"I'll be honest with you."
Hermione looks up in surprise and if she's honest with herself, she's surprised too. She hadn't meant to explain what she's about to do. Exposing herself like this isn't easy, Hermione doesn't make this easy on her. So far, she's done everything without as much as putting up a fight. Not that she had expected her to and yet, some part of her wishes she would have.
"I don't trust you," she says. "Just like you don't trust me."
She shakes her head, even now she can see the gears turning in the girl's head. A thousand scenario's, hundreds of possible explanations and perhaps two words eager to come out, even if they wouldn't necessarily be true.
"If we want to continue this," she gestures around, "there needs to be trust. I need to be able to trust that you know you can trust me. Without that trust, I can look at the surface, but that's all I can do. Do you understand?"
Hermione nods. Of course, she does. The girl always understands. And perhaps it's true, but without proof, this- whatever this is -cannot continue.
"What happens in my playroom, stays in my playroom. We're both in a position now, where we can destroy each other with one word to the wrong person. I trust that won't happen?"
"Of course not, Miss. I would never."
She has no other choice than to believe it. Choosing not to believe it would mean a cease to whatever is unfolding between them and she's not quite ready for that. The mudblood hasn't squirmed yet.
For a moment she stares at her hand, twists her palm upside down and wonders how sharp she can make her nails before Hermione cries out her safeword.
"Undress," she says. When she notices the flush that creeps up the girl's neck, she merely raises her eyebrows and waits. She's aware of the conundrum she's put Hermione in. Her hands are still tied behind her back and she's not permitted to speak unless being asked a question. It's Hermione's first test of many more to come. If she wants to play, she'll have to abide by the rules.
She watches her struggle, knows how eager the girl is to speak, but she doesn't. The frown on Hermione's face is suddenly replaced by a smug look and she gasps as the dress dematerializes. So, the girl knows wandless magic and she's able to do it without speaking? She's both impressed and annoyed.
"No more magic." It's all she says and Hermione nods.
Her annoyance only grows as she sees the corners of the girl's lips curl up in what she can only describe as a satisfied smile. She rolls her eyes and gives the girl a taste of her own medicine. A blindfold wraps itself around Hermione's head and the smile is instantly gone. For a second, she wobbles, before finding her balance.
She hates being outsmarted, especially by someone the likes of Hermione Granger. Soundlessly, she rolls the name on her tongue, it feels strangely familiar and yet infuriating at the same time. Ignoring the thought, still sitting on top of the spanking horse she lets her gaze freely follow the curves of Hermione's body.
There's something about the female body that intrigues her, perhaps it's the absence of muscles that she's so used to seeing. Not that Hermione doesn't have muscles, they're just not as well defined as some of the males she's played with. Everything about Hermione screams subtleness, she loathes it.
She wants to bring out Hermione's inner demon, offer the pet a toy before taking it away again. Gauge her reaction, if anything, she wants to know what makes Hermione tick. She wants to know something about the girl that no one else does.
Gracefully, she jumps of the spanking horse and grabs a flogger off the wall. Its thick handle makes the flogger heavier than some of her others, it'll tire her out quicker, but it'll be worth it. The flogger grip is covered with braided leather, increasing her grip.
She notices the quick rise and fall of the girl's chest, can almost see the heart beating underneath the lace bra and its hidden contents. Placing a foot against her chest, she pushes somewhat gently until Hermione is on her back. Her legs now spread out, she murmurs a quick spell and the handcuffs disappear.
"Put them over your head and roll over."
It doesn't surprise her that Hermione follows her instructions like a good pet. She won't give her credit for it, not yet.
Towering over her, she lets the flogger flick in the air in a circular motion and smirks when she notices the sharp intake of breath. That's right, squirm.
"Safeword?"
"Umbridge, Miss."
Nodding, she gets a rhythm going with the flogger, not low enough to touch any of the delicate skin, not high enough for Hermione not to notice she's doing it.
It's now or never, she thinks before lowering her wrist slowly until the falls of the flogger reaches Hermione's round bottom.
As far as rear end's go, it's one she can appreciate. She'll appreciate it a lot more once her bottom turns red from the falls of the flogger. Not enough to make it bleed, that would ruin a perfectly good flogger, but red enough to give the girl something to think about every time she sits down in the next couple of days.
Changing the circular motion to a figure eight she swings the falls in perfect rhythm. There's absolutely nothing quite like the sound of the falls hitting Hermione's skin, it's not hard enough to make her squirm yet, in time she'll build up to that. She wants the girl to make sounds of pleasure, not run out of the door and hide in McGonagall's lap to hide from the big scary Domme.
"All good?"
Hermione nods and she halts all motions. She lets out a deep sigh. This is not what they had agreed upon.
"Yes Miss. All good."
"Better."
It's all she says before starting the motion all over again. She can see the goosebumps appear on the skin, knows Hermione is enjoying herself and if she's honest, she is too. She's craving more, but for both their sanities, she'll keep it at one sense at a time. Hermione needs to learn, and she needs to learn what Hermione's limits are. As the flogger continues to graze the skin, she looks at Hermione's physical reactions.
Her shoulders are relaxed, even her bottom isn't squeezed tight together, every now and then she'll clench her thighs together, but she knows it's because she's aroused and not in pain. For now, she can clench all she wants, the friction will never be enough to achieve the orgasm she desperately will desire in time to come.
"Tell me, pet, is it better than your dreams?"
"Yes Miss."
She thinks she can hear a small giggle follow the words, but the falls of the flogger are too loud to properly hear it. She likes the sound, it reminds her of rain falling on plastic and depending on her strength, it can either drizzle or turn into an outpouring of the clouds themselves.
"Count them. If you miss one, we start again."
She cheats and cackles when Hermione says 'one' as soon as the falls lick her skin. She's not actually moving the flogger. They are resting on her back, the falls falling everywhere. Lesson learned.
Lifting the flogger up she starts flicking her wrist once more and brings it down to her cheeks, Hermione waits a moment before panting out the first number. She waits until she sees Hermione lift her bottom and lets the flogger down again.
"Two, Miss."
Three to fifteen goes a lot quicker, she continuously flogs the skin until Hermione starts to breath faster and faster. She knows the entire experience is exhilarating and while adrenaline is running through both of their bodies, she doesn't want Hermione to tire herself out yet, they still have such a long road ahead of them.
"Last one," she says, and Hermione counts it. She lets the falls of the flogger rest on her bottom, a replacement for the pat on the back she should get, hoping they offer some sort of compliment to the girl.
Rolling her eyes at her inner turmoil, she kneels and swallows. Every new movement feels like a progression of a relationship she's still quite unsure she even wants to be in. But for all intents and purposes they are in a relationship right now. Not one of lovers, not one of friends or even acquaintances, but one of Dommes and submissive and until their scene ends, that's the relationship she needs to nurture.
She runs her index finger over the curve of Hermione's bottom. Flattening the palm of her hand she strokes the reddened skin, she fights the urge to run her fingernails over it. It would be too much, too fast. One step a time, it's not something she's very good at but apparently, she can try.
When she sees Hermione relax under her touch something sparks inside of her and lifts her hand off the skin, only to let it come crashing down hard.
Hermione yelps.
Immediately softening the blow, she rubs the skin, this time the girl doesn't unclench her bottom and she laughs loudly.
"Scared, pet?"
"N-no Miss."
It's the biggest lie Hermione has told her yet and it infuriates her.
"Do not lie to me," she snarls.
"Sorry Miss."
There's a huff, she's pretty sure it's a huff. Perhaps not, it's hard to tell what sound is what when she's blindfolded, and her professor is stroking a part of her that she's not used to being touched at all.
Fair enough, there's been boys who have tried to grope her, their unexperienced hands squeezing parts that just didn't quite feel right. It's nothing like what Miss Black is doing.
Her hand feels magical and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment she can strike, and she can't tell whether she's excited or scared. Okay, she thinks, maybe I did lie.
She makes the mistake of relaxing and as soon as she does another blow hits her right cheek and- mighty merlin's pointy hat -it stings. It feels as if a thousand little needles are stinging her at the same time, and it arouses her to no end. Part of her is scared she'll be soaking in a puddle of her own wetness soon, knowing it's not physically possible doesn't take away any of the fear. Perhaps that fear is exactly what makes Miss Black enjoy this as much as she is.
At first, she wondered about it, but there are cackles, small sounds of approval, although she's not quite sure the professor is aware she's making them and she's not going to enlighten her. It would probably stop all activities and that's the last thing she wants.
She's spend years dreaming of this, well, dreaming of scenario's like this. The dreams are nothing compared to reality. In her dreams the version of her professor was somehow much more inclined to hurt her, both with words and actions, although she's never allowed herself to dream that far and yet she knows the professor would be. It's a strange feeling, allowing yourself to dream of someone and yet not allowing yourself to dream of anything at all. It's one of those unexplainable psychology things that she wishes she could understand.
She's pulled from her thoughts when Miss Black's finger traces over her underwear. Well, thong. Never in her life had she worn a contraption like it, but somehow tonight felt like the right night for it. She had instantly regretted the decision as soon as she left her room, the thong uncomfortably digging into her skin. Perhaps Miss Black agrees because before she knows what's happening the thong is pulled from her body.
Swallowing, she licks her lips. She instantly frowns when she no longer feels the body heat near her. All her senses are confused as to what's happening. For a moment she thought Miss Black was going to touch her, there. But she can hear footsteps on what she thinks is the other side of the room. It's at that moment she realizes she misses Miss Black close to her.
How strange.
"Sit up."
She does as instructed and bites her lip hard as she sits down on the skin that is probably as red as her face. It hurts, not badly enough to want to relieve herself from the pain, but it's something she'll feel for days to come. Which is probably what Miss Black intended.
"Drink this."
A bottle is shoved into her hands and she didn't realize how thirsty she was until the cool liquid fills her mouth and she gulps the contents down in a quick notion.
"Thank you, Miss."
"It's important to stay hydrated."
It's all she's going to get, and she knows it. Still, it's another lesson learned, and she appreciates that Miss Black is apparently looking out for her wellbeing. She finds it surprising and yet, she's not quite sure what else she would've expected.
The bottle is grabbed from her hands and before she knows what's happening, warm hands are pulling her to her feet. Her spine and neck pop. She wasn't aware of how uncomfortable the floor was before, but she's feeling the soreness now.
"Now," a voice hisses close to her ear. She moans when Miss Black's front is pressed into her back and immediately regrets the sound, but Miss Black doesn't comment on it.
"What to do with the little mudblood?"
She hates the name. It feels like Miss Black is caring for her one second and then taking it away the next by using degrading names. She hates it even more that she can't comment on it, she knows she'll be in trouble and it's the last thing she wants. As far as she's concerned she doesn't want this night to ever end, even if she knows it must.
Fingers are trailing up her sides and she rests her head against Miss Black's, who seems to allow it.
"Tell me, pet. Do you want to come?"
She wonders if it's a trick question, but her mouth is quicker than her brain and it gasps a breathy 'yes Miss' as an answer.
"Do you think," Miss Black says, and runs her tongue along the outer shell of her ear, "I would actually let you come?" Her hands trail up higher now and before she knows what's happening her bra is unclasped, and the straps are pulled down from her shoulders. She thinks she can hear the bra fall to the ground, feel the lace against her toes, but for all she knows it's a rat nibbling at them.
"Did you really think it was going to be that easy?"
"No Miss."
She had hoped, of course she had. She's quite sure she's never been this wet in her entire life, but she's not about to divulge that tidbit to Miss Black. It doesn't help that every now and then she thinks she can feel the tip of Miss Black's tongue against her ear, but it's so entirely subtle that she can't be sure and it's not like she can see the action happening. Perhaps she's sweating and its beads of sweat dripping down.
The one thing she is sure off is that Miss Black's hands are now trailing towards her front, the long warm fingers replaced by their nails every now and then, not hard enough to leave scratches, but intensely enough for her to wish she would.
"What have we here?"
Do not word vomit. It's a mantra she's often repeated to herself and Merlin's soggy beard it takes everything she has to not answer her with a plethora of words.
"Breasts, Miss."
Miss Black makes a sound that almost sounds like an actual giggle before it's muffled by the loud scraping of a throat and two hands that are firmly grasping a breast each. She's always felt a little underrepresented in the breast department but none of that is of any thought to her as Miss Black's hands are squeezing them, in fact they seem to be a perfect fit to her hands.
"I'm well aware of what they're called," Miss Black says. "I expect you to be braless the next time I see you outside of this room."
She gulps and frowns. Next time? Surely, she doesn't mean at Hogwarts?
"Miss?"
"Did I stutter?"
She shakes her head. No, she did not, but still, she has a million questions. None of them allow for her to use her safeword, though. Perhaps they can wait until later. She can't shake the thought, sitting in Professor Black's classroom, braless, exposed…aroused.
"You're thinking too much," Miss Black says. "Let's change that."
Within an instant every thought of Hogwarts disappears as Miss Black rolls her nipples between her fingers and once again she can't stop the moan from leaving her throat. She whimpers as the pressure increases and clenches her thighs as hard as she can to get some sort of friction going between her legs.
"I think," Miss Black whispers in her ear. "You're quite the slut."
Something quite unexpected happens as soon as the words leave Miss Black's mouth. Her clit starts throbbing, as if it has its own conscience and it absolutely approves of the word she herself usually despises. Her entire body seems to have a mind of its own as her head nods and her mouth whispers softly, "Yes, Miss."
"I wonder if you trust me yet, pet."
When she wants to answer, a hand shoots up and clams itself tightly over her mouth.
"That," Miss Black hisses," didn't warrant an answer. The hand returns to its former place and Hermione tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Her chest starts heaving and it's as if everything inside of her screams for her freedom.
"UMBRIDGE." She thinks she might be shouting the word, but she's unsure.
Within an instant Miss Black releases her and she can feel how the blindfold is taken off her eyes. The last thing she expected to see as her eyes opened and adjust to the light, was the concerned look in Miss Black's face as she stepped in front of her.
"Deep breaths," she coaxes. "Look at me and do as I do."
Hermione breathes in when she does and breathes out a bit faster than Miss Black does. Panic courses through her entire body and her eyebrows are drawn together, her own hand grasping at her heart.
"Hermione, breathe. All you have to do is breathe in and out."
The words are soft spoken and somehow it calms her down. Within minutes her heartbeat feels under control and she angrily wipes at the tears that are rolling down her face. She can't believe she's ruined everything by having a panic attack over such a silly thing.
"Come," Miss Black says and takes her by the hand and guides her to the bed. They sit down, and Miss Black's thumb is stroking the skin between her thumb and index finger. She's completely fixated on it and even when Miss Black notices what she's doing, she doesn't stop.
"You did good," Miss Black finally says.
She looks up in surprise. "I ruined it."
Miss Black sighs and then smiles for all but a millisecond. "You ruined nothing. You showed you trusted me to stop when you mentioned your safeword. Tell me what happened."
"The hand over my mouth, I-I can't deal with it. It makes me panic, as if I need to break away." It's the best answer Miss Black is going to get for now. Not even she herself is quite sure what made her react that way.
"It's a hard limit," Miss Black says. "Figures," she says and winks. "You do your like freedom of speech."
It's exactly the right joke at the right time and she laughs. "What happens now?"
"Tell me what you need."
Three orgasms and a bottle of water, she thinks, but she doubts it's an appropriate response. "To continue."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes Miss."
She can see Miss Black demeanor transform in front of her. Gone are the smile and the kindness, instead there's a harshness on her face that she hadn't seen before. It's at that moment she realizes the difference between Miss Black 'the Domme,' and Professor Black ' the person'. Not that she's not a person now, she's just different. Perhaps, in a way, they're both putting on an act until they can both divulge their true selves. Until then, this will have to do. She's not complaining.
"Up," Miss Black says.
She does as instructed and its then she notices the blindfold that's loosely dangling from a finger on Miss Black's hand. Part of her hopes it won't be returned to its former position, she wants to see what Miss Black has in store for her; wants to see Miss Black's face as she does what she does.
Miss Black seems to anticipate her thought and disregards the blindfold. Instead she looks around the room, regarding each piece of furniture as if contemplating what to use next.
"Actually," she says, looking back at her. "I have a better idea."
She has no idea what's happening, but as soon as Miss Black's hand reaches for her and grasps it firmly, she can feel herself disapparate and when she lands, she bends over, trying not empty her stomach.
"Pathetic," Miss Black says. "Nineteen and still unable to properly apparate?"
"I'm here in one piece, aren't I?"
If looks could kill, Hermione would be shattered into a million little specs. Miss Black's eyes are like fire and low growl reminds her of the wolves she's seen in the Forbidden Forest.
"S-sorry Miss."
Miss Black laughs. "Oh, you will be."
It's only then Hermione notices she's standing in a bathroom and when she looks up it's as if a waterfall is about to cascade down on her and she screams as cold water engulfs her body.
"No more back talk," Miss Black says.
She shivers and wraps her arms around her body. Within seconds the water slowly turns warmer until the temperature is comfortable enough for her to expose her body to Miss Black again. It's quite strange, the woman is standing far away enough to not get splashed by the water and yet she's never felt closer.
"I believe," she says, "you had a fantasy?"