-hole’s smile has always been the sweetest. He’ll kiss the other one at some point as well too, but he can’t resist covering this one’s mouth-hole with his, engulfing the lower half of her face between his lips so he can taste the salt of her skin and suckle wetly at her sweetness.

Mouth-hole falling open instinctively for him, his original favourite of the two blonde Hufflepuff witch-sleeves accepts his tongue into her with a weak groan, immediately choking around it. It is a bit larger than hers, wide enough that it fills her mouth-hole to the brim, and whether she wants to admit it or not, she’s definitely started sucking on it as he slurps his way deeper into the warm, wet hole. His tongue isn’t particularly large in terms of a giant’s, but her mouth-hole is small enough that there’s considerably more tongue than space capable of containing it.

He has to withdraw to give her a chance to gasp in for air, but then he’s burying his tongue as far down into her throat-hole as he can get it, enjoying the way it makes her thrash and start to fight him, panicking at having her throat filled like this. It’s nothing like a proper throat fucking would be like for her, but her much smaller body takes his tongue beautifully and he soaks her face almost entirely in his bid to taste as deep into her as he can get, as many ways as he can get there.

Pulling back this time only once the fighting slows and begins to stop, Hagrid’s mouth separates from hers with a thick line of spit that only splits when he licks his lips. They don’t always come back to see him again of their own accord, but whether Hannah-hole does or not, Hagrid is most certainly intending to keep an eye out for the opportunity to re-shape the third of as many of their holes as he can before Albus finds out, but specifically the two blonde sleeves. They’re friends, so there’s a decent chance he’ll be able to break them in the rest of the way together, alternate between the sloppy, wet sleeves he’ll make out of their throats.

It would be more difficult to do, but he can just imagine how much more wonderful it will feel to have their mouth-holes completely as well. Hagrid’s done it enough times at this point that he’s well-acquainted with and extremely fond of both the process and the results and knows that there are glamours that hide the damage and one of his favourite Ravenclaws will definitely teach it to them if he sends them in her direction. They’ll be fully formed walking, talking cocksleeves once he’s had his way.

This second one he has a little bit of fun with, tying her wrists to each ankle, and tying them both together to the stick, keeping her limbs pointed into the air since she can’t do the splits like her friend, but she looks plenty appealing with her arms and legs up in the air at that angle, holding the stick up for him to use as a convenient handle. He doesn’t have to measure her against it to know that she’ll be going about as deep as her friend, but he does it any way, making her look as he ruts along her chest and soaks the hole's body in her friend’s fluid.

“If there’s one thing you remember me telling you tonight,” Hagrid tells the witch-toy warmly, “It should be that you were made for this, that your and your friends bodies are only allowing this because it’s a naturally occurring thing - that only the loosest, most desperate slags can be made to take a cock as big as mine. If you survive this, it’s because your body was born to be turned into a full length sleeve for someone like me and you should come to terms with it now instead of fighting what you are and denying your nature.”

The witch-sleeve has a hazy look in her eyes, only barely registering the presence of his cock, let alone what’s about to happen with it - but he doesn’t care. The message is for all of them and he’ll repeat it as many times throughout the night as necessary to get it through at least one of their subconscious brains. They’ll walk away confused, ashamed, and desperate to keep it a secret no matter what happens, but if he does it right, he’s able to convert himself lifelong willing sluts that won’t hesitate to bend over at the first opportunity to be fucked by the half-giant man with the very cock their bodies are still shaped to fit.

Giving her the same amount of salve and fingers as the first sleeve got, Hagrid can already feel the effect of the potion roaring through him, effectively putting him into a full rut. It’ll be a shame for whoever’s last if he’s not in enough of his right mind to be gentle for her first penetration, but he won’t let himself forget to stretch them properly first. No ruptured sleeves, not tonight of all nights.

Just as with the first, this one is a single, gorgeous slide down his cock, her newly formed cum tunnel of a body shaking and thrashing as the magic coursing through and forces it to accept the new requirements for its shape and configuration. Just as with the other, the warm hole's hips pop open as wide as a full grown witch's and the length of her torso bulges outward for the sole benefit of giving him a tight hole to stuff his cum into, making him cry out in delighted triumph.

She makes a desperate, mewling noise that only intoxicates him further, making him pull her up so he can lick across her cheek again. “Good girl, good hole,” he growls, shoving his tongue back into her mouth-hole so she can taste the salt of her own tears. “Exactly what little witches like you are made to do. I’m going to use you until there’s nothing else in your pretty little head other than my cock and cum and you're going to cry for more.”

Choking on his tongue once it digs in deeper again, the witch-sleeve spasms and goes tight when he grinds himself into her, cumming from the pressure of her torso sized womb being ground deeper into her ribcage and the thick scruff of his hair at her opening. Increasingly feverish at how wonderful these two have been already, he growls and starts pounding into her a little sooner than he might otherwise - working himself up into a furious pace as he tests out the stretchiness of her newly fucktoy-shaped body.

This set of holes, just like the rest of them, is so very small compared to him, short even for second years, and she takes her fucking with as much screaming delight as her friend had - eyes rolling wildly in her head, tongue loose in her mouth-hole, chest heaving as she struggles to breathe through the brutality of their mating. Just as sweet as he knew she’d be, she’s so well-behaved for him, her obedient body cumming without restraint as he ploughs into her without a single second of remorse. After this, she’ll be utterly ruined, her once small, witch sized pussy having turned into a full-length sleeve and cum tunnel for an inhumanely large cock - and the act of breaking her body this way is as thrilling as ever, making Hagrid roar out in rapture.

Removing the sleeve from the table briefly, he fucks her next to her waiting housemates, forcing them to open their eyes and watch as she’s defiled so completely and then over to witness the sight of his first victim of the night, at the way the cum has begun to soak most of her body and her weak moans as she struggles to retain any sense of personhood after what’s occurred to her.

Taking her back to the table, he drops the set of holes back onto it, returning to using the stick to guide her up and down on the wood. Without the ability to move her limbs anywhere and so much cock in her that her body has ceased to belong to her and she can only moan, heave, and take it, her lovely blonde hair growing messy from the abuse. She’s barely going to be recognisable as herself once he lets her leave the hut and as much as he’ll miss her holes once time comes for that, he can’t wait to see what a beauty the finished cocksleeve will be. 

He withdraws as he cums so he can spill the first burst across her face, but then as she sputters and coughs at the face full of hot cum, the sleeve starts making garbled noises as she’s re-filled and immediately bloated with the next wave of baby batter. Just as her friend did, her body billows outwards, growing with the sheer heft of his release until it hides the shape of his cock and just makes her look like another slut that’s been fucked dumb, knocked up, ready to be left on a gravel road somewhere for someone else to find and deal with the consequences of her whorish nature.

As tempting as it is to take her again immediately, Hagrid wants to get as much of the stretching done before he stops caring enough to be careful about it, so he squeezes her upper torso enough to feel the cum in her cunt swirl around him, unable to escape from how tightly she’s corked on him. While she’s not quite as round as her friend, her entire body is already soaked with thick globs of white, making her a gorgeous sight of defiled splendour.

The chair is big enough that he’s able to deposit the sleeve with the other set of blonde holes, pausing just for long enough to make sure that neither start to fall. Having woken back up from however long she’d been passed out, the first sleeve starts sobbing with her friend as they’re unable to move to comfort each other - both witch-toys just barely conscious enough to be aware of what’s happening and how deeply they’ve been fucked - forced instead to feel the cum drip down their cocksleeve shaped bodies as they stagnate there until they have purpose again.

Susan-hole and Hannah-hole are positioned so that the cum spilling out of their cunts operates a little like a fancy water feature at someone’s manor house, periodically burbling out as their once tight cunnies flex around nothing, already desperate to be wrapped around him again - and as a result, their bodies are soaked with it, white covering their torsos and face, seeping into their hair.

They’re both breathing still, but their eyes are open and unseeing as they periodically quiver and jerk out a little bit more cum every few seconds. Even positioned like this, there’s enough in them that some of it’s bound to escape - but after he’s taken all of their arses, he’s planning to use their cunts again at least once - putting as many loads into each of these ten glorious holes as he can before the potion wears off and he has to deliver them back to the relative safety of the walls of the castle.

It’s a little bit different of an angle to get his teeth into a bit of thigh that isn’t soaked in cum, but Hannah-hole screams at the top of her lungs in response to her own commemorative mark so it’s worth it. The small trickle of red that mixes with the white just makes her more beautiful, standing out against her equally cum clogged friend.

Bellowing out a noise of delight at his creation, Hagrid pours himself half a glass of firewhisky, chugs it, pounds on his chest until he belches, and then rounds on the remaining three sets of holes. “Two holes down,” he declares with a boisterous laugh, his hard, soaking wet cock bouncing with each step, lip curling in a dangerous smile. “Eight to go.”

The first of the brown haired witch-sleeves he takes face down, tying her up without the stick but in a position where he can easily slide it into place again if and when he decides to, with her arms and legs bound behind her back, legs spread enough to make space for him. She’s drooling on the table, quick to orgasm on his fingers and then again as soon as he gets his cock into her belly. He can’t admire the shape he’s making of her like this, but it’s worth it for how tight she feels from behind, gasping and making hollowed out sounds at each micro thrust of his cock into her. Her spine looks funny like this and he has half a mind to experiment some time with what positions he has them in when he uses the salve, to see what impact they’ll have on the final result.

While it might be interesting to spend a few years watching whatever visible deformities he’s able to create in someone so young, he’d only do that if he knew he was going to be able to keep someone long term without anyone ever seeing what he’s done to her - that way no one can get mad and try to yell at him about being cruel to his cum socks.

Whichever of the nameless other three witch-holes she is, Hagrid doesn’t care to ask, having not cared enough to remember anyone’s names other than the two he’d made a point of learning last year, instead bending down over her so he can suck a massive, bruising scar into her shoulder and neck as he crushes her body down into the table. It’ll be harder to hide than the ones he left on the blondes, but there are some perks with being certified as his favourites - and neither of the brown haired sets of holes have done anything worthy of that title yet tonight.

“Good little witch,” he growls into her skin, loving the way his teeth make her jerk like she’s been hit with a painful curse. “This is what witches like you are made for,” he pants, stroking hard at her scalp. “You thought you were normal, that you were going to live out a life like almost everyone you’ve known: graduate Hogwarts, get married, have a few little blonde brats like yourself, and spend the rest of your life simpering after a wizard’s attention, but you were wrong. You're nothing but a set of warm holes for me to fuck.”

Under him, the sleeve makes a broken moaning sound, her chest rasping as she struggles to breathe under the weight of his form - the poor thing not even aware yet that these are the last breaths she’ll have with full-sized lungs. “Ah-Ah-!” she cries. Fully grown women, he’s found, don’t lose any organ size and tend to retain most of their original shape, just with differing alignment internally - but younger ones don’t have the privilege of having grown yet enough for their bodies to not need to make such drastic accommodations. It's indulgent of him to have that preference, but with so much variety available to him in his position at the school, he'd be a fool not to have noticed the distinction and developed a fondness for it. Any sleeve he doesn't get to claim until she's older, he always mourns the loss of what her body could have been for him.

Turning her head, he doesn’t kiss her, instead licking up her face so he can suck on the sock's eye socket. He’s careful not to suck too hard and risk her eyeball popping into his mouth - that would cause an unfortunate interruption as he decides whether to end things with her here and send her to get fixed, try to fix it himself, or just resign himself to having to fuck a one eyed witch-sleeve for another few rounds. Worst case he could just always fuck her facing downward or put a bag over her head, but it would still result in questions he’d rather not have to bluster through.

Yes, Hagrid knows how dangerous it is for him to couple with a witch, how much more dangerous it is when the witch is this young, and how, even if he makes them cum until it melts their brains, he’d still get in trouble for it if Albus ever stopped protecting him and it got out that he has a predilection for spoiling young witches for future suitors - but his interest in not causing too much irreparable damage is more focused on avoiding having to give up the current perfectly wonderful life he has with unlimited access to young witch-sleeves to bloat with his cock and cum. If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t particularly care what happened to any of them once they’re no longer available for him to fuck.

Hagrid’s handled the mating habits of enough different specifies of magical animal to have a firm understanding of the fact that if something isn’t able to survive a breeding intact and still useful, then it’s kinder to just let it die so only the strongest of its like survives. He hasn’t killed or maimed anyone in a long time thanks to Albus’s strict rules for him and that’s not going to change, not when he’s already being daring enough by planning to keep these five beautiful witch-sleeves as long as he is.

Just as every toy he’s tasted before them, they’ll either stumble away, avoiding his hut for however long before they disappear months later to be hidden away until they’ve birthed another of the next generation of Hagrids, manage to have it dealt with in a way that never comes back to bite him, or the holes will come stumbling back, desperate to be fucked by him again and again until every hole in their body is perfectly shaped for use any time he happens upon them again - or whatever else happens to the cocksleeves he only ever has the once. The only ones that matter to him in any way are the ones who come back and they only matter depending on how often he’s able to continue having convenient access to them.

Of the thousands of witches that live locally, there’s over a hundred broken sleeves that he stumbles across periodically when he goes somewhere off the grounds, having grown so addicted to his cock during their time at Hogwarts that the moment they know he’s in the area, they make a point of seeking him out to flash their still gaped fuckholes at him and hope that he has time to rut at least one out into their needy bodies. There’s a few that he sees regularly enough that he knows they keep enough tabs on him to increase their chances, but nothing beats the look of shock and need across a stray fuckdoll’s face when faced with him for the first time in months and they realise that they have a chance to feel something again after accepting that they're ruined and useless now. 

Saving the wispy redhead for last, Hagrid leaves the first brown haired sleeve on the very end of the table, just secure enough to not take a tumble when the wood starts moving, and has to slap the other brown haired witch-sleeve lightly across the face a few times to rouse her. “If you ever talk about what happened tonight to anyone at all, everyone will find out and you’ll spend the rest of your life branded as a loose, giant fucking slag.”

She moans feverishly, either in confusion or fear as her head lolls back and she sees her freshly fucked housemate oozing pussy when he sets her down and begins to re-tie her, ankles together, thighs together, and arms behind her knees, situating both of her holes up in the air for him.

“Look at her,” he orders, shoving a barely coated finger in so hard it makes her scream at the top of her lungs. “Look!”

Lips moving in what looks to be a plea of mercy, Hagrid forces another scream out of her as he adds another finger, crooking it roughly into her.

“She’s not a real witch,” he tells her, forcing her to stare at the oozing, gaping tunnel deep into her body as he sloppily works at preparing her, “She’s a bloody whore. A cock slut, just like you are. You’re going to look like that too.”

The petite brown haired sleeve seems to have run out of air for screams, making punches out sounds instead when his three fingers force her open as wide as he can get them, no concern for how brutal and intense it must be to go from a little witch to a broken-in fuck doll in a matter of a few short, feverish minutes.

He’s too impatient to terrify her with the shape of him, not when she’s bound to have seen what he’s done to her housemates as she’s hung limply in wait of her own turn, and in seconds her mouth-hole is splitting open into a pained moan, dumb blue eyes crossing as his cock claims another custom fitted sheath.

“You begged me for this,” he growls. “You were undressing me with your eyes, playing at the hem of your skirt like a little fucking minx, desperate for me to fuck you.”

It’s as true as anything, but the little witch-toy neither protests nor agrees, simply making hoarse, gasping sounds as her newly widened ribcage creaks from his heft. Whether she woke up this morning knowing that she was nothing more than a set of warm holes with legs or not, she is one now and that's all the only thing that matters anymore.

The newly sanctified cocksleeves will have to learn how to walk differently after this, have to adjust to the new gait he’s given them if they don’t want to make it obvious that they’re walking around with holes bigger than an adult man’s fist open between their legs, hollowed out and open for the next time they bend over for a cock that’s big enough to fit them. If they don’t learn quick enough, the other witches-toys will undoubtedly notice, and they’ll be mocked for it, made fun of how strange they move, with only the other ones here tonight to know why it is that legs, hips, and waists look the way they do now.

Her friend at the other end of the table makes a sobbing sound as he lifts his new sleeve off the table with a single hand hooked around her stomach, holding her aloft so he can drive into her and point her in the direction of the two on the chair. She’s so light that he can barely feel that he’s carrying anything at all save for how it feels to have her wrapped around him, bouncing her up and down on his cock as he takes each step. Full sized witches are light, but baby ones are only a feather to him.

“Is it a Hufflepuff thing?” he asks nobody in particular, knowing that the sets of holes around him aren't coherent enough to answer. It isn't just Hufflepuffs he uses - the only house he avoids is the filthy snakes, not wanting to be tainted by any dark magic witch-sleeves, no matter how tight their holes might be. No other girls are safe from him, other than whatever ones are smart enough to avoid ever giving him an opportunity to taste them. “Is there something in your little dormitory that turns all you little witches into raging slags, or are you just all drawn to that house because it’s something already in you?”

She’s screaming again by the time he’s ready to start railing into her properly, the witch-sleeve making wild, desperate sounds as he shoves her up against the wall, puts power into his thrusts, and pounds her so hard that it’s sure to deform her hips even worse than the other three have so far. Growling in delight at the realisation, Hagrid slams into her a final time, listens to the creek of her barely together hipbones, and groans as he spurts so deeply into another ruined womb, knowing that she’s already more a lion than a badger by sheer amount of cock and cum currently inside her.

“You pitied me,” he says, half chewing on her ear before moving to scarring her shoulder as well. “All of you pity me. That, or hate me, but now you’re not going to pity me - not ever again. Now you’re going to know what you are, what you’ve always been, and that I’m the only one who can satisfy your stupid, gaped holes.”

Unconscious from the pain of his bite but still breathing, the little sleeve has no peace even in slumber as her body spasms with a violent orgasm, milking his seed into her body the way they all always do - even the ones unaided by magic. The magic is just a safeguard, something that makes the preparation easier and puts them at less risk - but it’s not what makes them cum. Maybe it’s that he’s part giant, maybe it’s just that his half-giant cock is as magical as he is, but there’s never been a witch-sleeve who hasn’t gushed like a slut on his cock - no matter her age the first time he plundered her.

Stacking the brown haired holes on top of each other, Hagrid pulls off his shirt, balls it up to throw in the basket to be laundered by the elves. Kissing the red haired sleeve's wrists as he unties her, he lets her stand on her own feet, wobbling in confusion as she looks around the room and takes in the sight of broken holes and cum streaked witch-toys. Unable to remain upright, the set of holes sags against him, and he laughs, pawing at her chest as her legs give out under her. It's the last time they'll fit her body the way they do now and they're already not even able to keep her steady.

“That’s your fate, too,” he says, petting the hole's hair roughly. His hand engulfs her face and she struggles, failing to get away from it, mouth-hole moving with increasingly panicked noises. “You’re as much of a worthless slag as they are.”

She struggles a little, but after having hung on her stick for as long as she did, there isn’t enough fight in the soon-to-be little cum sock's body to do more than arouse him further - but for her attempts, he hooks her feet behind her head and ties her body into a knot of its own, turning her into a lovely, portable little fucktoy. It’s not specifically with the intention of seeing what it’ll do under the weight of magic and half-giant cock, so if it does break her a little more than the others, it’s not his fault for not knowing that it would happen to her.

Dropping his head between her legs, he licks across both her holes, playing with them as hot, hungry thoughts play through his mind, deep enough into his rut that the only things he cares about right now are claiming the holes

He definitely has enough salve for at least four more holes, it’s just starting to get dark out, and while he normally wouldn’t do two holes in a row with the same toy while he has multiple new cocksleeves strewn about for him to taste, it does amuse him to think that the others will all have a break between their defilement and she won’t.

This one, he decides, he’s going to take arse first, stuff her guts with enough cum to make her dizzy, and then immediately do the same thing to her fanny. She’ll definitely cry harder than the others, but it’s only fair that the odd one out of the five gets treated a little bit special - especially given her need to stand out amongst her housemates and be feisty about what’s going to happen to her.

Either she only knows about the one hole being for fucking or she doesn’t know about fucking at all beyond what she’s witnessed tonight, but the witch-sleeve makes a confused, pleading sound at the first finger that curls into her anus. “Huh?” she begs. “N-No, d-don’t-!” but it’s too late, because he’s already got it shoved all the way in, making her eyes bulge, face twisting into a dumb look of agonised horror.

“Hush,” he says, slapping her lightly across the face. It makes her skin turn almost as red on that side as her hair and reminds him of a different, green-eyed little witch that Albus had denied him access to years before. No matter, he'll pack the desire he had for her into this set of holes, and she'll either endure and survive or break down under the heady weight of his cum and fall apart. “Do you want me to tell everyone what a whore you are? I’ll do it, I’ll tell them how you begged me to teach you how to be a woman, that you all wanted it, but that you were the leader.”

“Please!” the lone red haired sleeve cries, squeezing her eyes tightly shut when he gets a second finger into her tight little rear hole. He’s tempted to only give her two fingers and let his cock do the rest of the work to conserve salve, but he’s already intending to do that with her puss and he’s not mean. He won’t do that to her for both her holes.

It’s laughable how easy it is to make her little clit spurt clear fluid at him, Hagrid flicking it with his fat fingers as he rams three fingers in and out of her rear hole, forcing the rim to stretch wide enough to keep her from bleeding around him. “That’s it,” he laughs, “Good little anal slut. You’re barely more than a dog, are you, girl? I should make you bark, see if it’s enough to make Fang interested in you.” He’s outside right now, but it wouldn’t take much to call him in here and threaten the witch-sleeves with being turned into dog sluts as well as half-giant sluts - but he’s not inclined to share tonight, even with someone he’s as close to as his four-legged companion.

She doesn’t respond, the sleeve's chest tight and shaking, eyes still squeezed shut as he lines up his lightly lathered cock and prepares himself for entry. The tip starts pushing in and the furled rim of his sleeve widens, accepting the insistent pressure of him. As soon as he’s popped in, he’s driving forward, forcing his way into her stomach, feeling the opening of something inside her widen enough to take him in as well. It’s something in her guts, but he’s never paid enough attention to learn which part, just that it without the salve it’s ten times more likely to rupture than give way to him and that it feels deliciously tight uncoiling around him so he can fill her completely. 

With a snarl and a last roll of his hips, he’s all the way into the witch-sleeve's guts - the little folded up fucktoy’s mouth-hole split open wide, chest unmoving as she’s forced to comprehend what’s just happened to her. It’s a little more difficult to see from inside this hole, but when he grinds in deep he can see himself, both feeling and hearing it as he knocks into her collarbone from inside the cage of her ribs. Her hips are jutted apart now, her folded up body just barely capable of adapting to accommodate him in this hole, broken arsehole no longer a hindrance to the sheer amount of cock she’s taking into her cum sock of a body.

Hagrid slaps her across the face again, making her jolt back to life. She makes a garbled sound as she squirts again, cumming around the tree log of a cock shoved up her little 12 year old arsehole. “That’s it,” he roars out another laugh, slapping her again and again until she’s bright red in the face and heaving wildly. “Cum for me, little whore. Be a good little fucktoy and cum on my cock.”

Either cumming again or continuing to cum with wild spasms of agony, the little witch-toy makes incoherent, babbling sounds as he starts using her properly, fucking up into her body over and over, driving in so deep it makes her wail whenever she has enough breath for it.

Licking into her mouth-hole, he chokes her on his tongue and pounds her arsehole into the table, only slowing down when he starts to hear wood creaking in addition to bone. They always bloat differently in this hole, looking more awkward and ungainly as spurt after spurt of cum forces her stomach out. She’s still choking when he releases her mouth-hole, tongue slipping from her throat. Making hacking noises as he grinds his seed deep into her nubile young body, her torso jerks and spasms as if under one of the unforgiveables.

This time, he doesn’t bother to pull out, keeping her in place as he wets his fingers again and starts working on her cunny. Too out of it to do more than wheeze and spasm, she barely resists the two fingers that work her open - and once he does withdraw, it’s only for long enough to dip his cock back into the salve, get enough to be safe, and then shove it in a single slide into her understretched pussy-hole.

Cum immediately starts squirting out of the now uncorked hole and he laughs at the squelching sound it makes, not giving her any chance to adjust before he’s gripping her slippery hips and working on what will be his sixth orgasm in just under three hours, snarling at how deliciously tight the cunt wrapped around him feels. “Whore,” he spits, a glob of saliva hitting her in the face, “Dirty, stupid whore.”

The double sleeve wails again, unable to protest, unable to do anything other than take it, her hips even more distorted now that he’s taken both of her lower holes. Even just one and a half loads deep into her, she’s already going to be walking with a pronounced limp as soon as she’s capable of doing more than dragging herself across the ground in a puddle of oozing cum, and he can’t wait to see how much bigger she’s going to get.

“You see them?” he asks, forcing her to look at the two blonde witch-sleeves. “I like those two, they’re my favourites.”

There’s no response, just a wheezing sound, the sleeve struggling to keep her eyes focused on anything. Every drive into her forces another spurt of cum to squelch out of her other hole, fucking his seed out onto the floor at his feet and while her womb is only bloated big enough to take his cock right now, each thrust of his hips makes her just a little bit less loose as her lumpy belly shrinks.

Somewhere on one of his shelves is a pestle that’s big enough to stop her up if he shoves it deep enough into her pussy. As much as it’s a nice hole and he’s hopeful he might have a chance to fuck it again some day in the future, her arse had been so exquisite that he already knows he’s going to put at least three or four more coats of cum into it before he’s done. Stopped up, she won’t be able to ooze her way out of a pregnancy if her womb is capable of taking already, and he’ll be able to cum into her so many times it comes out of her throat - even if he is wasting some of what’s coming out of her now. He might make her lick it up, though, just to get it back inside her stomach. “You, though?” he asks. “You tried to fight me and that means I don’t have to be nice to you. Bad witch-sleeves are punished.

Whether it’s his words or whether it’s unrelated entirely, the trussed up set of warm holes cums again with a painful scream, squeezing her pussy tight around his too big cock, making him laugh. It’s almost enough to make him change his mind, split more use between her holes and focus less on the one, but he’s already made up his mind and probably won’t succeed in his goal if he doesn’t put extra work into one hole in particular.

The brown haired sleeves on the table will get one more in each puss, two in each arsehole, and then however many more he still has time for, the blondes will get at least three apiece in each, and the redhead will have her stomach and arse cram packed so full of cum that she can’t breathe without tasting it, until there isn’t any space inside her that hasn’t been polluted with his cum, just to see what it does to her stupid, bratty little head. 

Groaning in relief as he fills her womb, Hagrid wraps his fingers around her throat lightly and carries her over to the shelf, feeling around until he finds what he’s looking for. She’s starting to get a little red in the face, eyes bulging out of their sockets, but he sets her back down and eases out of her, cramming the pestle up her cunt hole as soon as his cock is free of it. Some still gets out, but he forces it in deep enough that it stops her up, making her orgasm again with a shriek of agony. 

Borrowing the wand that he sees on the floor, Hagrid makes sure that it’ll stay in place until he removes it and then deposits her onto the centre of the table, sobbing as cum oozes out of her arsehole, and her plugged up pussy remains gaped but watertight. Sinking his teeth into the right side of her chest, he leaves a mark that is sure to grow as her breasts do, permanently enclosing that side with the mark of his teeth.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, Hagrid’s too far in to stop for longer than it takes to decide which blonde will get her arse reamed first. He hefts them both up, lying them next to each other on their backs at the edge of the table. It creaks a little under the weight of so many cum stuffed holes, but as long as he removes a few before fucking anyone else on it, it shouldn’t break.

Working them both open at the same time, one finger in each other, two fingers in each holes, and then three just because he’s certain he has enough salve for it, even if it does mean he might short change one of the brown haired witch-sleeves, getting them both to the point where he just has to get his cock into them.

They’re both awake and incoherent, staring hazy eyed at each other as their bodies take turns bouncing on his fingers, but the cum soaked witch-toys echo each other’s groans of agony as he slams his cock into the first of their anuses, taking advantage of the shape her body already has, only needing to give her guts the time to adjust and everything else to move out of the way before she’s christened as a double sleeve.

Fucking her in the air just over the table, Hagrid moans and paws at her split open legs, flipping her over mid-thrust to take her face down instead. Her once tiny, star shaped little arsehole is massive, gaped uncomfortably wide around him, cum squelching and oozing out of her other fuck tunnel.

With a laugh, he positions her on top of her friend, laying them chest to chest, forcing her bloated stomach to rub and rut against each other. It makes the table shake so he doesn’t do it for long, just long enough to enjoy the way they grimace and moan together, unable to pull away from the other. How their friendship exists is irrelevant: today, they are both equals in every way, existing for the sole purpose of giving a fat, hairy half-giant groundskeeper a place to stuff as much seed as he can muster out of his body and even if they never discuss it, they’ll spend the rest of their lives knowing what they both are now.

Thrusting more lazily, Hagrid wanders over to the water pitcher to drink directly from it, not stopping the motion of his fucktoy’s body up and down his cock. She’s making broken, hollowed out sounds each time he bottoms out and starts to audibly cry when some of the water spills out of his mouth, down his beard, and onto her body, but her hole betrays her, spasming tight around him.

“If you’re thirsty,” he warns, “I can put you on the floor and make you lick up your mess. You want that, girl?”

The sobs increase in pitch and the set of holes shakes her head sluggishly, moaning out, “No, no, no, no, no, please!” that’s only discernible for how many times Hagrid’s heard a cocksleeve say it.

“If you’re sure,” he says pleasantly, intending to make her do it later anyway. Setting the pitcher back down, he fixes his other hand onto the sleeve's shoulder, and slams her down hard, increasing his pace now that he’s watered again. He’ll need to stop to relieve himself the other way at some point and wolf down some food, but with the potion doing its job, there’s no sign of him running out of energy any time soon.

It’s always a sight to watch a small body struggle to accommodate an additional load in a different hole, the witch-sleeve’s stomach growing lumpier in its bloat when he rams her down a final time - for now - and growls, filling her body with more cum than even a full sized witch should ever be capable of taking. Temporarily losing any semblance of sentience, the broken witch sags, mouth-hole open, eyes glued shut with spilled cum, coughing weakly when he sets her back down on the table. Wiping her face down with one of the pairs of discarded cotton panties, Hagrid lowers his mouth to her face and licks across it, ignoring the slightly tangy residual taste of his own release in favour of her salty tears.

Moaning hungrily, he licks past her lips, his cock still buried so deep into her anus that he can feel her heart beating next to it, delighting in the way she doesn’t so much as squirm at the tongue filling her. Bullying her slack mouth-hole, he thrusts his tongue in deep, imagining that if he were a little bit deeper, he’d be at risk of licking the tip of his own cock.

Pulling away, he wipes the saliva off his mouth and watches her belly gurgle as seed begins to drain slowly out of her clogged guts. It’s difficult to see underneath all the cum coating her stomach and groin, but both of her holes are delightfully large now, big enough that he could shove two bludgers and a beaters bat into each and still not fill her as deeply as she’s been formed for.

“Were you watching?” he asks the other one, admiring her stomach as he slicks himself up for what will be his eighth new hole of the night. Just enough salve to keep from breaking her and to make it so the pleasure outweighs any pain, Hagrid doesn’t wait for a response before rearranging her guts again.

Her arms look a little white from lack of circulation, but he didn’t tie her tight enough that he’s worried, lifting the Hannah-hole up into air so he can hold her upright solely with the length of his cock. Chest moving in quick, heaving breaths, the cocksleeve’s mouth-hole falls open for him once more, gasping frantically for air as her shrunken lungs are squished tightly into the sides of her ribcage once more. “I-I-I-I-” the sleeve stutters, convulsing wildly.

There’s not enough there to pinch, but Hagrid grinds his finger into where he approximates her clit to be, making her torso shake harder as she cums around him, squirting her own fluid out in addition to the load he already left in her. The two holes are both gaped maws now, the miniature witch-sleeve reduced to a single purpose.

“I can’t- I can’t- I can’t-” she begs incoherently, her face reddened and splotchy as her eyes go completely white. She convulses, her sleeve of a body struggling to adapt - but no matter. She's meant for this. All witches are, as far as Hagrid is concerned, but her especially.

“Yeah, you can,” Hagrid assures her warmly, lazily petting the somewhat grotesque, bulging chest of the schoolgirl-turned-cock-sock. “You’ve always been a good girl, haven’t you, Anna Anna? Always did your best to behave, do what people asked of you, and impress people with how smart and capable you are. Here’s your chance to prove yourself, show off just how good you are by taking my cock like the stupid little slag you are.”

Gargling and choking, the blonde fucktoy sobs harder when he squeezes her cheeks together to force her tongue out of her mouth-hole so she can’t suffocate on it.

“You’re gonna have to learn to breathe through your nose,” he warns her, “If you want to survive being my cocksleeve.”

Even if he cared to allow her a response, he wouldn’t care what she’d have to say about it, only paying enough attention to keep from breaking her jaw as he uses his grip on her face to slam her up and down on his cock. Whether she wants this consciously or not doesn't matter as he's made that decision for her, as is his right as the Hogwarts groundskeeper.

“You’re mine,” he growls, “You were always mine. I didn’t get the chance to fuck either of your mothers, but I knew the moment I looked at you girls that you were meant to be my toys. You were born for this, born to be used as a sleeve by a half-giant.”

The stack of holes at the end of the table have started sobbing openly, though they’re angled in a way that they might not have seen what shape sleeves Hagrid’s been using, and the redheaded pastry hasn’t stopped shaking and spasming around the massive stone piece wedged into her womb, her eyes so far back in her head that he wouldn’t be surprised if she develops a lazy eye from it. Chuckling at them and eyeing the salve - he’ll open them up together as well, just in case - Hagrid walks the sheath over to show them.

She makes a guttural sound with each punch into her stomach, globs of white making a mess of the floor, and the witch-sleeves sob harder in commiseration. “Normal witches aren’t like this,” he tells them conspiratorially, roughly pawing at her widened hipbone. “Normal witches can only take a wizard sized one of these and don’t cum from being broken like this. But none of you are normal witches, all of you’ve enjoyed this, all of you’ve cum on my cock like the stupid little cum sluts I knew you were.”

The blonde wrapped around his cock goes stock still, spasming around him when he slams her down a final time and bloats her stomach the rest of the way. He makes a loud noise of pleasure, throwing his head back and pointing her more towards the ceiling as he grinds his release into her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praises, barking out in delight. “That’s a good fucktoy. Good girl.”

There ends up being only enough salve to give the brown haired witch-sleeves a finger each before he slathers half of what’s left on his cock. He has just enough wherewithal to be as gentle as he dares, easing first one of them done with a grunt and then the other, only waiting to fuck open the second one once the first one has taken him all the way in her anus. Equally underprepared, they'll either break or survive as a unit.

Carrying them in the stack together, he deposits both of them onto the already white stained rug, throws a thigh on either side of the stack, and then slams into the lower of the two arseholes with a roar. They’re both small enough that he has to keep them squeezed together to prevent them from sliding too far up, but with some extra rope ties them together perfectly, and he’s able to slam them both down with each thrust as he alternates between their deliciously undersized holes.

Occasionally he misses, cramming his cock back into a cum soaked puss instead, but it just adds some extra variety to have four holes right there for him to grind himself into and Hagrid finds himself moaning louder and louder, allowing the bulk of his self-control to relax now that he’s got all ten holes ready for him and just has to be careful not to squish anyone in his ardour.

Five young witches had walked into this hut. What walks back into Hogwarts with him when he's done will only bare a loose resemblance to the pre-sleeves that he would have happily claimed just as aggressively a year ago as he is today.

They’re absolutely perfect, this is the best night of Hagrid’s life, and he still has hours to go before he’ll be spent enough to consider letting them return to whatever half lives they have ahead of them, alternating between four exquisitely tight holes that he pounds into without a single regard for the witches they’re attached to. He has them orgasming almost continuously, whining and sobbing harder when it’s not their turn to have cock in them than when it is, the lowest one down with her tongue hanging out of her mouth-hole, face rubbing into the cum on the floor as they’re used relentlessly as the stack of holes they now are.

No longer caring about anything but his delightful new sleeves, Hagrid spends at least an hour on the bundle of brown haired holes, only pausing for minutes between orgasms before he’s returning to his earlier pace each time. The one on top gets the first load of cum since he doesn’t want to risk any ending up in between them instead of in either of their anuses, but it doesn’t save that hole from being part of the continued rotation once he’s back to rutting.

Unconscious but still breathing under him, the two sleeves chests move in slow, shuddery rasps in the stack of bloated, half-giant cum he leaves them in. The pressure from top sleeve has both of their stomachs leaking a little faster than they would on their own, but he doesn’t mind, enjoying the sight of their destroyed bodies as four gaped holes make a beautifully grotesque fountain of oozing cum for him to watch. They're unlikely to remember most of their weekend with him, but when Hagrid locks eyes with them in the future, they'll know just as well as he does that the two of them are nothing more than warm holes with legs.

It must be hard having a purpose like that and only one man who can satisfy them ever again.

He goes back for the red haired toy next, flipping it stomach down and holding it in place by the rope binding its legs behind its neck, Hagrid walks the broken hole to the window and peeks out of the curtain. There’s enough pressure inside it from the large pestle that even the movements of his cock aren’t enough to shake any cum free, plugging it too tight in its arse to loose any of the cum clogging its insides. There’s lights on still up at the castle and the moon is at the right point in the sky for it to be before midnight still, so after checking to make sure there’s no one who might catch a glimpse, he presses the cocksleeve's face up against the glass so it can look.

“See up there?” he asks, fucking it into the glass so hard that it groans, the window making a wet noise from the spit on the hole's face. “Up in the castle, where are the good, real witches are and you aren’t?”

Mewling weakly, the redhead cum sock spasms around him, unable to do anything to stop Hagrid from adding another load to its guts. The sleeve gets panicky when he doesn’t slow down or make any move to pull out, only moving it away from the window, making sure the curtain closes fully, and slamming its back into the nearest wall to start rutting again. Its nowhere near face level, head only held in place by its hands, forced to stare at his hairy chest, and it looks feral and broken. “You’re not going back up there,” he growls, “Not until I’ve stuffed so much cum into you that you’re spitting it up. How many do you think that’ll take? Three loads? Four? I’m willing to find out if you are.”

The limp, overfull fucktoy makes a gurgling sound and continues to take him, the stone pressed into its womb hopefully enough to be giving his swimmers the chance they need to give its family a large bundle of joy a year from now, and he laughs.

It takes three in total, but it only starts after he begins working on his fourth load into its arsehole. A half dozen thrusts past the awful bloat he’s made of this particular sleeve - its stomach is stretched far bigger than it should be capable of, over a dozen long, thick white lines on either side of the distended, almost paper thin flesh holding its cum tunnels in place together, the cum stuffed belly so big that the only amount of witch he can see is its head, hands, and feet - and the poor, destroyed little thing starts coughing, then hacking violently.

Moaning more pathetically than a dying animal, the witch-sleeve's chest heaves, its bulging stomach quivering, and the next time it coughs, there’s a dribble of white oozing out of the corner of its mouth-hole.

“There it is!” Hagrid crows triumphantly, roaring in delight. “That’s my girl, yeah, cough it up. Taste what you’re here to take, good sleeve.”

Another cough and a wretched moan, more cum burbling out of its lips with each rough thrust in, until its cheeks bulge out and it has to open its mouth-hole, hacking as it spills out over an already cum soaked, spit covered chin. The sleeve has a glassy look in its eyes, far less sentient looking than even the dumber things living deep in the Forbidden Forest, another thick glob of white emerging from its throat with each hard thrust into hot, double ended cum tunnel.

Were that he had the salve to open up its throat, Hagrid would hazard a guess that a deposit directly down its throat-hole would start leaking out the other end as well unless plugged up first. There's very little that can reverse the change he's forced out of this once-witch, but now he has something he can cum straight through.

With this broken sleeve stuffed so full that there isn’t anywhere else for the cum to go other than up, Hagrid no longer has to fear filling its stomach to bursting. He stumbles back over to the edge of the table to slam the sleeve face-hole down onto it and let loose, pounding his way into another orgasm at the sheer ecstasy of what he’s done to to a witch that had undoubtedly been considered something clever, with a bright future ahead of it.

So full of what’s already in there, the new load of cum makes the busted thing heave harder, its tiny, bloated form shaking and spasming violently as cum begins to stream out of the open mouth-hole to make room for the new deposits of thick, life destroying seed within the fully clogged realm of its body. Merlin willing, he's impregnated the pretty, red haired thing already, because there's no way he's going to deposit another load of cum into its womb - not when he has it doing this for him.

Too lightheaded from two orgasms in such quick succession after already having cum over a dozen times in a matter of hours, Hagrid grinds it belly down onto the wood, half collapsing onto the set of overstuffed holes. Breathing in has to burn, the witch-sleeve’s diminished lungs getting a nice coating of cum both inside and out as it struggles to breathe around what’s spilling out of its windpipe, but it's unlikely that it's even aware of any associated pain.

It’s not long before the table is soaked under him, but he doesn’t pull out, the half-giant’s hips periodically twitching as he grinds himself unconsciously deeper into the toy he’s so spectacularly reshaped, dumping load of cum after load of cum into it. When it was a witch-sleeve, it had angered him - more a fault of its resemblance to another witch-sleeve that had never achieved its purpose than any real fault of her own - but now it's nothing more than an anal sheath, something that can be squished and send cum pouring out of all of its holes.

There’s no doubt in Hagrid’s mind that if this sleeve walks away with any brain function left after this to not get kicked out of school and sent home in whorish disgrace, it'll be back, desperate to feel something again, unable to escape the need that’s been woven into the very formation of it's body to be used as a full length sheath for the half-giant who’s claimed it.

When he has enough strength to pull himself out of his slump, Hagrid belches loudly, pets roughly at the back of the broken witch-sleeve’s head, and looks wildly around the room for either another appropriately sized pestle or something else he can stop it up with. He’s definitely not done with it - the six loads already dumped into its arsehole are not enough - but he has two blondes to fuck again a few times now that he’s given the redhead a new purpose in life and he doesn’t want it to lose anything from its lower holes if he can help it.

The only thing he catches sight of that looks big enough is his bed, the posts a little bit thicker around than the fattest point of Hagrid’s cock, but with how much time it's just spent being violently fucked,  it’s unlikely to notice any increased stretch.

Walking the gurgling, leaking cum sock over to the bed, Hagrid steps up to the foot of it, making a note to have whichever witch-sleeve is most coherent clean up his bed before they leave, and slides the endless hole off his cock only to deposit it immediately onto the post. It’s not as long as his cock is, ending at a point that meets the foot board when it’s perhaps three quarters of the way into its deepest point, but it’s thick enough that the only seed that oozes out is what was already leaking out from the transition. It's lips move, thick, foaming cum continuing to burble out.

With enough cum to ease the slide, the folded up, thoroughly defiled redheaded witch-sleeve gives him a dumb look, leaking mouth-hole moving like a fish as it comes to a stop in place on the bed post. It burps and more white oozes out of the mouth-hole, making it moan feverishly. The lips move but nothing resembling a word comes out, the witch-sleeve too incoherent to do more than quiver in place with both holes so thoroughly corked and nothing to do but choke on the cum that now has a direct path from its anus to its airways.

“Stay there, yeah?” he says, patting the warm set of holes roughly on the face. "Good cocksleeve."

The only response is another belch of cum, the witch-toy currently not enough of a person to have a single thought in its entire head. The effects of the tea will have worn off by now, only lasting a few hours, but the effect of being turned into a cum receptical by a half-giant will be having a permanent impact on the sleeve's little psyche. It normally takes months of continued fucking to break a witch completely, with the more intelligent, older ones taking the longest, but Hagrid has no doubt that whatever is left of this witch after tonight will be decided by how strong it was magically going into it.

If there’s enough of a spark to fight against the onslaught of thick, pungent half-giant cum that’s seeped into just about every crevice of its body, it’s the only thing thing that can prevent the over abundance of his seed from overtaking this little witch-hole in a way that no amount of mental fortitude can ever come close to protecting someone from. He’s fairly certain it was a half-blood, so it shouldn’t be too much of a stink if anyone starts asking questions about why one of the second year Hufflepuffs is now a drooling, empty-headed, hollowed out cum sock - not like would happen with a pureblood anyway. He has to be more careful with purebloods, as they tend to hold more value in the wizarding world than half-blooded and muggleborns witch-sleeves.

Intending to put at least another load or two into it later, Hagrid strokes his cock idly and steps over the stack of oozing holes, returning to the table where he’s left his favourites. The witch-sleeve in splits - Susan-hole, he’s half confident to say - is the more coherent one, rousing after a few light slaps to her face. Loosely gripping her throat, he pulls her down onto his cock, filling the sleeve's womb again with a squelch and a shudder, making him sigh happily.

“Pretty sleeve,” Hagrid tells her happily, lifting her off the table. Her face is still clean enough from the way he’d left her, so he doesn’t have to wipe her down at all, carrying her back over to his chair to sit in it, bouncing her in his lap. “Old Rubeus needs a little bit of a break,” Hagrid groans, getting comfortable in a way that allows him full access to her body without retying her. Her legs must be completely numb at this point, so he does her the kindness of untying her from the stick, letting them collapse on either side of his lap as she slumps - at least, as much as a witch-sleeve with a thick, hard cock the length of her torso crammed inside of her can. "There's a good hole."

Eyes rolling wildly in her head, the witch-toy moans gratefully when he undoes her arms as well, her hands shaking as she fails to lift them up once they collapse at her sides. Ever the polite little thing, he’s fairly certain she’s mumbling out some kind of appreciation as her limp head sags on her neck and she makes sweet little gasping noises as her hole squeezes and flutters around the cock that's now her reason for existing.

It takes a little hunching over her to get close to her mouth-hole, but it’s worth it to shove his tongue past her lips and taste her throat, not even bothering to fuck her as he plunders the only hole of hers that’s eluding him tonight. While she wouldn’t have the strength to struggle even if she wanted to, he’d like to think that her obedience is a choice as her pliant body rests in his lap, tight, hot hole wrapped around his length, moaning as he tongue fucks her mouth-hole.

Allowing her the chance to breathe periodically, Hagrid sucks a much kinder bruise on the sleeve’s throat, massaging her belly as he mostly just rests inside her. Her belly is considerably smaller than the witch-sleeve still making wet, gurgling noises from the bed post and while it would be tempting to do the same to her, he’s much too found of her aunt to risk the older witch's ire if he were to destroy this baby-sleeve entirely, so he satisfies himself with the knowledge that however much cum stays packed inside her stays packed inside her, but that whatever needs to ooze back out in between use of whichever hole will just have to ooze out.

He almost falls asleep for a short while, jerking awake when he hears clawing at the door from Fang. Fucking roughly up into her as he wakes back up, the sleeve’s head falls back in a gasp and he snarls, doing it again. Unable to ignore the sound of his dog at the door, Hagrid takes one of the discarded ropes, using it to tie her hands around his neck as she’ll stay in place without him holding her. Walking over to the door, he makes sure her head is out of sight of the peep hole as he flips it open to glance outside - confirming that it’s only Fang out there.

Bouncing her hard enough to make her start to moan again, Hagrid rummages around until he finds an adequately sized bone to compensate Fang for spending the night outside. Opening the door to the hut at an angle - the lights are out in the castle by now, save the ones Filch leaves outside, but that doesn’t mean no one could be watching - he whistles at Fang and tosses out the bone.

“You’re spending the night out here, boy,” he tells the dog. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

Closing the door on the dog as he tears into the bone, Hagrid flips the lock again, and pins the blonde sleeve against it. Moving her hands from behind his neck to pinned up against the wooden door, he cradles her rump, and moans as he rocks into her at a rough, but leisurely pace.

There’s more that he says, more hours spend drowning each sleeve in so much cum that he knows they’ll spend years dreaming about tonight, their unconscious minds still soaked with the pungence of his release, but it all passes in a warm, blissful haze of pleasure, switching from hole to hole, from witch-sleeve to witch-sleeve until all of them are unbound save the one on the bed post, staying exactly where he lays them each time he switches to a new one.

They take load after load of his cum, orgasming over and over regardless of which of their holes happens to be in use, so much cum pouring out of their gaped holes that their bodies are painted almost entirely white. It's only the flecks of hair colour that allows him to tell the sleeves apart beyond where he puts them, all five witch-toys so ruined that the room begins to look increasingly like the scene of an awful carnage. With hours and hours uninterrupted and a magically induced rut to keep him continuously pouring out load after load of hot seed into their swollen, bloated bodies, none of them much resemble witches anymore.

It would be polite to give them something to eat and drink to help them keep up their energies, but it seems worse to put something into their bodies when they’re already so full with what’s already in there - so only he eats, not stopping his fuck fest even as he gorges himself on food from the larder connected to the Hogwarts Kitchens, making them lick the sauces from the meat of his fingers as he sloppily plays with their mouth-holes and tongues.

He’s not sure how many loads end up in the red haired witch-sleeve - at least nine, he knows for sure - and he loses track of how many he puts in each of the other holes as well, satisfying himself with the knowledge that they’re all more cum than Hufflepuff after almost a full day enjoying the pleasure of his attentions.

Once he’s sure the potion has worn off and he no longer feels the painful need to rut himself mindlessly into anything - as much as the overstretched, leaking holes of the five baby witches-sleeves are going to be an object of fantasy for as long as he can remember them for - Hagrid sets to rousing them all from their defeat.

Only one of them ends up capable of casting a repair spell and one for cleaning the cum off their bodies - sweet Hannah-hole earns herself a long, indulgent kiss, Hagrid licking lovingly into her throat until she starts to get hazy eyed again - and ends up whimpering her way through it with shaky hands, fixing everyone’s clothes enough that they won’t look like they’ve been torn off. There isn’t much she can do about how ill-fitted it all is now, but he pats her on the head anyway, and sets to making them work as a group to clean up the mess they’ve made of his hut.

There’s cum everywhere, soaking almost every flat surface, and it amuses him to watch leaking cum socks fail to stay on top of the mess that’s continuing to ooze out of them. Only as a point of kindness for the blondes does he offer to plug them up. The box of Quiddich gear wouldn’t normally be in here, but he’d promised to take a look at and repair anything that he could, resulting in enough bludgers, quaffles, and bats to stop up all of the leaky holes but one - as Hagrid’s not about to suffocate the red haired witch-sleeve, not when he’s so proud of himself for the fact that she’s able to stand on her feet again, even if she is remarkably wobbly now as she struggles under the weight of her stomach and shape of her hips - and after that, they’re able to finish, even if they’re a tad more teary eyed a red-faced with the knowledge that the only thing holding the cum in is Quiddich equipment that who knows how many hands have touched.

They'll only look in the mirror when he forces them to, crying pathetically each time he's tried, stumbling around on wobbling hands and knees more than on their feet as they struggle to accomplish his demands. They always come to him so certain that they're equal to wizards, that they have identities and a purpose beyond that of as a sleeve, but it's never long before all they are is self-cleaning cocksleeves.

Borrowing one of their wands as he doesn’t want anyone to get lost, he fixes them all upright, attaching them to one of the walking sticks, and lowers them into the trapdoor hiding under the rug. The red haired witch-sleeve whose wand it was drags behind the pack, barely able to keep upright as it continues to belch cum thanks to the beater bat crammed up its arsehole all the way to its collarbone thin end first, but he’s able to get them all through the tunnels and necessary abandoned hallways in one piece, only leaving a small trail of white behind as they emerge at a hidden, rear entrance to the realm of their house.

It’s at a point in the afternoon where everyone is sure to be out at lunch and no one ever uses this entrance, so while it’s been a while since he had too, Hagrid has an easy time navigating them into the appropriate dorm room and removing the stick to block the door behind him.

Turning back around, there’s a cum oozing red haired witch-sleeve on the floor, two blond sleeves wobbling together in support of each other, a brown haired sleeve on her knees hacking and coughing, and another sleeve is slumped against the wall, wheezing and clutching her ballooned out stomach. It won't go down at all, not with a quaffle shoved into each hole and she looks feverish.

“Now, now,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment at their lack of fortitude. It isn't like there was only one of them to endure him alone - he had split his attention between all five of them, which would have been far more manageable as far as he's concerned, so he has no sympathy for their whinging. “There’s no need for dramatics. You’re all going to sleep a while, but when you wake up you’ll be just fine. Well,” he glances at the red haired sleeve, nudging its body with the toe of his boot. Its entire front is covered in cum again, though not enough that its belly has gone down at all now that it's not walking and jostling around the cum packed inside it. “Most of you will be just fine. After you’ve cleaned yourselves up anyway. Just remember,” he says, tapping his nose. “If anyone finds out, I have the proof I need to back up that you seduced me. You’ll spend the rest of your little cum sock lives being ridiculed for being loose slags, unfit for any respectable wizard to ever want anything to do with, and I won't fuck you again if you try - no matter how much you beg.”

That said, he figures out which beds are Hannah-hole and Susan-hole’s and sets to dumping witch-sleeves onto them, so none of the pre-sleeve badgers find a broken toy in their beds and sound an alarm. The blondes and the red haired sleeves go together, the especially broken set of holes left on front, face hanging off the edge of the bed to keep it from drowning, the other two on their backs with their heads on the pillow together. The brown haired sleeves he puts together as well in the other bed, positioning them so that there’s a face next to each set of leaking holes and they’ll wake up with the smell of Hagrid’s cum still fresh in their nostrils. He almost forgets to dislodge the pestle in the busted one's womb, but he does, opting to leave it there to fall out on its own eventually instead of removing it.

Anyone who wants to be able to drain themselves will have to do the work of dislodging the plugs holding Hagrid's seed inside them. It will prevent them from making too much of a mess before they're conscious enough to deal with cleaning their bodies holes of the evidence of what's happened to them.

Wiping his hands off, Hagrid pats each witch-toy on the head appreciatively and closes the curtains to dart out of the room before anyone can catch him. Scuffing his fingers on the door to activate a rune he had someone inscribe over a decade ago, he guarantees that they'll have privacy for a few hours until it resets.

He disappears back into the quiet parts of the castle, scuffing his boot along the trail of cum to obscure it in case anyone comes back here before it fades away - whistling to himself as he pats his belly. He’s missed lunch, but if he acts contrite about it, he’s sure the elves will be happy to assemble a nice little feast for him to eat back all the energy he put into his Hufflepuffs.

All that’s left now is to wait and see which ones come stumbling back to him, which ones disappear forever, and which ones will get another strike in his tally of Hagrid Juniors.