"If I hear one peep 'outa you, you're going in the dog house for the rest of the night!" The man leered at Hermione through the bars. His teeth were crooked, and his breath smelt of alcohol. The girl winced, but kept silent.
She had been kidnapped, the night after graduation from Hogwarts. There was no one for miles around, so it was a waist of energy to call for help. She could only imagine what the "dog house" was. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Okay, Hermione, think. These men would probably try to rape her, and maybe they would kill her afterwards. She was still a virgin. Hermione shuddered at the thought of a)dying a virgin, and b) not dying a virgin, but only because of being rapped. She wanted to live a long happy life. What was worse than death? Life without the ones' you love. Something told her then that she would not die any time soon, but neither would she see her friends again. Maybe the men would turn her into an unwilling whore, who had to do whatever they told her to, or be tortured. Hermione forced herself to stop thinking like that. Too much time on her hands, with absolutely nothing to do.
The leering man came into the cell where Hermione lay bound. He looked over her, and liking what he saw, said "Ready for some fun, pipsqueak?" Hermione shuddered, but kept her eyes on his.
"What is the dog house?" She asked bluntly. The man hesitated, then spoke.
"It's a small room, full of men starved for love for over four years. They are our prisoners, don'tcha see, so we keep 'em in there for a good long time, until they are starved for a, woman's touch." His face twisted. "By the time we give 'em a woman, they'll gladly leave us alone. 'Oft times they'll join us, just to get more."
Hermione groaned. But was the alternative any better?
"If I don't go to the 'dog house', then what will happen to me?"
The man barked a horse laugh.
"Then you get to be my personal mistress. I only get you for three days, then you go on to the next member of our little group."
"Exactly how many are there in your group?" Hermione asked, feeling sick.
"One hundred and fifty, give or take a few."
"An-and how many in the-the dog house?"
"Only thirty seven. And they usually take turns of five to ten, although some are so eager they just have at you all together like." He sounded as though he thought this would be some kind of comfort to her. The girl stared.
"Do I have a choice?"
The man narrowed his eyes, but spoke.
"Yes, you may choose. But be quick about it!"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, before saying,
"How long will I stay here?"
"As long as I like." He sneered, "And I like to squeeze as much of the juice out of you before I let you go, too. So don't be expecting to prance out like some pretty penny."
Hermione made a quick decision, which, once she thought about, she considered to be pretty lousy.
"I'll take the dog house."
Hermione remembered an old friend from school. His name had been Harry Potter. He had been very close, until the summer after 5th year. He disappeared. No one had seen him since. At the time, Hermione had cried and cried. He had been her very best friend, closer even than Ron. She had lusted over his figure, dreamed about his affections, and fantasized like only a fifteen-almost-sixteen year old could. When he had touched her, her skin had felt like it would simply burn off, and his eyes could make her do anything. Even kill herself. But he had gone, or been killed, or something. It was a mystery to all.
Now, she wondered if he had been kidnapped. Hey, it had happened to her, why not to him? What if they were in the same place, that Harry was in the dog house, where in less then an hour she would be thrown? No, it could not happen. Harry was dead, long gone. She needed to come back to the present.
The man (who said his name was Roger) brought Hermione some clothes that she was to wear in the dog house. He left, snickering.
Hermione was appalled. The so called clothes were nothing but a few leather straps, and three triangles of canvas (breast, breast, and crouch). As much as she hated it, she put on the attire. Roger had conjured up a floor length mirror for her. He told her to practice some "dance moves", by which he could only mean stripping or grinding of some kind, which she would perform on a levitated platform in front of the sex starved men.
Hermione looked her self up in the mirror. The leather straps covered nothing, and the triangles did little better. But she looked relatively hot. She had acquired a full body tan when she went to visit her crazy cousin in Bermuda, last summer, and her body had filled out in all the right places. Her hair had softened into wavy curls that spread over her shoulders in dark honey tones. She put two and two together in her head. She was damned hot. Sizzling. But if only she had realized this before graduation? She could have had a date at least to the dance. But she had had to go alone. Come to think of it, she had never been pass second base! And barely pass first.
I'll have made a home run by tonight, she thought gloomily.
There was a banging on her door. It opened without further ado. Roger stared openly.
"Come, wench. Your sight is riches to my eyes. I hope to enjoy you soon. You must be one delicious morsel."
Hermione felt herself turn red, and she hurried past him out the door. As she passed him, he reached out and grabbed her butt. She jumped, and ran ahead down the hall.
"It's be the first door on the right!" Roger chuckled evilly.