A/N: Thank you for your continuing interest in and support of this story. Look for an update at midweek this week. Let me know what you think!
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 73: Concatenation
He led her through the darkened house, a firm grip upon her wrist, and Hermione followed him eagerly, hoping no one would accost them and find her in such a state of dishabille. When they reached the doorway into the kitchen, he turned down a small hallway she had not seen before and escorted her to door at the side of the house. He opened it, and they stepped out into the night.
'Where are we going?' Hermione asked, stopping in her tracks.
He did not turn to her or slow down, and she was forced to stumble along behind him down a gravel pathway to what appeared to be an old stable-type structure. She could see a light in the window of the upper level, and he led her up an exterior staircase. At the top, he threw open a door and released her wrist.
'Enter, if you will,' he said flatly.
She did so without hesitation, and he followed her in, closing and warding the door behind him. She was in a large apartment that occupied the entire upper storey.
'What is this?' she asked, looking about at the squishy armchairs with cheerful cushions—definitely t's tastes.
'It's my place at Odd Cottage,' he answered shortly. 'Go into the bedroom.'
She turned to look at him and found that he was watching her intently. He removed his coat and tossed it onto a chair, then began to unfasten his belt. He held her eyes unflinchingly as he pulled the leather free from his belt loops.
'Last chance to go back to the house, Hermione,' he said, his voice perfectly inflectionless.
She looked at the length of leather in his hand and shook her head slowly. 'I have no desire to go away from you,' she said honestly.
His head moved back slightly, as if she had struck him. 'Then you're a bit overdressed for the occasion, aren't you?' he replied.
She reached for the buttons on her blouse.
'I believe I instructed you to go to the bedroom,' he said, an edge to his voice.
'All right,' she said, slightly bemused. Why did it matter where she undressed, as long as they both got naked? She turned to go, but he caught her before she could take two steps, one hand buried in her hair, halting her progress, then slowly compelling her to her knees.
He bent over her, his black eyes glittering in the light of the oil lamp. 'It appears what you require instruction in how to address me,' he said.
Hermione's heart was in her throat, pounding erratically. She was enthralled by the physical dominance, terribly aroused by his grim, demanding manner. Had she indeed forgotten what it meant to accept an invitation to the serpent's lair?
'I apologise, sir,' she said, lowering her eyes from his, excited by the observance of this protocol.
'Before tonight, who last spanked your bottom?' he demanded suddenly, his voice gruff with some violent emotion.
Hermione felt herself covered of a sudden in gooseflesh. Was that jealousy? 'You last spanked me, sir,' she informed her knees.
The hand in her hair tightened. 'And who, before tonight, last kissed you?' he continued.
Hermione felt herself flush with pleasure—he was jealous of her still—what did it mean? 'You last kissed me, sir,' she said.
He released her, standing straight again. 'Then remember where you are—and with whom,' he said, and strode past her into the next room.
Hermione scrambled to her feet and hurried after him. So, he was going to make her toe the submissive's line if she wanted him to fuck her? Well, fine. She could do that. But it would undoubtedly mean there would be some uncomfortable moments ahead of her. Sure, she could turn around and go back to the house, but nothing about that would satisfy her. She would not be satisfied until this man had his way with her.
When she crossed the threshold, he had lit the candles, and she saw a four-poster bed of ebony wood, the posts elaborately carved with coiling serpents. The bed covering was Slytherin green, as was the rug upon the floor, and the chest and wardrobe were of ebony wood, as well. One leather wingchair sat beside the fireplace, and a door behind the armchair undoubtedly led into the bathroom.
'I believe I told you to undress.'
Startled, she looked over at him, her lips parting to reply.
'You do not have leave to speak, Hermione.'
She bit her lip, subsiding. He was treating her as if she'd never been with him before—as if she were a raw recruit entering the Potions master's study for the first time.
Had someone else entered his study since last she'd been there? The notion stung. Had he shared this bed with some other woman recently? She felt a sick thump of jealousy and her lips pressed together. Perhaps she was just his weekend amusement before he returned to whomever he was currently training.
She eyed him, beginning to unbutton her blouse. Would he answer her questions? Would he even permit her to ask them?
Stop thinking about it! she told herself fiercely. It doesn't matter! Just get him in the bed … get him naked … get him inside of you!
He stood across the room from her, waiting as she fumbled with her buttons.
'Get it done, or I shall do it for you—and your clothing will not be much use to you in tatters, will it? You'd have to go back to the house naked, for any passing person to see you and know what you'd been up to.'
He smiled rather unpleasantly. She knew he was perfectly capable of carrying out his threat, so she pulled the blouse off over her head and removed her bra. Then she let her skirt drop to the floor and stood before him, naked.
'That's better,' he said. 'Now, stand still.'
He approached her slowly, and Hermione fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. It was strange how one lost the habit of putting oneself on display. Nevertheless, his attention was fully engaged, and she remembered well how it felt to have this man's full, undivided attention focussed on her. The memory drew a sigh from her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. It would all be worth it …
'Eyes open,' he said, and he was right before her, within touching distance.
She obeyed, noting how his eyes rested on her breasts, and he walked in a slow circle around her, surveying her entire naked body. When he stopped, she could feel his presence at her shoulder, and when he spoke, his breath stirred the hair covering her ear.
'You still have the most perfect breasts I have ever seen, Hermione,' he said. 'I have often thought of your breasts, you know.'
Her skin was instantly all gooseflesh, the nipples of her breasts crinkling into hard, pebbled disks.
'Where shall I place the lashes with the belt you'll receive for your earlier disrespect?' he said in a musing voice, and Hermione couldn't help herself.
'But I've already had a spanking!' she objected.
Almost instantly, he was before her, and in his hand, he held what looked like her red ball-gag. 'You are out of practice, aren't you?' he said. 'Open your mouth to receive your gag, little slut.'
'I—' she began, but he spoke again, his voice like a whip.
'This is not an option, girl. Open your mouth now.'
Feeling somewhat cowed, Hermione obeyed him, and the soft rubber was between her teeth, the harness fastened behind her head.
'There,' he said, stepping back and looking her over. 'That's better, isn't it? No danger now of inadvertently speaking out of turn.'
He seemed pleased, and truthfully, she knew she was too overwrought to remember the rules, right now. It was her nature to question everything, and she was far too out of practice to hope to remember to be quiet if he wanted her silence. Perhaps it was better to be gagged, for now.
'But the question remains,' he continued, 'of where to place the lashes for misbehaviour.' He stepped back and looked her over.
Hermione found herself holding her breath, waiting to see what he would decide. Her bottom was still tender from the spanking she'd received, but the belt was a fairly harsh implement—if he used it on some other part of her body, it would almost certainly leave a bit of a stripe … But wouldn't it be nice to have some memento of their reunion when she went home the next day?
'Oh, here's an area that can withstand a lash or two,' he said, and he stepped into her personal space, his hand cupping her mons. 'You have this nice protective covering, don't you?' he added, his fingertips ruffling through the hair covering her pudendum. 'Arms up,' he instructed.
Hermione complied, feeling the encircling of her wrists and wondering if he set up such spells everywhere he went … well, a Dominant never knew when he'd need to whip a girl, did he?
Stop it! she scolded herself. His life when you're not with him is none of your business!
He watched her face, as if he knew her thoughts, and then his fingers pressed through her labia to the slickness within.
'What kind of nasty slut gets wet when threatened with having her cunt whipped, hmm?' he asked, rolling her clitoris lightly beneath the balls of his fingertips. 'That's the question you should ask yourself, greedy girl.'
Hermione felt her hips thrust forward against his fingers, and she was mortified at her lack of control. Oh, she knew she was deviant in her desires—wouldn't her fantasies horrify anyone else she knew? Anyone outside of the D/s world, at least. But dear Circe, why did he make her think about it? Why couldn't he just do it—do her—and to hell with the rest of it?
'You are a filthy girl, aren't you?' he asked softly, continuing to finger her. 'You like to be bound and gagged and whipped, don't you?'
She just stared at him helplessly, knowing her shameless attempts to pleasure herself on his fingers told a far clearer story about her and her desires than anything to which she would voluntarily admit.
'That's right, little one,' he murmured, and before her eyes, he placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked her juices from them. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened, inexplicably darkened and, if possible, even more intense. 'I haven't forgotten the taste of your cunt,' he hissed, then turned and walked three paces from her. 'You remember the belt, don't you? Place your feet shoulder width apart—good girl—and don't move. Stand there and take your punishment like the true submissive you are.'
Hermione wanted to close her eyes, thinking she could withstand the lashes better if she weren't watching, but she could not tear her gaze away from him. Just exactly this way, he had haunted her dreams for months—the Dominant in the black boots and trousers, with an unadorned white shirt, and his black hair falling to his shoulders, moving about his face with every stroke of his implement, whether belt, strap, crop, or her divine flogger. Just as he was, he represented the god of her idolatry, and she could no more look away from him than she could deny herself the promise of his cock—than she could forego her next breath.
He moved slightly to one side and delivered her punishment with a sure, deft touch—three strikes with the belt leather, one right after the other, landing flush across the top of her pudendum, the last stroke wrapping about her hip and drawing a cry from her, though it made little noise past the ball gag.
He kept his distance after the last blow, watching her, and she wondered if he were trying to decide what to do next. He allowed the belt to drop to the rug, and he advanced on her, moving behind her. He murmured, and there was a full length mirror before her.
'You are so beautiful when you wear my marks, Hermione,' he said, his fingertips lightly touching the red stripe at her hipbone, where his belt had struck her. 'I have missed disciplining you.'
She stared into the mirror, meeting his gaze there, as they looked at their reflections. His palms cupped the bottoms of her breasts, and he lightly passed his thumbs over her nipples. Hermione felt the touch like heat in her quim, and she leaned back against him. He slipped his palms up, squeezing the globes of her breasts, and he ground his erection against her naked arse, a guttural grunt coming from his throat.
'I'm afraid you won't get much sleep tonight,' he said, and though his mouth bore the languid droop she associated with his intense arousal, his eyes still glittered almost manically. 'You may regret your decision to take your pleasure with me, little one, because I have had precious little pleasure since last I fucked your cunt—and I will take what you have offered me and use it fully, I promise you.'
In response, Hermione pressed back against him, moving her bum in circles against the rod of his erection, and he grimaced his approval, pinching and twisting her nipples as he bucked against her arse, making no effort to restrain his reactions.
She gasped behind the gag at the pain of his handling of her nipples, and he moderated his grasp. 'It will take time to build you up to accepting my full attentions to your breasts again,' he murmured, lowering his face to her hair. He thrust again against her backside, sliding a hand down her ribcage, over her navel, and slipping his fingers down her slit, rubbing her clitoris.
'Filthy, dirty girl,' he growled. 'You want me to fuck your hole, don't you?'
He raised his head to meet her eyes in the mirror, and she nodded, thrusting against his fingers as he thrust against her backside, unbearably aroused, feeling the slickness of her quim now on the tops of her thighs, as if her cunt were overflowing with desire for his thick, hard cock.
'I'll remove the gag,' he said, rhythmically squeezing one breast and rubbing her clitoris, making it difficult for her to follow his words, 'but you must agree to be a good girl—will you be good?'
She murmured her assent, and he stopped caressing her to unhook harness. He tossed the ball-gag onto the floor behind him, near the belt, and Summoned a fresh handkerchief to dry her face.
'Hermione, you're not allowed to come in this room tonight unless my cock is in your body—it can be in your mouth or in your cunt—' He dipped his face to nuzzle her neck, then put his lips at the shell of her ear. 'It could even be in your arse, if you begged me for it.'
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head from side to side, not wanting to speak and anger him, but also not wanting him to try to fuck her ass. She hadn't kept up with the anal training—she hadn't taken any of her D/s toys with her when she left Roissy House—there was no way she could comfortably endure that tonight!
'But you're not to come without permission, and you're not to come unless I'm fucking you—do you understand and agree with these requirements?'
'Yes, sir,' she said, and he moved in front of her.
'Have you anything else to say?' he asked her.
Hermione wished her hands were free, so that she could touch him. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and she saw him react as if she had deliberately provoked him. 'Please fuck me,' she said.
His hands slid up her arms and released her wrists, and even as she reached for him, he pushed her to her knees.
'Then take my cock out, greedy girl,' he said. 'If you're very good, I'll let you taste it.'
Hermione's fingers did not fumble as she managed his flies; the smell she associated with his arousal met her as she reached to free him from his clothing. His cock—dear Merlin, how she had missed it!—was turgid, the tip darkened and partially exposed. With a moan, she grasped him just below the head and pulled down, completely exposing the glistening head of his penis. Her lips parted, her tongue extended, and he stopped her with a word.
'Slut,' he purred, and she looked up into his face, her tongue still out. 'What do you want?'
'I want to lick you,' she answered.
His lips parted in a terrible sneer. 'Beg me,' he instructed, and she complied without a hesitation.
'Please, sir,' she said. 'Please—may I lick and suck your big, hard cock?'
His eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring, and unexpectedly, a chair appeared directly behind him. He sank into the armchair, dragging her between his knees, and she scrambled to position herself. 'Show me what you remember, little slut,' he said, and he slumped back, his eyes never wavering from her face.
Hermione never hesitated, but leaned forward and delicately licked the moisture seeping from the slit on his cock. He hissed his approval, and she closed her eyes, kneeling up to engulf the knob in the warmth of her mouth. He tasted right—just right—and she felt absolutely right to be on her knees, sucking him. There were things that had been wrong—she had no interest in thinking of those things in this moment—but this had always been right. She was where she belonged and wanted to be when she was in his bedroom, naked and in his complete power. She had no need to worry or question when he dominated her sexually—he was ideal, and she was in perfect accord with him.
Working gently, she swirled her tongue over the surface of the knob, savouring him. In tiny increments, she slid down the thick length of him, applying light suction as she moved down. She couldn't begin to take all of him—they'd not had time to practice that sort of thing in their short time together—but she took as much as she could before sliding back up, her tongue caressing the fleshy underside of his cock as she moved.
Releasing him from her mouth, she licked her way down his length, one hand rising to fondle his testicles, and unmindful of the wiry black hair, she took one into her mouth, gently rolling it on her tongue before moving to repeat the process with the other, listening with the ear of a devotee to his guttural sounds and doing all she could to increase them.
She lifted her face, her hand encompassing his girth and stroking him as she looked at him. He reached for her, wrapping his hand in her hair, and pulled her face back down, pushing himself into her mouth and stroking between her lips repeatedly, stopping at the crest of each thrust just short of gagging her. Hermione revelled in the act, loving the hand in her hair, the engorged organ fucking her mouth, the sight and sound and smell of him. She lost herself in it all, finding her centre here, on the floor at his feet, the instrument of his pleasure.
When he disengaged from her mouth and grabbed her shoulders, dragging her into the chair with him, she opened her eyes like a girl who's just been startled from sleep in the middle of a pleasant dream. He took a handful of hair and kissed her mouth, pushing his tongue in where lately his cock had been, his erection slick against her stomach as she lay sprawled upon him. The pressure of his mouth was bruising as he spread a burning trail of kisses down to her throat, where he fastened his lips, marking her with what would be a purple love bite. Hermione murmured her acceptance, tangling fingers in his fall of oily, black hair.
'Before tonight, who was the last to fuck your mouth?' he demanded, his teeth scraping against her carotid artery.
'You,' she breathed, arching her neck to him, completely surrendering.
'On my bed on your back, little slut,' he growled in her ear. 'Spread your legs for me and show me where you want me.'
Hermione slid easily to her feet, crossing to the bed with its dark green covering. She situated herself as he had instructed and watched him eagerly as he undressed. The sinews of his body entranced her as he bent, reached, and twisted to remove his attire. At last, fully naked, he strode to the bed, wasting no time before covering her body with his own. He stared down into her face, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, his teeth clenched.
'Who fucked you last, Hermione?' he asked, and his voice was perfectly controlled, a contrast to the turgid insistence of the cock lying heavily on her thigh.
'You fucked me last,' she said, raising her legs so that her inner thighs caressed his hips. 'Please do it again.'
And before she could draw breath, he was joined with her, the length and breadth of him encased in the slick sheath of her body. She felt herself pierced, stretched, and she uttered a small cry of completion, simply to have him in her again. Then he began to move sinuously against her, each movement creating a frisson of perfection, and she was vocalising at every movement, her whimpers and moans a symphony of welcome and reunion.
As she had known he would, he stared into her eyes and slipped into her mind, effortlessly riffling through her memories, looking for evidence that she had lied in her answers to his questions of whom she had been with since leaving him—but there was nothing for him to find. She had never, in all these months, looked at another man with interest. How could she, when he possessed her very soul? When she ached for him with every breath she drew and feared seeing him again in equal measure? For she had known, in her heart of hearts, if she saw him again, it would be just like this—two entities meant to be in orbit, each of the other, coming together on a collision course.
Dear God, but she loved him.
And she reached out for him with all her love, her completion, her transcendence, and when she touched his mind with her own, she felt his joy as the twist of his hips brought him into contact with her sweet spot.
Still … she heard him say, satisfaction like that of a battle victor surging in him.
Yes, she replied, and then she was only sensation, experiencing him and giving all she had and all she was to the integration of their bodies, minds, and spirits.
He laboured over her, feelings of conquest, dominion, and reverence rolling through her even as he experienced them. With each new stroke, Hermione rising to meet him in body and mind, the seamless spiral carried them higher, further, and beyond. She wasn't sure how the friction of his cock in her quim created the perfect union of souls, but as the first orgasm bloomed simultaneously in her body and her mind, she was fully in subspace, where she could dissolve in complete confidence that he would somehow hold her together and bring her safely home again.
The spasms of her muscles triggered him to wild, pounding action, his shout beginning low in his chest, and rising like the cry of an ancient warrior at the fall of his foe. His hips rotated in one final, deliberate grind against hers, and she was screaming with him, her nerve endings plunging her unexpectedly into a second climax, swept along helplessly in the power of his blinding orgasm.
They lay together bonelessly, limbs embracing, slick with sweat and the juices of their joining, their minds likewise entwined, replete with their synthesis, and thus they slept on the same pillow, life's breath commingling with each exhalation.
