For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 56: Historical Gifts
February blew in as a chill, nasty month, fraught with unrelenting mists and frequent sleet storms. Hermione huddled in her room, wearing her warmest clothes, wrapped in a thick blanket, and poring over the book Harry had given her. She worried at her lower lip until it was sore and chapped; she concentrated until her head and neck ached. She missed so many meals that Hadrian himself intervened.
'Hermione,' he said, standing over her with an expression of sincere concern in his eyes, 'I understand that Master Severus has left you with an important assignment, but I am very sure he would not wish for you to neglect your health to complete it.'
Hermione averted her eyes, twining a hank of bushy hair about her fingers. She was quite sure her professor would never have permitted her to get away with skipping meals. But if she were to go down to dinner, she would have to bathe and put on something nice, and she would really rather be alone. She didn't feel sociable. She didn't want to make small talk and be polite. She wanted to sort out this book, because thus far, she had made very little progress. And then later tonight, if she were lucky, her Master would leave a special entry for her in her journal and give her a pleasure assignment …
'Hermione.'
She easily recognised the warning tone, and her gaze returned compliantly to Hadrian's face. She had forgotten how very much he could remind her of her Master. His eyes were now stern and uncompromising, and Hermione sat a little straighter, as if in response to an unspoken command.
'I apologise, Hadrian,' she said politely. 'I was just thinking that if I were to come down to dinner, I would have to bathe and dress, and I would be late. I wouldn't want to inconvenience everyone.'
His gaze flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece. 'Dinner will be delayed three-quarters of an hour,' he said. 'We will see you downstairs then.'
And turning on his heel, Hadrian left the room, without waiting for Hermione to answer him.
'Fuck a duck,' Hermione muttered, standing and allowing the blanket to fall to the floor. She kicked it to one side and began tugging her jumper over her head as she trudged to the bathroom.
'Can Pitty help Miss?' a squeaky voice asked.
Hermione gasped and whirled, her arms caught in her bulky sweater. 'Don't do that!' she gasped, yanking the offending garment over her head, static electricity causing her wild hair to crackle and snap about her head like a snake-haired Medusa.
The house-elf looked abashed. 'Pitty is sorry, Miss,' she said miserably. 'Master Hadrian is telling Pitty to help Miss get ready quick!'
Hermione felt ashamed. 'I apologize for snapping, Pitty,' she said. 'Thank you for your help. Could you lay out my evening clothes? And after I bathe, you can help me with my hair.'
Pitty scurried off to pull Hermione's bronze evening dress from the wardrobe, and Hermione stripped out of the rest of her clothes, muttering darkly about bossy Dominants.
Bathed, coiffed, lightly made-up, and wearing pretty clothes, Hermione actually did feel better as she sat down to dinner. Taffy was looking pink-cheeked and happy, full of her progress on learning to knit baby clothes. Vi and Elinore had advice to impart on techniques for magical knitting, and Hadrian and Claudius were discussing the political climate of wizarding Britain in hushed tones. Kell sat with her cheek propped on one hand, dabbling in her soup. Reg's place was empty; in fact, Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him.
'Where's Reg?' she asked, taking a delicious mouthful of French onion soup.
Vi glanced over from her discussion of the best gauge of knitting needle for knitting booties. 'Reg is visiting with friends in Wiltshire,' she said before returning to the knitting conversation.
Kell sat up and scowled. 'With some bint, more like,' she muttered.
'Is Reg seeing someone?' Hermione asked quietly.
Kell shrugged and pushed her bowl away. 'Dunno,' she admitted. 'But we haven't seen him around here in a couple of weeks—not for any longer than it takes to pick up clean clothes.'
Hermione considered this for a moment. 'But surely he'll be here this weekend,' she said reasonably. 'It's a party weekend, after all.'
Kell nodded morosely. 'I have three interviews with Dominants this weekend.'
Hermione reached over and squeezed Kell's hand. 'Three!' she said. 'Isn't that exciting?' She tried to imagine what it would be like to be a submissive in search of a Dominant. 'Have you met any of them before?'
Kell shook her head. 'They're from different areas,' she explained. Her chin came up. 'Master Claudius has an excellent reputation for training proper submissives, so lots of Doms are interested in me.'
Hermione wished Kell sounded happier about it. 'Surely everything isn't decided over one interview?' she asked delicately.
'Oh, no,' Kell agreed. 'If we like one another, we'll play, and see how that works out. One of them might come to stay here for a while, so we can get to know one another, or I might go for a visit to his home.' She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. 'The truth is, I might not find someone right off. Master Claudius says I have to prepare myself for that possibility. But that's all right—it's more important to get it right, this time, than it is to just have someone for the sake of having someone.'
Hermione felt her heart twist with pity for her friend. What if Professor Snape had brought her here, as had been his original plan, and interviewed Dominants to 'place' her with someone? How awful it would have been! Of course, Kell wasn't in love with Claudius—though she had once implied that she had loved one of the two Dominants who had released her—but Kell seemed so sad, lately. Hermione didn't know what to do to help.
'Let me know if you need someone to talk to,' she said softly.
Kell gave her a brave attempt at her usual smile. 'Thanks,' she said. 'It's good to have you here for dinner—everyone else is a bit knitting-mad, these days.' She rolled her eyes expressively towards the other witches, and Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.
On Friday morning, a message from her Master greeted her from her journal.
little one,
Tonight everyone will gather at Roissy House for the weekend, and though I will not be at your side, I will be there in spirit. Your collar will act to protect you from unwanted advances—and after witnessing your punishment on the St Andrew's Cross, there can be no doubt in the minds of the community of my avid interest in your well-being—but you may still find yourself bereft in the company of those actively practicing their D/s play.
You will find that properly preparing your mind for the events to come will help maintain your inner calm. An hour before you dress to go down to dinner, you will run a hot bath. You will apply your nipple clamps and slip into the bathtub. For fifteen minutes, you will soak and occasionally tug on the chain between your clamps, feeling the pull between your legs, as your cunt aches for my cock. At the end of fifteen minutes, you will remove the clamps , and as the feeling rushes along your nerve endings, you will put your fingers in your quim and rub your slick clit until you come. Say my name as the climax rushes through you, my pet, for it is I who control your orgasms, and each one you experience belongs to me, and me alone.
Wash and dry and prepare yourself for your evening, remembering all the while that you are mine, and your beauty of person and submissive nature are a reflection of our relationship. Go forth to the dinner party with the full assurance of my confidence in you. Keep to t's company, for the two of you can look out for one another in the absence of your Masters.
In my mind's eye, I can clearly see how lovely you will be tonight. When you retire for the evening, write a full account of all that you have seen and heard in your journal, after which you may use one of your toys to fuck your hole, as I would do if I were there. Feel my tongue upon your nipples as you move the dildo in and out of your body, and know that I am thinking of you, even as you are thinking of me. Come hard for me, my pet, and feel the heat of my come in your quim as you fall asleep.
Your Master,
SS
Reading the frank eroticism of his letter made her slick with want, which she thought, with a wry smile, was undoubtedly his intent. She went down to breakfast to eat her porridge and toast when what she wanted was to finger herself to happy thoughts of her Master and his thick cock, glistening with the juices of her quim.
The house was in a happy buzz of anticipation that day, in preparation for receiving their guests, and Kell was a nervous wreck, distracted and unfocussed. She left the lunch table after pushing chicken pie about on her plate without eating a bite. Taffy and Hermione sat together companionably over their lunches, quietly discussing what they would wear to the party that night, as around them their housemates left one-by-one to oversee different aspects of preparations for the weekend.
'Severus said I should stay with you,' Hermione told t as she wiped her mouth and placed her napkin on the table.
Taffy smiled wryly. 'Yes, I believe he and Rafe have decided there's safety in numbers for us,' she said. 'What harm do they imagine can come to us at Roissy House?'
Hermione chuckled and shook her head. 'Maybe they just want to be here, too.'
As he was leaving the room, Hadrian paused behind their seats and gently patted them each on the shoulder. 'Severus and Rafe want very much to be here with you,' he said, 'but in their absence, they want you to be company for each other.' He paused for a moment, then said in a quiet tone, 'I would very much appreciate it if you would both keep an eye on Kell this weekend. I want to do everything in my power to make sure things go smoothly for her.'
Taffy reached up and squeezed the hand resting on her shoulder, tipping her head back to look up into Hadrian's face. 'Of course we will,' she promised. 'You've already done a lot for Kell, and I know she appreciates it. I'm sure everything will go well.'
Hadrian pressed his lips together, looking grave. 'We'll see,' he said and gave a nod before he left the dining room.
As Hadrian passed through the doorway, Pitty squeezed by him with a large, glossy red box in one arm, adorned with a shiny white bow. In the other arm, she had a glossy white box adorned with a shiny red bow.
'What do you have there, Pitty?' Taffy asked.
Hermione recognised the discreet, embossed insignia on the boxes; they were from Twilfitt and Tattings, the wizards' Harrods, in Diagon Alley. Pitty stopped between their chairs and extended the boxes, and Hermione and t turned in their seats until they were knee-to-knee. Each of the posh gift boxes bore a gilt-edged tag with the faintest tracing of a heart at its centre; the tag on the red box was inscribed with Hermione's name, the one on the white box had t's. Hermione's heart turned over when she recognised her Master's handwriting.
'Ooh!' Taffy cried, taking the box from the house-elf's hands. 'A present!'
Hermione thanked Pitty and accepted her own box, rubbing a loving fingertip along the embossed T & T. 'Do you think they went shopping for us?' she said, between excitement and consternation.
'Definitely,' Taffy said, removing the ribbon from her box. 'What are you waiting for?'
Hermione slipped the white ribbon from the corner of the deep rectangular box, then she removed the stiff fitted lid, only to encounter a wealth of white tissue paper covered with red hearts. Had her professor actually bought her a Valentine's gift? How unlikely was that?
Encouraged by the exclamations uttered by her friend, she parted the tissue paper to find a silky garment the colour of the hearts on the tissue paper. 'Oh!' she breathed, grasping the halter straps and lifting the dress from the box. 'It's beautiful!'
Already, t was on her feet, a white cocktail dress with silver beading held in her hands. 'Oh, just wait until I get my hands on you, Rafe Lestrange,' she said, holding the dress against her and gazing down her body. 'I'll give you a proper thank-you for this!'
Hermione mimicked t, at the same time thrilled and alarmed by the deeply décolleté crimson gown, which dipped in a narrowing vee to the waistline of the fiery dress, the edges of the neckline held together by three fine silvery chains, the last of which would hit just below her breasts. She looked up, her eyes meeting t's and they said simultaneously, 'You'll look amazing!'
Taffy laid her dress along the back of her chair and bent to pick up the box from the floor. 'There's a note!' she said, taking up another of the heart-embossed gilt cards from the tissue paper.
Hermione bent to riffle through the tissue paper and brought out a stiff card with her professor's scrawl on the back.
little one,
I am unable to be with you on this St Valentine's Day weekend at Roissy House, but I want you to feel my hands upon your skin in the silky fabric of this cocktail dress. You will be exquisite, and happy, I hope, in the knowledge that you are cherished as the submissive I never thought to find.
Yours,
SS
P.S. In the smaller box, you will find a little something to wear on Saturday night in the Dungeons. Sexy, but not too revealing.
Hermione read the postscript through tears, a huge lump in her throat in reaction to her Master's words. He cherished her … She was the submissive he had never hoped to find … He had signed the card not 'Your Master', but simply 'Yours'.
Taffy bent over, concern in her blue eyes. 'Are you all right?' she asked. 'Why are you crying? Did he say something sweet?'
Hermione nodded mutely, tucking the precious card in her pocket, and t chuckled.
'Who would've thought the grouch had it in him to write sweet things to his love?' she said teasingly. She plucked a paper tissue from her pocket and handed it to Hermione. 'Still, it's nothing to cry about, silly.'
Hermione accepted the tissue, staring at t with her mouth agape. His love? Did t know something she, Hermione, didn't know?
'I think we'd better investigate what's under the tissue paper,' Taffy said, turning away. 'Rafe says it's something to wear tomorrow night, but it can't be very big, can it?'
Hermione lifted the tissue paper from the box, and found underneath a shallow white box with magenta ribbon criss-crossed over the top … rather like corset lacing! The box was held closed by a big magenta ribbon, and as Hermione untied the bow, she heard Taffy cry, 'He went to Fairy Goth Mother!'
In the small box was a filmy black negligee, a babydoll with black satin frills. Beneath the feather-light babydoll was the tiniest black thong Hermione had ever seen. The top was split from the centre of the bra and would leave her midriff and tummy bare, down to the edge of the wee knickers.
All in all, she would have felt more dressed in her corset!
'Let me see!' Taffy said happily, thrusting her silky nightdress into Hermione's hands and taking possession of the black babydoll.
Obediently, Hermione examined the ivory satin babydoll with a stretchy lace top that t would wear on Saturday night. Even this garment provided more coverage than her own gift. Remembering something, she looked up at t.
'But last time, you wore, um … nothing on Dungeon night,' she said awkwardly.
Taffy grinned wickedly. 'I know—but I never go bare unless my Master is here with me. Otherwise, it's just asking for trouble.' She raised an eyebrow at Hermione. 'You were rather bare yourself for your punishment, if you'll recall.'
Hermione flushed scarlet and stood to gather the components of her gift package into some semblance of order. 'I haven't forgotten,' she muttered, and t's trill of laughter followed her out into the corridor as she retreated to her room.
Though she found it somewhat difficult to concentrate in her room that afternoon, Hermione settled down with the ancient spell book and forced herself to struggle over translating the ancient runic script. If legend were to be believed, somewhere in this book there existed a counter-curse to the spell Tom Riddle had used to create a new body. If she could just translate it, she could put into Harry's hands the weapon he needed to defeat his enemy—and the war would be over, and her life could truly begin.
So she immersed herself once again in the confusing, frustrating language of a civilisation long dead, determined to wrest from its depths the knowledge which would empower the Light to triumph over the Dark.
With their arms linked together as they wandered through the receptions rooms after dinner that night, Hermione and t were as pretty as a picture. Hermione was dark, and Taffy was fair, and Hermione's red dress was the perfect foil for the delicacy of t's silver-spangled white. There was a taut sexual overtone to the interactions of the people present, but Hermione passed amongst their numbers serene, having brought herself to shouting orgasm at her Master's behest in the bath, just as he had instructed. Taffy was so placid that Hermione suspected she had done the same thing, though Hermione would never ask her.
'Let's join the dancers,' Taffy suggested. 'I love to dance.'
Hermione willingly turned in that direction. 'Rafe won't mind?' she asked curiously.
'Not at all,' she said. 'As long as the Dominant is respectful, he doesn't mind if I dance with other men—and Severus won't either,' she added firmly.
Hermione wondered if that were true, but she didn't want to argue about it. The orchestra was playing, and people were dancing. Taffy was quickly solicited to dance by a smiling Dominant with a French accent, and Hermione seated herself, content to watch.
'You're far too pretty to be a wallflower,' a familiar voice said, and Hermione turned her face to see Reg.
'Hi!' she said, smiling at him. 'I haven't seen you in forever.'
He shrugged. 'I've been visiting friends,' he said vaguely.
'A woman,' Hermione said.
Reggie snorted but did not reply.
'You left rather suddenly,' she said tentatively.
Reg gave her a severe look. 'You're a nosey little girl,' he informed her. Hermione didn't answer, and he sighed. 'Claudius suggested I should visit elsewhere for a while,' he admitted glumly.
Hermione blinked in surprise. 'But why?' she asked.
Taffy and her Frenchman danced past, chatting amiably, and were followed by Kell, looking radiant in a blue dress which matched her pretty eyes, dancing with a stocky young man with short sandy hair and a serious mien.
Reg stood abruptly and reached for Hermione's hand. 'Never mind why,' he said, his eyes hard. 'That dress needs to dance, whether you do or not,' he informed her. 'Come along.'
Hermione giggled, imagining that he was perfectly right about her dress. With aplomb which seemed out of character for the curly-haired Reg, he spun her into the dance, and they proceeded to have an enjoyable half-an-hour. At the end of each song, they would stand together, chatting, and when no one else approached to ask Hermione to dance, Reg, would invite her to dance again. They chatted about her revision for her NEWTs, and about his job as an economist for the Ministry Department of Finance.
'I can't believe you're an economist,' she said for perhaps the third time.
'You have a pretty low opinion of me,' he said crossly, glaring as Kell floated past in the arms of a tall, thin Dominant with skin the colour of espresso coffee. 'I earned honours in Arithmancy, you know.'
Hermione smiled ruefully. 'You don't seem very … ' she trailed off, unsure of how to express herself.
The song ended, and Reg stepped away from her. 'You should see me at work,' he informed her stiffly. 'Here, you should dance with someone else, now—I don't think my ego can withstand much more of your admiration.' He delivered her back to the chair where she had been sitting when he found her, and he strode out of the room, following a handsome blond whose hand was closed about Kell's.
Hermione watched him shadowing the aspirant for Kell's favours, thinking she could understand quite well why Claudius had asked Reg to find someplace else to be while the interview process for Kell's Dominant was underway.
By midnight, Hermione and Taffy were curled up in the comfortable armchairs in Hermione's room, both of them in their warmest dressing gowns. On the low table between them was a steaming pot of hot chocolate, and as they sipped it, they discussed the evening.
'What did you think of Kell's suitors?' t asked curiously.
'I didn't meet them,' Hermione admitted, 'though I saw them. There was the stodgy one, the tall one, and the blond.'
Taffy laughed. 'Well, that about sums it up, I suppose,' she agreed. 'The stodgy one is Master Dennis, from Galway. He's thirty, single, and a dentist.'
Hermione perked up at this news. 'A dentist?' she said. 'My parents are dentists.'
Taffy nodded; they had discussed this before. 'The tall one is Master Aurelius, from Glasgow. He's thirty-four, in a vanilla marriage, but he lives separately from his wife, and his submissive would live with him. He owns a greengrocer's in the wizarding district there.'
Hermione made a moue of distaste. 'I don't think I could have a relationship with a married Dominant,' she said. 'I know it's fairly common, but I don't think I'd like it.'
Taffy gave her a level look. 'Well, it's Kell's choice, isn't it? And she approved all three of these men to come for an interview, so she knew Master Aurelius was married when she agreed to meet with him.'
Hermione nodded. 'If she chooses him, I'll be supportive, I promise.'
Taffy seemed satisfied with this. 'Good,' she said. 'The last one is my personal pick of the three,' she added with a gleam of mischief. 'Master David is twenty-eight, single, lives in Dorset, and plays Chaser for the Wimborne Wasps.'
Hermione gaped. 'He's a Quidditch player?' she said. 'The handsome blond I saw Kell with?'
Taffy nodded, looking quite satisfied. 'Yes, and he's sweet and funny. Just the sort Kell needs.'
Hermione mulled this over as Taffy sat forward, replacing her cup on the table. 'One thing I'll say about being pregnant,' she said, rising to her feet. 'I get simply exhausted with no warning at all.' She yawned hugely and shuffled to the door. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' she said as she slipped out into the corridor.
Hermione picked up her journal and crawled into her bed, quill in hand. She had a lot to write to her Master about before fulfilling his last command for her day, and using a dildo to fuck herself before she slept, imagining him between her thighs, labouring over her body, his black eyes boring into hers.
In her dream, he sat at her work table, the book open before him, his brow furrowed. Then he closed the book and turned to her.
'I don't care if he is married,' he said gravely. 'An economical greengrocer is better than a Quidditch-playing dentist.' He picked up the book Harry had given her and tapped the spine with his finger. 'The answer is in the history, Hermione. It's always in the history. Just look at Kell and Reg.'
And then he was gone, and she rolled over, holding his pillow to her face, desperately seeking his scent.
Hermione stayed in her room for breakfast, thinking that a houseful of guests would keep Hadrian from noticing her absence, and she had Pitty bring a pot of tea, which she drank as she mulled over her dream from the night before. Surely the bit about economical greengrocers and Quidditch-playing dentists was just her mind's way of mulling through the new information about the Dominants interested in Kell, but what of that last bit? About the answer being in history?
Stymied by her inability to translate the Elder Futhark runes into understandable words, she pulled out her History of Magic textbook, and began to revise, concentrating on the first and second centuries AD, when the Celts had used the runic language for written communications.
She was dressing to go downstairs for the evening when Pitty popped into her room.
'This was delivered for you, Miss,' the little house-elf said, coming forward with a cardboard cube with a cellophane window.
Hermione identified the container at once as a florists box, the sort her mother had received from her father on special occasions, holding fresh flower corsages for her mother to wear pinned to her dress. She took the box with a word of thanks and extracted a wrist corsage of red roses. The card said simply, Read your journal.
Holding the flowers to her nose, she inhaled their scent, even as she flicked over the pages of her journal to find his entry.
little one,
I hope this St Valentine's Day finds you happy and well. Certainly, from the reports I read of your adventures last night, rubbing your pretty little clit for me, I know you are, at the very least, a well satisfied little slut. Be aware that the demonstrations you will observe tonight in the Dungeon will set your quim on fire. You have my permission to satisfy yourself as often as you wish in the manner of your choice, whether public or private. Your only restriction is that no one else may touch your body; that pleasure is reserved to me, alone.
You know you are the only submissive I have ever collared; I also want you to know you are the only woman to whom I have ever sent flowers. Today is recognised by most as an occasion upon which one pays tribute to one's lover. I would not slight you in any observance of your position in my life, pet. Wear your flowers with your naughty little negligee and know you are in my thoughts now, as always.
Your Master,
SS
Hermione was unsurprised, when she braved the walk down the corridor in her minimal apparel, to see that t, in her ivory satin and lace, wore upon her wrist the palest of pink roses. They laughed and hugged one another, fellow travellers in this life of waiting for their men to return safely home to them. Linking arms as they had done the night before, they strolled amongst the D/s society of Roissy House, perfect contrasts for one another, fair and dark, ivory and black, pale pink and dark red.
As they approached the room in which refreshments were on offer, Taffy stopped. 'I want some punch,' she said. 'Can I get you anything?'
'No, thanks,' Hermione answered.
'I'll be back,' Taffy promised, and she entered the refreshment room.
A mild-looking man in black leather walked by, leading three naked women on jewelled leads, and Hermione exchanged friendly nods with them. Then the door across the hall opened, and she heard voices.
'I am perfectly unimpaired,' an icy voice proclaimed. 'I do not need instructions on how to comport myself, Hadrian! No, I don't need your escort, Claudius. I am perfectly capable of watching for impropriety without any assistance!'
Hermione shrank back in alarm as Reg strode through the door, looking stern and sure of himself—looking, Hermione thought, more like a Dominant than she had ever seen him before. He passed her by without a glance, and Claudius stepped to the door of the Dominant's Study to push it closed.
Taffy joined her again with a glass of punch, and the two smiled at the doorkeeper of the Dungeon before they descended into the darkness.
Hermione was very glad for the presence of Taffy as they moved down the stairs. She felt eyes on her body, knew that people were looking at her all-but nakedness, and felt strangely aroused by the knowledge. An ache began, between her thighs, and a shiver ran through her, crinkling her nipples in the satin cups of the negligee.
Halfway down the stairs, she saw that the St Andrew's Cross was in use, and she was not surprised to see Kell bound to the wooden structure. Kell wore her jaunty green suspender belt with silky stockings, but her thong lay upon the floor at her feet, and the feather in her hair trembled with her shuddering breaths. Master David, the strapping blond Quidditch player, whipped her with a long-tailed leather flogger. He wore tight black trousers but was bare-chested, his broad shoulders sweaty beneath the bright lights. Kell was bound with her back to the cross, her chest, tummy, and thighs flushed from the blows to her body with the thudding leather thongs of the flogger. Kell's eyes were closed as Master David whipped her naked breasts, her pert nipples erect, and as the blows angled down her body, Hermione saw the unconscious forward jerks of Kell's hips, knowing her friend hoped the perfect blow would land between her legs, completing the orgasm building in her body from the loving attention of her Dominant.
'Oh, she's having a nice time,' t purred into Hermione's ear, her eyes fixed on Kell and Master David.
Hermione felt the ache between her legs intensify, wanting the thud of the leather thongs on her breasts and bum and quim. Dear Merlin but she missed her Master! 'She must really like him,' she murmured, watching Kell strain towards the flogger, inarticulate cries falling from Kell's lips.
'Not necessarily,' Taffy said objectively, her own slender body swaying slightly, as if she, too, longed for the attentions of her Master. 'It's not as if he's kissing her or touching her with his hands or his cock. No, she's in love with the flogger.'
Hermione looked again at the handsome Master David, mulling over that information. Could she get off on having someone other than her Master whip her? Would it feel the same to her, if it was someone other than him? It was hard for her to imagine such a thing, but it was something to think about.
'Oh my—look at Reggie.'
Hermione's head swivelled to follow t's line of sight, and she saw Reg standing at the front of the crowd, directly behind Master David, his furious gaze fastened on the spectacle before him.
'What's wrong with him?' Hermione wondered. 'He looks really angry.'
Taffy shook her head. 'He's supposed to be keeping an eye on Kell—he, Claudius, or Hadrian has to be with her for all of her play this weekend. But if it makes him angry, I don't know why he volunteered. Claudius could do it, just as easily.'
Kell's piercing cry drew all eyes back to her, and the rictus of pleasure on her face was enough to let them all know that Master David had successfully whipped her to orgasm. Master David laid the flogger upon a table and approached the shuddering submissive, his blond hair dark with sweat. Hermione watched unabashedly as the big man tenderly released Kell's ankles, sliding his hands up her trembling legs as if she were a nervous racehorse. Hermione waited for him to touch or kiss Kell's pubis, but he stood, leaning forward to murmur into Kell's ear, his hands busy unfastening her wrists from the wooden cross. Kell swayed on her feet, and David swung her easily up into his arms, earning a shining smile from Kell. He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, then carried her into a dark recess, and the crowd applauded enthusiastically, including Masters Dennis and Aurelius, who looked less than keen.
'I think that was sweet,' Hermione said, feeling happy for Kell. 'Don't you think so?' she asked t, but her friend didn't answer. She turned, perplexed, and saw t sitting on the floor, her face pale. Hermione knelt down. 'Are you all right?'
Taffy gripped Hermione's arms, her eyes panicked. 'No. There's something wrong.'
Hermione looked into t's face, but other than her wan complexion, she could see nothing wrong with her friend. 'Is it too warm for you?' she asked anxiously.
There was a commotion behind her, and Hermione saw Vi pushing through the crowd of people, who were looking at t as if she were the next entertainment on offer. Vi had a knitted shawl from one of the sofas in her hands, and she knelt, wrapping the shawl around t with practiced ease.
'Hermione,' Vi said, and the command in her tone brought Hermione's eyes to Vi's face. 'You must find Pitty and tell her we've gone to St Mungo's, do you understand? Tell Pitty.'
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Vi and t were gone, leaving Hermione kneeling on the cold Dungeon floor in a pool of bright red blood.
A/N: This story has been nominated for best PWP and best WIP (work in progress) in the SSHG Awards on Live Journal. Live Journal account holders can vote at:
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