Suitably nervous, Hermione scratched the back of her neck while her eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at him. She'd only wanted to go and change.
For him.
Surely, he must have realised?
Her eyes landed on him. His head was bowed to the paper, his black locks framing his pale face. Such great hair, she wouldn't mind ruffling her hands through it again. And speaking of hands, she barely restrained the moan that threatened to erupt from her throat as she considered what those long, slender fingers had done to her the last time she was here. Her eyes focused on his hands. They really were beautiful, as everything else about him: strong, thin and powerful. Hermione could tell he was nearly done by the way he wrote with more forceful strokes. He always did that when he reached the end of his writings.
And then what? She was still wearing the same things he disapproved of, and he hadn't allowed her to go – Oh.
The idea struck her like a bolt of lightning: she could undress.
Hermione bit her lip.
Could she? She'd have to take everything off. She wasn't wearing a single garment he approved of.
Well, it wasn't like he hadn't seen everything already, and she really wanted to please him. But what if it weren't what he wanted her to do? What if she made a fool of herself by doing this? She squirmed at the thought. Then again, what if it were and she hadn't done it? What if it would displease him if she'd just remained here like this? What would he do then: Not shag her; tell her to take a hike and piss off for good? She couldn't stand the thought of being rejected by him. Her eyes glanced over her baggy tracksuit again. It screamed rejection at her in big, bright, red, neon letters.
Gathering all her courage and shoving her embarrassment away, Hermione kicked off her shoes one by one and unzipped her tracksuit's jacket. The sound of her motions had halted Riddle's pen. He seemed utterly frozen for a second. Hermione dumped her jacket on the floor unceremoniously. Riddle's face lifted, and encouraged by that ghost of a smile on his face, she yanked her T-shirt over her head fast. When it landed on top of her jacket, Riddle was busy writing again, and she quickly got rid of her "illegal" bra.
Was he writing faster now? Surely, this wasn't a race, now was it?
Then, she'd better not come in second.
Hurriedly, she lowered her underwear together with the tracksuit's bottoms and stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. Now all she had left were her socks. When she rose again, Riddle placed down the pen. They'd finished simultaneously.
Expectantly, Hermione waited.
And then waited some more when he leaned back, folding his hands behind his head as he studied her meticulously. Her heart was at her throat, and she held her breath as she waited for his judgement. This was so hot. To watch those intense, dark eyes focusing solely on her made her stomach do little flip-flops while her belly pooled in need. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together subconsciously.
It caused him to smirk.
'One more second and you'd been too late, dear,' he teased, his tone light and airy. 'You wouldn't have liked what I would've done had you still been wearing that–that horrible sack of rags when I was finished.'
Hermione let out a relieved breath, causing her entire posture to relax.
'However, now that you look so positively tempting …' he trailed off, his eyes roaming over her body appreciatively again, 'I suppose I have to find something else for us to do.'
Oh yes, good idea, she thought, elated.
'Come here,' he ordered coolly, pointing to the floor next to him as he sat up straight.
Hermione frowned, wondering why he'd suddenly changed from playful to that harsh, commanding persona again. Apparently, she'd stalled too long because he barked, 'Now.'
Jolting in shock, she began moving to him, not nearly as eager as she'd been mere moments ago. Something was amiss. She was sure of it. His entire posture and demeanour screamed trouble. For her. When she'd arrived next to him, he wasn't paying attention to her at all as she looked down. It somehow felt wrong to be at a higher position than him, but he'd not offered her a seat, and she had a feeling she was walking on thin ice as it was already. So, she remained there, waiting.
'On your knees.'
She sharply inhaled.
On my knees?
Biting her lip in doubt, she considered whether she wanted to do that. Her sex was already answering for her by clenching in need. Her entire body showed how much it wanted to comply with that order. A part of her was shouting loudly at her to just do as she was told because this was what she'd always wanted – to be dominated sexually. Another part of her was seeing Death Eaters in that same posture. She wasn't a Death Eater nor would she ever be one of his followers. She couldn't dislodge those thoughts from her head and simply comply for the sake of sexual pleasure. Not when the horrors of his regime flashed before her mind's eye.
She was about to take a step back and run for the hills when he rose and yanked her roughly against him, holding her tightly to his firm body. Their contact made her close her eyes and inhale. Sparks travelled through her at the sensation of his strong arms around her, pressing her snugly against him. Feeling his arousal was all the more invigorating; she just wanted to rub herself against him but was unable to move. Caught. Captured.
The moan escaped her lips involuntarily, and Hermione arched her neck to meet his darkened gaze.
'You're a difficult one, aren't you?' he asked seriously. 'High maintenance, too, I bet.' Gently, one of his hands stroked through her hair at the side of her face. 'So many restraining morals, don't you ever get tired of it and want to satisfy your own needs for a change?'
Before she had a chance to respond, his lips were on hers, demanding entry to which she eagerly complied. Somehow, her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, stroking him through his shirt. She felt that was very unsatisfying. However, the way he massaged her scalp and explored her tongue wasn't, and she clutched to him. She followed his lead as he lowered them. When he broke off the kiss and watched her heatedly, she was on her knees, and he was sitting on the bed, still petting her hair.
'There,' he said, satisfied. 'Now that wasn't so hard, was it?'
She blinked. Why had she…?
His fingers wrapped around her curls warningly. 'Stop overthinking things, Hermione. Tell me how you feel.'
'Confused.' It was the first thing that came to mind, and she'd replied without considering the consequences.
'And?' he demanded.
'Scared.'
'Why?'
'I'm afraid of losing myself to you … of getting hurt,' she added barely audible.
He considered her for a moment before replying softly, 'You secured your own pain when you decided to come here in that tracksuit, Hermione. You knew that in advance. I told you what I would do to you if I ever caught you wearing knickers again.'
Frightened, she stared at him, his words echoing in her mind: I'll spank you so hard you won't be able to sit for a week.
'But – but you can't touch me,' she objected, ignoring that he already was. 'We have a deal. That hour is over,' she babbled anxiously.
'I'm aware of that,' he replied calmly. 'However, when I suggested the inevitable consequences of disobedience, you didn't object to it being outside the rules then, and as such–'
'Well, I am now,' Hermione interrupted, wide-eyed.
'Too late,' he said, smirking down at her. 'You've already infringed upon my rules, and as such, you will be punished according to the severity of your crime.' His eyes humorously moved to her pile of clothes, and he wrinkled his nose. 'I daresay it's quite something. You must have been really desperate for a good hiding, doll. So, let's get this over with.' He patted on his lap, showing her where he wanted her to go.
Reflexively, her insides contracted in pure, unadulterated lust at the idea of lying on his lap like that –her arse in the air, naked, helpless, at his mercy– while he spanked her. It was an overwhelming vision, so powerful that she shuddered – a fantasy come true. Yet, some fantasies shouldn't be played out, weren't nearly as much fun in reality as they were in your mind. This would hurt. A lot. So, she shook her head, despite his tight grip.
'You're trying my patience, Granger.'
The warning was placed. She could tell by the look on his face he wasn't going to repeat it. If she didn't comply now, he'd act. She'd no idea what else he could do but doubted it would be an improvement to what she was already facing. Riddle let go of her hair when she started to move.
By Godric, this is demeaning, Hermione thought as she crawled over his legs.
And hot, a voice in the back of her mind added in excitement.
When her hips were at an even level with his lap, he took a hold of her, turning them both somewhat, so she wouldn't be lying on the edge of the bed with her upper body. Her legs were dangling off the side, and she was muddling around with her arms, not finding a comfortable position for them.
'Put them above your head.'
Damn, she'd been about to place them next to her head for some leverage, just in case.
Reluctantly, Hermione moved her arms above her head, holding her head sideways, so her face wasn't pressing directly into the mattress. Placing her hands on top of each other, she realised just how fucked she was – even gravity was working against her in this position. Getting up would be nearly impossible. When his hand stroked over her spine, caressing her skin softly before settling between her shoulder blades, she corrected that assessment to fully impossible.
Well, she guessed if push came to shove, she could always roll to the ground. Not that she thought lying on the floor would actually be an improvement, too.
Fine, she was completely screwed.
What had she been thinking earlier when she'd put on that damn tracksuit? She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life, and that included the time he had her pressed up against the wall. Only now she was naked as well, putting things at a whole new level of disadvantage for her. She tensed when his other hand touched her bottom.
However, he wasn't hitting her. Instead, he stroked her curves, exploring every inch of her left cheek before moving to her right. It felt nice –well, really nice– yet she couldn't relax enough to enjoy it. She was sure showing relaxation would bite her in the arse, figuratively and literally speaking.
'Wonderful,' he commented, his voice slightly amazed as he kept caressing her behind, 'I've been wanting to spank this ever since you first called out to me through the window in that insolent tone of voice of yours.'
Unable to stay still, Hermione twitched in his lap when he started fondling her. He drew a long finger through her folds, and she closed her eyes at the unbelievable, sensitising experience. It had to be the anticipation thrumming through her because she never got this wet this quickly.
'I see you're quite looking forward to your punishment,' Riddle said blankly, continuing to fondle her. 'Tell me why you deserve this, Granger.'
Horrified, Hermione tried to turn and look up at him, but his palm was resting between her shoulder blades, holding her down. He wasn't really going to make her say it, was he? As if this –all of it, everything– wasn't humiliating enough already.
Why couldn't he just get a move on and get this over and done with?
As if on cue, his hand left her bottom. She just had the clarity of mind to expect it and tensed, clenching her teeth together to not make a sound, when his hand landed on her left cheek roughly.
Damn, that hurt.
The palm of his hand began making circles all over her bottom. 'You will answer me promptly and honestly when I ask you questions, Granger, or we're going to be doing this all night long. Is that clear?'
'Yes,' she replied hastily.
'Hmm…' he contemplated, holding his hand still for a moment, 'insufficient answer, Granger.'
She screwed her face together when his hand went up again.
Smack!
Her eyes sprang open in pain because he'd struck her in exactly the same spot as before.
'Yes, Master,' she corrected, wanting to avoid as much pain as possible.
'Good girl,' he purred, fondling her again. 'Now tell me why you deserve this, why you need to be punished.'
'Because I disobeyed you and wore the wrong clothes … Master,' she added the latter quickly.
'Indeed. You've been a very bad girl, Hermione,' he said in such a dark voice it made her swoon, 'and it's my duty to set you straight, right?'
'Yes, Master.'
'Then, we shall commence,' he spoke coldly.
He did just that and began spanking her in earnest, finding a rhythm between his gentle caresses and his hard blows. Now, he was moving his hand around, never hitting her in the same place twice in a row. Her fingers curled in the sheet underneath her, clutching to it as if it were a lifesaver; her face was screwed together in pain, digging into the mattress as if it would take the blows for her; her eyes had watered; and she couldn't keep still anymore. Adrenaline spiked through her veins, resurrecting her autonomic fight-and-flight response. She wiggled more adamantly in his lap, thinking on how to get away and contemplating on using her legs.
Abruptly, he stopped. 'Every time you move to try and escape me will mean an extra slap added to the total,' he warned.
Her cheeks were already burning and red hot from his blows. She really didn't want more of them added, so she froze on the spot. Her lack of movement made his gentle caress even more mind-blowing than before – almost as if by moving, she'd taken some of the edge off the electric jolts travelling to her brain and exploding there like fireworks in the sky. She didn't quite understand how she could feel so much pain and so much pleasure in such quick succession. But she really wanted him to continue stroking her as he did now. It felt amazing.
However, he obviously wasn't done spanking her yet, and she wanted to know how much more she had to take.
'What's the total … Master?' she asked in a weak voice.
'That completely depends upon your personal insight, Hermione.'
He suddenly inserted a finger into her fanny, taking her completely by surprise. She gasped and squirmed from the accumulating pleasure his movements against her sensitive walls elicited inside of her. He had no trouble moving in and out; she was that aroused and wet for him already.
'When you show me you understand, I will stop.'
Well, she didn't want him to stop this.
A moan left her lips when he flicked over her clit. Next, his hand smacked down on her right cheek again. It was the first time she cried out in pain.
'That's it, dear,' he said oh so gently, stroking her sex again. 'Scream, holler, cry, you will learn.'
Smack.
She could no longer hold it in. The pain had become too overwhelming to take. So, she screamed every time he struck her. And every time he fondled her, stroked her clit and fingered her vagina, she twisted and moaned in overwhelming pleasure. The conflicting signals blew her mind and blurred her vision. The contrast was too extreme and yet so satisfying. She had to let go, had to surrender and let it happen. Her behind was stinging ferociously, yet her sex was slick in lust and her whole body felt flushed. And after every painful slap, her brain already danced in joy over the anticipation of things to come, waiting for that surge of tingling delight to arrive. Such wondrous bliss, such an amazing high, she never wanted to come down from it again.
Smack.
She buried her head in the mattress to muffle her pain-filled scream.
'No need for that,' Riddle said viciously, rubbing hard over her swollen clit.
She clenched her face together and let out an elongated moan. She could feel it coming; the building of pleasure became exponential. This had to be the biggest thrill of her life, and it was because of him: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort.
'Nobody here to hear you scream or come to your rescue,' he hissed at the same time her orgasm struck her in full force, 'Weasley.'
She froze, a chill running down her spine when he used her husband's surname to address her. He'd never done that before. And it was all the more horrifying when she was still in the process of coming down from her climax. She'd never felt this way with Ron. She would never feel this way with Ron.
Ever.
Tears started forming in her eyes but not from physical pain as before. This time it was emotional pain, and that she couldn't suppress, couldn't hold those tears in as she had the other ones. Her body shook as she let out an audible sob. And another. Rapidly expanding into more and more until she was a sobbing mess. She didn't even notice he'd stopped spanking her, that he was just holding his arm gently around her legs, his palm resting on her hip, while she was letting it all out. All her frustration and anger, her disappointment in her husband and her own stupid, ignorant choices in life, it all got out through her violent sobs.
Why on earth had she ever married Ron? They were completely incompatible. How could she not have seen that before? How could she have been so blind? What should she do now? How was she ever going to fix this?
It was all just too much to take; her emotions already in uproar, she just kept crying until she no longer could, until she felt there was nothing left to cry about.
'I think you found your answer, haven't you?' Tom said softly, petting her hair.
The sound of his voice comforted her. She'd no idea how long she'd lain there in his lap, crying her eyes out. All she knew was that now she was finally done, she felt empty – like her sorrows were washed away completely, and he was still there, massaging her neck, holding her. It was a cathartic experience. Eye-opening. She wanted him. Not just as a fantasy, as a distraction, she wanted Tom Riddle for real.
She raised her head, turning at her waist to face him, and this time, he let her – even assisted her by holding her up around her shoulders and preventing her from rolling off his lap and onto the floor at the same time.
'Fuck me, please,' she said hoarsely. 'I want you.'
'I am not into sharing, Hermione,' he said warningly.
'Me neither,' she retorted. 'Take me, make me yours. Please.'
'If I do, you will have to do something for me. Tonight. Without question.'
'Whatever you need.'
'You're not concerned I am going to ask you to bail me out of here?' he asked, eyeing her amused.
Hermione merely gazed back into his eyes, watching them darken in amazement.
'Oh, I see. Unexpected,' he muttered, his eyebrows raised. 'Up on all fours,' he barked, yanking her off his lap by her hair and rising to his feet swiftly. 'I don't think your pretty, red arse would enjoy missionary position right now.'
Using her hair as a leash, he steered her back on the bed to which she eagerly complied, crawling in the position he'd told her to take while he settled behind her. This was really exciting. She'd not been able to convince Ron to try it doggy style – he'd kept nagging that it would hurt his knees. The biggest kink he got was her on top. And that was all the variation she had. So boring.
'Eep!' she yelped when Tom tugged on her hair, pulling her flush against him.
His other arm quickly wrapped around her waist, while he used his grip on her hair to tilt her head sideways and started his assault on the curve of her neck: kissing, licking, sucking. Letting go of her hair, his hands trailed over her body, noticing where she twitched and then teasing those spots more and more adamantly. Hermione felt slightly frustrated she didn't have anything to touch, but when she tried reaching behind her, he slapped her hand away, chuckling at her disappointed groan.
'Next time,' he breathed against her skin. 'Tonight, you'll keep your hands to yourself, Hermione.'
His hands cupped her breasts. 'And I will explore,' he fondled them gently, 'what I please.'
He rubbed over her nipples: pulling, tugging and pinching.
'Ooooh.'
She threw her head back; her spine arched as her brain already combined the pain with the pleasure to come, and he captured her opened mouth with a ferocious, consuming kiss. She just loved his kisses, and her content groan vibrated through her body, while his right hand index finger found her clit again. Soon, she was left panting, twisting, and wanting in desire – her inner walls clenching at the aching void. She needed him inside of her. Yet, with him pressed against her back, she could feel that he was still fully clothed.
'Pleeeassse,' she groaned desperately, causing him to chuckle.
'You're so wet for me,' he whispered huskily against her skin, 'so ready,' he inserted a finger inside of her and rotated it around, 'so eager to be taken.'
'Yes, Master,' she replied slippery, 'please ta– Oooooooh.'
She could barely stay upright and wobbled on her knees as he flicked her clit while fingering her.
'Such a tight, little cunt you have, pet. I can feel you clenching around my finger. You'll have a hard time taking me fully.'
Oh, really? she thought hopefully.
'That's what you lot all say,' Hermione mocked daringly. There, if that didn't set him off and made him show her how wrong she was, she was out of ideas.
Smack.
She jolted when his hand slapped her sex.
'Manners, Granger,' he reprimanded playfully. He grabbed her bruised buttocks with both hands and pinched them, causing her to squeal. 'Be glad I am taking my time to prepare you for me.'
'Promises, promises. All talk and no–'
He growled, tossing her forward. Smiling in victory, she just caught herself on her hands before she would've landed flat on her face on the mattress.
Finally.
Her insides jumped in joy when she heard him unzip his trousers. She turned her head to get a look, but he caught her hair and forced her eyes forward.
'No,' he hissed, 'you don't deserve to get a look of what's coming – not with that insolent mouth of yours.'
Excited, Hermione felt his tip brush against her nether regions. He was positioning himself right before her opening, making her clench reflexively in lust. Merlin, she wanted that inside of her. Now.
'I was going to take my time with you,' he threatened darkly, making her insides curl.
So hot.
'But now I think I'll just fuck you hard and fast.'
Oh yes. Who'd said anything about being careful?
Without any further warning, he grabbed both her hips and rammed inside of her, smacking against her bruised behind with his hips.
'Ooow-oooh!'
She tossed her head back, shifting her hips' position to accommodate having to take his full length inside of her. He wasn't extraordinary long, so that wasn't causing her any problems. But there was nothing she could do about his girth – he was a lot thicker than she was used to, and her inner muscles were stretched uncomfortably, clenching around every inch of his pulsating cock.
'How's that, witch?' he hissed, moving back till he was almost out and then slamming back in forcefully. 'Any more insolent comments now?'
She merely groaned.
'I didn't think so,' he purred, satisfied. 'Time to teach you for good to keep that mouth in check.'
And he began moving in earnest: in – out – in – out. Forcefully. Giving her no choice but to take his thrusts. The pain as his body struck her aching bottom every time he pushed back in caused her to clench harder around his cock, making it even more uncomfortable to take him. She'd not been able to relax her inner muscles at all, leaving her vulnerable and helpless as his cock touched every single cell of her walls, sending jolts of ecstasy flying over her spine to her brain. She wasn't sure whether the balance of it leaned towards good or bad as he fucked her mercilessly.
However, every time he rubbed past her G-spot, she'd vote good. Another thrust. Well, perfect to be precise. Thrust. Delicious. Thrust. Wonderful. Thrust. Amazing. Thrust. Mind-blowing!
'My Lord!' she screamed as her orgasm forced its way through her system.
Those words coming from her lips nearly made him come undone as well, but he was able to control himself for several more thrusts, keeping her on the crest of her wave until he finally unleashed his load in her womb with a satisfied, elongated grunt, and they both collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
Completely and utterly spent.