II. DINNER FOR ONE

The dining hall was nearly dark; it had been hours since the evening meal and the long tables were clear, waiting for tomorrows breakfast and the hungry students that would eat it. Hymenea hadnt had much of an appetite at dinner time, and didnt want to be around other people; she knew they would be looking at her and gossiping, and she just wasnt up for that. Eventually, the gnawing hunger in her heart gave way to a simpler appetite, and she could resist no longer.

She sat at one of the long tables. Roast chicken, peas, and mashed potatoes with gravy! she said aloud. In an instant, the food she named appeared . . . in mid-air, where it fell with a wet splat into her lap! She gasped in surprise. The food wasnt burning hot, but warm enough that she felt it as the juices ran through the cloth of her skirt and soaked her panties.

A house imp appeared in front of her, a doll-like figure with a shock of bright green hair and wearing a cross expression on its face. Hymeneas mouth was still gaping open in shock, but at last she said, What was that for!?

You didnt say you wanted a plate, too, the house imp sneered. Will there be anything else?

Is this about SMELF? she said, referring to the house imp welfare group she had started earlier in the semester. I told you all, it was for your own good, I was only helping

Another helping? the house imp interrupted. Very well. In a trice, another load of sloppy potatoes and gravy fell into Hymeneas lap and ran down her legs.

Stop that! Hymenea cried, glaring at the smug-looking imp. I was only trying to help the house imps get the respect they deserve! You have rights!

Yes, we do, said the imp. We choose to work here, and we do a good job.

Hymenea looked down at her food-covered lap. Youve certainly done a job on me. She pushed the meal from her lap into a puddle on the floor and sighed: another ruined outfit. Look, I get it, but Im starving. Just get me a chocolate milkshake . . . in a glass, she added quickly.

The sensation of cold ice cream and milk pouring over her head and running down her back made her sit bolt upright. She shrieked even louder than before, and her nipples were so hard she thought they were going to poke holes in her blouse.

The empty glass clattered to the floor behind her. Whoops, the imp said, and it disappeared in a blink before she could tell it what she really thought of the house imp organization.

Hymenea tried to wipe herself off without much success: the potatoes stuck to her fingers and left greasy spots on her blouse and skirt where she tried to wipe the chocolate off; she was sitting in a tepid puddle of milkshake and gravy where they had collected on the seat of her chair; and now her hair was a mess, too, just after she had spent hours cleaning and combing it.

She slumped in the chair, still hungry and lonely. Her wet panties clung to her, reminding her of the unsatisfied longing that kept her awake at night and distracted during the day. She sighed again. Oh, Gary, she whispered, why dont you see me? Not that she would exactly want him to see her like this. She licked cold chocolate off one finger. The house imps really were good cooks, she thought: it was their plating that left something to be desired.

Her private musing was interrupted by a sound from the far end of the dining hall. In the dim light of the candles, she could just make out another girl in a Hogwallow uniform. Had she been there the whole time?

Suddenly, a shower of baked beans appeared above the girl and splattered over her. The girl let out a low, wordless moan.

Hymenea stood up, the remains of her uneaten dinner sliding off her body to the floor. She walked over to the other girl, leaving gravy and chocolate footprints behind her. Are you having trouble with the house imps, too? she said as she approached.

N-no, the girl gasped, still catching her breath. She was completely covered in the red sauce of the beans, but underneath it Hymenea saw she had pale skin and dark hair, and had been wearing heavy eye makeup, now runny and smeared by the beans, making her look like a raccoon. It wasnt anyone she knew. Va . . . va . . . vande. . . .

Vandecamp!? Hymenea whispered; she was one of the few who dared to speak of the evil wizard by name. Did he do this to you?

The girl nodded wordlessly and then gasped, More. Another cascade of beans appeared from nowhere, covering the girl and splattering a few drops onto Hymenea. Not that it would be noticeable, she thought.

Whats your name? Hymenea said.

M . . . Martha, the girl answered between moans.

Moaning Martha! Hymenea had heard of her: she was supposed to haunt the Humpenmuff wing of the castle, but Hymenea had never seen her, and she hadnt heard anything about her appearing in the dining hall. Of course, she had never been here this late: perhaps this scene played out every night?

Vandecamp did this? Hymenea repeated. Is that how you . . . ? She left the question hanging.

Yes, Martha replied, rubbing her hands up and down her body; she appeared to be writhing in agony. Yes . . . oh, yes, Martha cried. Vandecamp! No, not agony, Hymenea thought: Martha was enjoying this. What a monster Vandecamp was!

Where is he?

In the castle . . . down below, Martha panted, and then said, More! as her fingers found their way under her skirt. She was covered as thoroughly as if she had come in a can . . . and there was something intriguing about the whole queer scene: Hymeneas own wet underthings moistened a little bit further as she watched Martha pleasure herself.

No, business first, she reminded herself. Down below? In the basement? If Vandecamp were here, that changed everything!

In the . . . Slipperin . . . common room, Martha said, now athletically working herself into a frenzy. With her free hand, she pulled her bean-slick hair back from her neck and stroked her breast as she rocked back and forth, her eyes closed. Unh! Unh!

The Slipperin common room! Aha! It was just as Gary had long suspected: the Slipperins, from Cleverus Creep to Malco Flimfloy, were all in league with You Know Who!

Hymenea realized she would get no more information from Moaning Martha. The poor thing, doomed to relive her demise at the hands of Vandecamp every night. Still, it didnt look like such a bad way to go.

I wonder, Hymenea thought as she left the moaning girl alone. It was too late to look for Gary, and who knew if he would be willing or able to satisfy her at this hour? Wrong, on the other hand, would almost certainly be up for it, but Hymenea shuddered at the thought: he was far too loathsome and dorky. No, Martha had the right idea.

Hymenea picked a clean chair next to the food-covered chair she had vacated, sat, and leaned back. Its worth a try, she thought. Vanilla custard! she said loudly. Sure enough, a buckets worth of creamy custard appeared from nowhere and splashed over her face and chest. The shock she had felt earlier was replaced by a naughty sense of anticipation, even pleasure. This is going to get messy, she thought as she wiped her eyes with her fingers. The custard was soaking through her blouse and running between her breasts. She unbuttoned the top few buttons, revealing the custard-soaked lace trim on her bra. Plenty more room, she thought, thrusting her chest outward.

What else could the house imps make? Hymenea decided to give them a challenge: Mexican seven-layer dip! she demanded. There was only a split-second of hesitation, and then splat! In quick succession she was doused in layers of lettuce, cheese, salsa, sour cream, guacamole, beans, and ground beef. A few sliced olives dribbled onto the top of her head as garnish. She laughed with delight, rubbing the ingredients all over her body. That had done it: her clothes were ruined, and she now looked more like the aftermath of an after-Cribbage mixer than the carefully put-together witch she usually presented to the world.

The collected mass of all that food was heavyand the smell was something else, but she was getting too hot to notice it. The food pulled at her clothes and dripped in soggy lumps to the floor. She smeared it around and her hands found their way to her skirt, pulling it up. Her silky panties looked so dainty and (relatively) clean, she just couldnt help herself, and slapped handfuls of beans and mixed-up slop into them, rubbing liberally. Oh, this was too much fun!

Sticky buns, she said, and there they were, overflowing with black currant jelly, smearing darkly across her chest. She undid her shirt completely and rubbed it into her round breasts, savoring the mess that she was making of her once white bra. She finally let it give in and loosened the straps, releasing her glistening tits from their bondage.

I could really go for a big, gooey chocolate cake right now, with lots of frosting . . . and whipped cream! The biggest youve got, she said, pulling at her underwear impatiently. Well, what are you waiting for? Let me have it!

Her world went dark as the house imps obliged her; her face and head were buried in inky chocolate decadence, as much fudge and frosting as actual cake. Now she was truly gasping, her mouth full of chocolate, as her fingers found their target, wet and welcoming.

Spaghetti! she cried, the wave building within her. Corn! Rice pudding! Treacle! Hummus! Bananas! Everything she could think of, the house imps threw at her, until she was buried, quivering in pleasure at the center of a mound of slimy, gooey food.

What would someone think if they walked in on me now? she thought, but she was too far gone to care. If it were Vandecamp himself she doubted she would be able to stop: she had thrown all caution to the wind and abandoned herself to a forbidden delight. Still, she thought, if Gary were to walk in . . . and that was it: gasping and moaning to rival Martha, she was overcome with pleasure, her own juices running through her questing fingers and mixing with everything else that covered her.

Afterward, she lounged back in the chair, catching her breath. Wow! She eventually pulled herself from the splattered food and put her tattered clothing back on. She hoped she didnt run into anyone on her way back to her room, as her appearance would be hard to explain. Hymenea blushed as she began to feel like her old self: hopefully those Slipperin kids would be blamed for this mess.

Then she remembered: Vandecamp was in the castle! Surely this information would get Gary motivated! A mystery, that was what MacGargamel had said. Well, what mystery could be more perfect?

Hymenea wanted to thank Moaning Martha for the idea she had given herwell, two ideas, actually. She looked to the other end of the dining hall, but the ghostly girl was gone. Spooky.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .