Set Her Free Rating: R

The tall, lanky man looked rather more eager than his clothing indicated he should act.

"I'm glad your trip was good ... I'm glad you're back," he stammered. He blushed, knowing he sounded like a schoolboy.

The curvaceous blonde woman wriggled out of her tightfitting robe and was folding it up haphazardly. "Really? Well, Professor, I did say I would come back, don't you remember?"

Her use of his formal title made him stammer even worse. "Re - remember? I - I - I c-could never f-f-orget!" He collapsed rather clumsily on the nearest chair.

She enjoyed her effect on this very proper, highly respected man. Even after all their years as lovers, on and off, she could still bring him to his knees.

"You have all those nubile young students to look at, Professor, surely you would have forgotten me in their presence?" The woman was brushing her long, softly curling locks now. The way she was doing it made him gasp.

"It's not youth I crave," the man was quite serious. "You are unique in all the world ... that's why I let you go and do as you wish. And it's why I wait for you to return to me."

She was always moved by his devotion. She was a free spirit in every way — she never let conventional things like a need for "roots" or a job or stability keep her tethered anywhere. She made connections and took on lovers as casually as one might order a glass of wine. Some, she considered friends and stayed in touch, often revisting their homes and beds; others, she discarded after they'd lost their appeal.

But something was so special about this man, whom she'd known since they were in school. And she liked that he always had room for her and the many herbs and things she'd collected on her travels. He accepted her as she was, and always aided and comforted her.

Why hadn't she settled down with this man? She could have, but the itch to leave would sometimes grow so strong that even her love for him could not keep her beside him.

She stopped playing with her hair, letting it stay tussled and askew as she knelt naked on the floor before him. "I always do return, do I not, Professor?"

He laughed ... then moaned as she nuzzled herself against him. She breathed in his scent — musky with notes of tobacco, classroom chalk, and the damp stones making up the buildings he wandered all his days while awaiting her return. She found his scent startling and irresistable and used her teeth to nip at the hardening pouch on his lap.

She withdrew and put her head on his lap and asked in that effortlessly innocent and sexy manner she had, "How'd it been this year, Professor?"

He sighed and leaned back, allowing himself to gaze at her with untold yearning. Reaching down, he stroked and played with her long hair. "I often feel that the students have learned nothing, that I teach them the same things over and over ... but of course, they aren't the same year after year. Do you think I'm getting old, my love?"

"Oh yes, definitely old!" She allowed her giggle to vibrate against his genitalia. He penis jumped and sprouted in response, which made her giggle more. "Old, but experienced. Younger men can't fuck worth a damn — they need to be older than 25 before they're any good in the sack!"

It was his turn to laugh. The first time she'd said that sentence many years ago, he'd jumped up in astonishment, dumping her on the floor. She'd been sitting on his lap, whispering this nugget of information throatily in that breathless, sweet voice. The sound of it always took him back to their youth. He was too shy to approach her then.

He remembered the first time they'd coupled. He was always painfully shy, and she was always so naturally flighty that he didn't think she noticed him at all. Even after his friend told him she'd painted his portrait on her bedroom wall, he couldn't make himself approach her for more than a shy greeting.

They were at a school reunion, where there was dancing and laughing. He was a good dancer, and never had an empty dance card. And he would always outlast his partners on the dancefloor, dancing by himself, eyes closed, moving to the music. He moved lightly and naturally, a surprise in someone so tall and awkward.

She saw him dancing on his own and joined him, moving into his open arms without so much as a greeting to warn him. She stepped in so gracefully and lightly that he didn't even realize she was pressed against him, following his moves so closely. They were a delight to watch., the dark haired, formally presented professor and the mystical, gauzily dressed fair woman from afar.

They danced till everyone had left. And then she seduced him, on the spot.

He'd fallen in love with her that night, but perhaps he had always loved her, but was too afraid to give in to his hopes. She stayed with him the whole summer, but a few weeks before the start of classes, she'd disappeared.

"I am burning to study those plants I told you about," read the looped, even penmanship, "I'll be back soon!"

But she didn't return that day, or the next, or even the next month. When winter came, he found himself gazing at the snow falling outside his office window, wondering if she was warm and dry. His students would often startle him to attention when he was feeling like this.

He was miserable, but he found he enjoyed his misery. Better to die having known her kiss, he lamented, and he'd admonished himself for thinking a creature like her could stay with a man as boring as him!

But then one day he walked into his classroom after supper. He liked the glow of the setting sun through the prisms of light coming through the windows there ... and there she was. She was standing by the door of the greenhouse he used to conduct experiments.

"Professor!" She had greeted him with a breathless voice, "You have to get these into peatmoss immediately!" She'd run across the room — her feet were bare, he'd noticed, and she was decidedly grubby — and took him by the hand and dragged him to the pile of gunnysack-wrapped roots and twigs and piled them onto him. "Come, quickly!"

They spent the whole evening potting and watering and trimming. And again, she seduced him where they stood.

The pattern of her comings and leavings was never regular, and over the years, he'd learned to accept that she couldn't help herself. She needed to run off and collect plants and herbs, and meet new people to keep her soul alive. It was part of what made her so irresistable.

He used to be jealous, but that abated over time. The desire to have her back and the assurance that she'd return made him non-judgemental. His friends thought he was a saint to put up with his lover's peripatic behavior!

He could feel her breath on his abdomen as she worked her mouth magically over his penis, using her teeth on the foreskin and scrotum. She was the only woman he knew who could take him down her throat — effortlessly and naturally, like everything about her.

A talented herbologist, her abandoned collection fluorished under his care. He gave talks and published papers on his botanical findings. She gave the plants to him without condition, and thanked him demurely for attempting to give her co-authorship of his journal contributions. But really, she only wanted was for her mysterious plants to be happy, too.

She could be quite violent during sex, but he never minded. Anything she wanted was fine by him; anything at all.

And when they were sated and exhausted, she'd always murmur, "Thank you, Professor."

And he'd laugh, "Luna, can't you ever just call me Neville?"

"No," she replied, stubbornly. "You're much sexier as the Professor. I never wanted to fuck you as Neville."

Luna Lovegood was a strange girl, but he loved her. No matter how many times she left, or where she went, or who she was with, he knew that she's always come back to him.

Their friend Harry often shrugged when people talked about this odd couple. "They're happy, aren't they? And they've earned happiness."

Still, everyone wondered if they shouldn't be married, to legalize their relationship. "They're obviously in love, but she is a bit flighty isn't she?" They all seemed to agree that she was the wild one, avoiding normalcy.

Ron Weasley would join his friend in shrugging. "Luna's different. Neville's never had it easy in life. I suspect Luna is as close to a normal love as Neville will ever have!"

Harry's wife, Ginny Potter, had once sort of dated Neville. "He's not all that normal, either!" She'd laugh at her memory of the Yule Ball, where she danced with the much taller boy. "He wouldn't be happy with anyone else. I think it's sweet how accepting he is of her needs, just as she's understanding that he has needs, too."

It didn't really matter to them that their friends discussed and debated what was best for the couple. As far as the two lovers were concerned, there was no one else in the world but each other.

Luna would awaken, the moonlight reflecting its light off their naked bodies. Stroking her lover to quickly hardness, she'd mount and ride him, wreaking havoc with his dreams.

In those dreams, he had the courage to leave his job at Hogwart's, and follow her to the ends of the earth. But in life, he knew he desperately needed the stability and respect his professorship afforded. It was all he craved as an awkward child, one who hadn't fit in anywhere till he came to Hogwart's School.

Half asleep, on the cusp of awakening, he orgasmed deep into Luna, screaming with the intensity of their coupling. As she rode him to her own release, he came back down to earth and was simply grateful to have found his life, as well as the love of his life.

As she panted from her orgasm, he asked her, "Luna, what if we have a baby?"

She didn't open her eyes, but a smile poked at her lips. "What do you mean, 'if'?"

He was suddenly fully awake, but he didn't say anything. Did he want to know?

Anyway, she was snoring lightly by then.

Yes, she was a difficult creature to love, needing her secrets and her freedom. But he did love her, and the only way to keep her, was to never try to hold her to him. Just as he needed the security and safety of Hogwart's and their friends, she needed to be free.

There would never be a need to set her free; his love for her ensured he'd never tie her down.

They lived in two different worlds, and were given the good luck to be able to merge them together now and again.

He drifted off to sleep to the melodious sound of her raucous and wholesome snoring!

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