There were very few ways to make Hermione Granger nervous.
Going to a play party was one of them.
Ginny had begged and pleaded her best friend to attend this "Party of Desire" with her, and Hermione had finally acquiesced to her friend on the condition that they be in costume so as to disguise their appearance.
Ginny had grinned evilly, and hours later, Hermione found herself dressed in the most revealing ensemble she'd ever worn. Her black, steel-boned corset, real leather, was like a second skin, leaving the tops of her luscious breasts exposed. Her hair was pinned up, revealing a black leather choker adorned with a simple opal pendant dangling in the hollow of her neck.
Simple black pants and tall leather heels adorned her feet. Hermione thought she looked like a dominatrix, rather than a respectable witch who worked in the Department of Mysteries.
The party was in full swing when the two women arrived. Multiple couples were locked in passionate embraces, some having already removed their clothing. But most were watching the beautiful man in the center of the room. Hermiones heart thudded into her chest.
"Most submissives like to be spanked, but are initially frightened of the whip," he was saying. "I can bring you so much pleasure, it will be painful. The whipping post frightens most newcomers, but I assure you, there is nothing to fear. My technique will not cause you any lasting harm, and it will serve to teach other Doms how to exercise their subs in this area as well. I am unattached," he finished, his grey eyes searching the room. "Do I have any volunteers?"
As though she were imperiused, Hermione felt herself start forward, touching her mask to make sure it was secured to her face. Had she been aware of anything but the man in front of her, she would've noticed Ginny's raised eyebrow and knowing grin, before the redhead herself sauntered off in search of her own play thing.
"I will," she stated once she was before him, her head slightly bowed. He was silent as he regarded her, something familiar about her, but he cleared his thoughts quickly. He had a job to do.
"Face the post," he said, and she nodded, climbing up the few stairs it took for her to face the post. The post itself was made of dark cherry wood, in the shape of a slightly uneven crucifix. There may not be a God here, Hermione thought to herself as the man gently tied her wrists to the ends with soft scarves. Hermione was expecting a rougher touch. He secured her feet shoulder width apart, with scarves that were tied to bolts in the ground.
"Red is your safe word," he whispered. "You say red if I am causing you true harm, or if you become scared, or if you simply want to stop. You say red, this ends immediately. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded her acquiescence.
"You say 'yellow' to let me know that you're okay, but I need to back off."
Hermione nodded again.
He eyed the side of her face, covered by that godforsaken mask she was wearing but knowing better than to ask her to remove it. Anonymity was guaranteed to the partygoers.
He moved away from her and addressed the crowd.
"Anticipation," he said, "is probably more important than the act itself."
He pulled out his whip, the well worn leather supple in his calloused hands.
"You need to remember that their pleasure, brings you pleasure. If they are not feeling pleasure, it should not feel good to you."
He brushed the end of the whip on Hermione's inner ankle, smiling as she jumped slightly in surprise. He ran the whip up the inner side of her leg, watching as she shivered in enjoyment. The tip of his whip brushed her apex slightly and Hermione felt herself let out a soft moan.
"Look, ladies and gentleman," the man said as her back muscles rippled with shivers and her skin broke out in gooseflesh, "allow your partner, your sub, to feel the whip. Let the whip run across their bodies. You need to let them feel its power, its softness, its resting strength. Let them anticipate the pleasure you can bring with it."
Hermione could hear the crowd murmur their assent. As exposed as she felt, knowing she was as bare as the day she was born in front of all of these people, she felt weirdly calm. They didn't know who she was under this mask, which was charmed with subtle Notice-Me-Not charms. The only person who knew her here was Ginny, and Hermione knew the witch was probably entangled in her own escapades by now.
He waved his hand, and the contraption she was tied to bent her forward slightly, so her arse was poking out more than her back was, and Hermione could feel her pussy clench at being exposed to them, to him.
"When whipping someone you need to have perfect accuracy," the man was addressing the crowd again, and Hermione found herself enraptured by the pleasant baritone of his voice. "If you don't, you could risk injuring your lover's spine. Now being magical, luckily there are accuracy charms you can use, as stated in the pamphlets I've given you, but it's better to be accurate without a magical aide."
She heard more than felt the first snap of the whip. She hissed as a slight stinging sensation became apparent at the crest of her arse.
Then he was on her in a frenzy. Stinging snaps of his whip across the sides of her back, the curvature of her arse, across her shoulder blades. She felt her skin warm and pinken as the strikes of the whip intensified.
The whip grazed her pussy ever so softly, stinging her lips and Hermione couldn't suppress the moan that built up in her throat.
The man either didn't hear her or chose to ignore it as he worked her over. Again and again he whipped her, every so often letting the tip graze her pussy, each time making her more and more drenched. She felt the coil in her stomach tighten and sink its way into her lower abdomen, her body begging to get the release that was so close. Her body shook with the anticipation of where he would strike next, he could see, smell her becoming more aroused and his cock strained against his well-worn jeans.
Her backside was a beautiful red, the swell of her curves intensified by the color, and he could imagine plunging his cock in and out of it. Her pussy was drenched and clenching, the smell making his senses go heady and his mouth salivate. He could imagine burying his head between her thighs, lapping up her sweet cunt until she was screaming his name. He was hard pressed to focus on anything else but the beautiful stranger in front of him.
He snapped the whip right up the center of her pussy and Hermione was pushed over the edge. Her eyes clenched shut and she cried out, her pussy spasming and pulsing with the force of her orgasm.
He watched her body shudder with the intensity of her release and he swore he could've came just from watching her.
After a moment, she sagged against the post and the man turned to the audience, all of whom were enraptured and aroused at the scene that had transpired before them.
"That is the proper way to whip someone," he said, "If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my partner."
He immediately uncuffed the exhausted woman, picking her up and gently carrying her into an alcove off to the side of the stage.
Hermione blinked, the haze of her orgasm fading away.
"I guess I should tell you," she began.
His eyes snapped to where he had set her. She pulled off her mask, finally revealing herself to him and he couldn't stop himself from striding up to her and yanking her to him.
"Hermione! Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
She only stared at him, "I just wanted to know what it felt like to be pleased by you."
Sirius looked at her for what felt like hours, not believing she was real but at the same time hoping what she said was true.
She brought her fingers to the side of his face, "I want you."
He felt himself harden, his lips pulled into smirk, and he let out a dark chuckle.
"Oh, love, I haven't even touched you yet."
The End.