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ORGASM ADDICT
The Malfoys gave Dobby a variety of silk pillowcases for his wardobe, but what he generally preferred to wear was nothing. When young, Dobby had the sex drive you’d expect of a young house-elf and more. Fortunately, other elves had it too. Dobby even had groupies.
When young master Malfoy was five or six, the boy crept down to the kitchen to dig into the freshly baked cakes and tarts he knew the elves were working on overnight. When he peered around the corner, hoping they’d made something good with apples or gooseberries, his mouth fell open and he clapped his hands to his cheeks in horror.
On the long work surface covered in flour and curling apple peels, teenaged Dobby was having a threesome with two elves named Holiday and Molliday (Holly and Molly), both more experienced than Dobby was: doing it in the kitchen was their idea. A quick student, Dobby was fucking Holly rapidly from behind while Holly went down on Molly, whose high squeaks made the goblets ring. Flour flew everywhere and ribbons from the raw tart shells were wrapped around Dobby’s ankles.
Draco watched in horror as Dobby frantically pumped into Holly at roughly the pace of a hummingbird’s wings — house-elf magic was powerful — before slipping on some flour, slipping out of Holly, and plummeting to the stone floor, landing on his tiny elven penis with a crack and a puff of white glitter.
“Dobby!” cried Draco, running toward him. Dobby gulped when he saw who it was, but then the young master, a vision in curly hair and silver pyjamas, bent to help him up and dust off the flour.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and Dobby had to confess that no, he really wasn’t. Luckily Molly had special expertise in Healing these kinds of injuries, having seen and caused several of them during high-altitude kitchen fucking.
Molly healed Dobby’s broken penis and then they all had gooseberry tart.
***
LOVE COMES IN SPURTS
Dobby went with the young master to Hogwarts, where they became a little bit of a team. Draco, more homesick than others, would still sneak down to the kitchen to steal sweets, and he stood guard for kitchen orgies at Hogwarts, which were even more graphic than at the Manor.
The floor was barely visible under all the castoff tea towels as hundreds of elves copulated wildly on every visible surface. The squeaks of ecstasy caught the interest of Mrs. Norris a few floors up, but when she crept downstairs to investigate the possibility of an a-mouse-bouche, she didn’t make it past the door. After Obliviating her, Draco, digging into strawberry fool on his stool by the door, received a secondhand sexual education that could not be found in any book, though it was in some respects misleading: around this time he was disappointed to find that he himself did not produce white glitter.
When Dobby was not enjoying life’s earthier pleasures, he endeavoured to be of service. He noticed that there was a young lady of House Gryffindor whom the young master complained about always, and Dobby set out to punish her for bringing unhappiness to his protector. If she met with a number of small, harmless accidents that year, from being attacked by her own inkpot to having trifle explode in her face, Dobby could not help it. His loyalty was legendary and Draco had more than earned it with his good works.
***
LET’S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER
Dobby soon tired of the kitchen scene and moved on to the laundry, home of a more adventurous kind of elf. The day he walked in, flicking back his big satiny ears like the Muggle Mick Jagger, the laundry went wilder than Wembley. The cheers were heard from the Great Hall, where the young master’s nemesis dreamily imagined a renaissance of S.P.E.W., which she planned to rebrand more catchily as Society for Champions and Restorers of Elfish Welfare (which appealed more directly to her supporters’ vanity).
The students of Hogwarts could not have imagined the acts consummated on top of, underneath, and inside their dirty clothing. Dobby learned that he loved a good bondage session with the stretchier socks, and Winky, when not drunk in one of the laundry baskets, could occasionally be convinced to partake. Of course, everything was always returned from the laundry in immaculate condition. The elves, who were all paid three Galleons a week with a Hogwarts pension match, were nothing if not proud of their trade.
Draco, however, had outgrown his. As he became older, he became the one who needed a little protecting. Finally rebelling against the strict regime at home, including the cropping of his curly hair, he became a little bit of a maniac. He tried to bring some of his fellow sinners to the laundry, but the house-elves were too hypnotized by the deadly slowness of their human-paced lovemaking to concentrate on their own debauchery. Dobby had to respectfully ask the young master not to attend elven orgies anymore. Draco threw an ill-used sock at him in retaliation (the only rude thing Draco ever did to him), and that is the true story of how Dobby became a free elf.
***
DOBBY IS A HINKYPUNK ROCKER
After the fall of Voldemort, the young master encouraged Dobby to roam the world. He Apparated from Northern Europe to sub-Saharan Africa to the Middle East to South Asia, trying foods that had never been served in the Great Hall and clothing that had never been washed by elven hands. In India, he discovered the beauty of lounging in a lungi (a length of fabric wrapped around the waist, like a pillowcase for the lower half) and the beauty of chai from a stall, and met a variety of people eager to take home a horny British elf.
Working his way east across China and to America, he obtained a fake driver’s license (because he’d always wanted one) and, after some quick Obliviation of a nice rental agent named Carrie, embarked on a cross-continental road trip in a vintage blue Ford Anglia like the Weasleys', meeting both familiar creatures (hinkypunks tended to haunt the highways) and new ones like Babe the Blue Ox and the Jersey Devil. On this trip, Dobby also discovered car sex, something that with his size, he was especially suited to.
With his magic, Dobby could send postcards from his travels without the help of owls. He sent one to London immediately upon seeing Hermione Granger in New York City, about to rent a car at the exact place where he was dropping his off. In a cautious truce, he offered her his blue Ford, reasoning that car thefts by wizards were untraceable and that the original agency didn’t even remember he existed.
Hermione took his offer and set off on her cross-country road trip in the opposite direction, while Dobby inquired of the young master whether he should sabotage her trip in any way. The family owl brought back a tearstained piece of mail asking Dobby to protect her on her trip, an odyssey of healing following a devastating “we’re too young to be in love, aren't we?” breakup with Draco himself.
Dobby accordingly stole another car and, after quickly locating Hermione outside Columbus, tailed her the whole way, taking full advantage of roadside diners and their blueberry pies, and taking the friends he made to every roadside motel he could find. As when he was driving east, nobody ever minded that he was an elf. The rest of the world was openminded that way.
Dobby ended up rescuing Hermione from a hinkypunk on the Pacific Coast Highway, where he explained everything and begged her on behalf of the young master to reconsider her decision. After many tears and a thank-you meal of cherry chiffon pie, Hermione gave back the Anglia and boarded the next flight back to London and the heartbroken young wizard waiting for her.
Dobby returned both cars to an extremely confused Carrie in San Francisco and then wandered the streets until he found himself inside a bathhouse in the Castro, where he met some old friends from Hogwarts who were on a similar postwar independence tour. The steam and the omnipresence of glitter reminded him of the laundry at Hogwarts, but better. He decided to stay.
A month later, Draco and Hermione came to visit and remarked that he’d never looked better. He told them proudly that he intended to spend the rest of his life on the road and in bed, and for the next fifty years, until an old family malady brought him home, that is what he did.
***
LONDON CALLING
“And that,” said Dobby weakly, “is all that Dobby can remember of Dobby’s carnal adventures on earth.”
Draco and Hermione, now seventy years old, looked at each other over Dobby’s bed in the Molliday Malfoy Luxury Care Home for Former House-Elves, where Draco (whose money had never run out) paid handsomely for Dobby to spend his final, golden years. Draco had fielded a concerned owl or two about Dobby’s activities around the home. With the curtness he only weaponized for those he loved, he replied that Molly should work on her memory, and that for old time’s sake she should let Dobby fuck on every surface, wall, and ceiling in her care home as well as in his bed.
Over time, though, his energy had declined, and his erotic pace slowed to that of a tortoise or slower. Dobby’s time on earth was coming to an end.
The elderly elf, now lying peacefully against his pillow, opened his eyes for one final request.
Dobby asked, “Will young master Draco and Miss Hermione make it possible for Dobby to fuck just one more time?”
After some research, an elven sex surrogate, specializing in the needs of elderly elves, arrived. Her name was Dolly. She was expensive, even for Draco, but he paid. Stylish in a red jumpsuit and espadrilles, she sat down by Dobby and asked what he wanted for his final fuck.
“Would Dobby like a final handjobby?” she said tenderly, waving away the concerned humans.
Dobby wanted to be pegged. The tiny elven dildo was the size of a gherkin. As Draco and Hermione walked away, the last sounds they ever heard from Dobby were his moans of surrender on his once-hardworking knees. Shortly after jizzing glitter all over the bedspread, he expired in ecstasy in Dolly’s arms. Hundreds attended his funeral and he was buried at Malfoy Manor in the family plot with the epitaph DOBBY: A FUCKING LEGEND.
***
Draco, who aside from a few lines looked much the same (his hair helped), regarded his lifelong partner in crime as she absorbed all she had heard.
“I knew he was a sexual Magellan,” she said, “and you told me a few things from when you were younger…but I didn’t know the half of it,” she said, eyes laughing with wonder.
Draco still had the sock and still wore it on walks. It was clean.
“He deserved every minute of it,” said Draco. And then, tears in his eyes: “I loved him so much.”
“Don’t cry because he died having sex,” said Hermione factually, “laugh because he had so much of it. How does he not have hundreds of children around the globe?”
“I believe he self-vasectomized sometime between the Hogwarts kitchen and the Hogwarts laundry,” said Draco, “so he could enjoy life more.”
“I envy him,” said Hermione, who aside from some grey hair, crow’s feet, and extra rolls was also much the same. “If I fuck someone new every day until the end of time…will I even come close to outfucking Dobby?”
“If you fuck someone who’s not me, at least have the decency to let me know,” he said, dropping a kiss on her mouth as she pulled him on top of her.
“Ow,” he said, as she caressed a part of his back that gave him trouble sometimes, and he made sure to keep his weight off the hip that bothered her. Then they hugged, soft in each other’s arms, and began undressing.
They had had a wonderful life together. Before they began having sex, she kissed the small lines at the corners of his eyes. He kissed hers too.
“To a legend,” said Draco fondly, as they began.