At first, Hermione feared that it was Narcissa Malfoy who sneaked up behind her, but as soon as she noticed the distinct smell of the master of the house, she relaxed again. Now, however, her alarm bells were ringing again. The hard cock she could feel against her bottom through the man's trousers spoke for itself.

"Mr. Malfoy," she began carefully, but his right hand immediately placed itself over her mouth as he whispered hoarsely, "Please, give me a chance. I need you. Let me ... let me..."

Heat flowed through Hermione unlike anything she knew before. The lust of this man, his desire for her, the slave, met with a joyful reaction in her innermost being. To her own horror, she realised how warmth spread between her legs, how her stomach began to flutter nervously. Without waiting for any further reaction from her, Malfoy picked her up, walked a few steps around the table and lowered himself onto the bench with her on his lap. The hand that had previously been over her mouth now slowly travelled up her thigh. With a firm, almost demanding grip, he spread her thighs even wider while his thumb drew sensual circles on her skin. She knew that as soon as she resisted, this man would let go of her, but it was precisely this knowledge that made her hesitate.

A dark desire to give herself to Lucius Malfoy, to allow him to be master over his slave, over her body, crept up inside her. Frightened, she fought against her lust, not wanting to allow her body to betray her and leave her at the mercy of her master's desires. But when he slipped one hot fingers into her, she knew it was too late: a soft moan escaped her.

"You're ... wet," he murmured in surprise. She squirmed desperately in his arms. She could feel the blush creeping up her face as the heat between her legs steadily increased under Malfoy's demanding fingers.

"Why are you resisting?" he asked softly, without letting go of her.

"I don't want... it's... not right!" Hermione forced out, trying to stifle another moan.

"Your body wants freedom. Freedom that it can't have, that you won't let it have. You're always on guard, controlled, wanting to suppress your feelings with your mind," he whispered. "Let yourself go. Give up responsibility for yourself, give it to me, just for a moment. Let me show you what you're made of. You can hate me afterwards if you want ... but now ... trust me."

Unable to escape his words, his temptations, but still unwilling to give herself to him completely, Hermione remained silent. This was very different from that time with Snape, it was even different from that one time in the library when she had first let Lucius get close to her. Despite her past, her panicked fear of being touched by a man, despite all the warnings that this man was not her lover, her body wanted to give in, to submit, to be dominated by his lust.

"You have to tell me you want this," Malfoy whispered in her ear as he slowly pulled his fingers out of her.

She should say no, she should want him to leave her alone, but her body whimpered at the loss of his fingers. An inarticulate gasp escaped her throat. It didn't matter what she should feel or think, her need for him was greater than any rational though. "Show me", she moaned, writhing under his hands, unable to put into words what she needed, but trusting that he would understand.

With unusual force, he pushed her off his lap, grabbed her hips, and forced her back exactly where she left off cleaning the table. He roughly pressed her upper body down until her breasts touched the table and her hands gripped the edge of it, looking for support. His force should have frightened her, should have evoked memories of Snape or at least resistance, but nothing of the sort happened. As if she were beside herself, Hermione realised that her arousal was only increasing. She heard her master opening his trousers behind her, one hand pressed firmly behind her back to give her no chance to escape.

Breathing heavily, Lucius Malfoy looked down at his slave. He knew she had to be afraid, but when he felt her arousal earlier, a thought had occurred to him. He had an inkling, a hope, of what was going on inside the young woman. A woman of such a tender age could not possibly know the depths of her own sexuality - but if he was right, he would be able to show her. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing what she needed as a reflection of what he so desperately desired.

Both his hands now moved to her buttocks. It was indescribable how soft her skin felt, how perfectly her little bum fitted into his palms. He kneaded both cheeks hard, making sure that sometimes one thumb and sometimes the other slid over her middle as if by chance. A glance upwards showed him that his slave was still unwilling to allow what her body was crying out for: one hand clenched into a fist and pressed so tightly onto the table that her knuckles turned white, the other clutched no less tightly onto the edge of the table, her forehead propped up on the cool top, she tried to fight her arousal with deep breaths.

"Let go, little lioness!" he purred, "It's okay. I'll take good care of you."

With these words, he let go of her bum, pushed up her dress and bra, and pulled both off over her head. Then grabbed his almost painfully hard cock with one hand while the other gripped her hip and lifted her up a little. With one foot, he forced her to spread her legs even wider for him, then positioned himself directly behind her.

Panic flooded Hermione as she felt the hard, hot cock at her entrance. She wanted this. She felt like she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this. But still, she struggled to relax. Fear that it might hurt, that he might be as brutal as Snape clouded her mind while she unconsciously opened her legs even wider for him. If he could just take her, don't give her time to overthink and just take her.

There he was. Without hesitation, he entered her, slowly, but without stopping. She cried out in pain and relief as she felt him stretch her inch by inch. Just when she thought she could take no more, he withdrew and thrust in again, one hand on her hipbone, the other on her butt, even deeper than before.

Once more. Out and in again with force. Another scream escaped her throat, but this time there was no pain mixed in. Arousal that eclipsed everything she had felt before overtook her. Desperately, she pressed her fist into her mouth to stifle her screams and moans. With each thrust, her thighs were pressed violently against the rough edge of the table, rubbing the sensitive skin of her stomach and breasts against the wooden top, but Hermione barely noticed. The maelstrom of her lust had her completely in its grip and pulled her inexorably into its depths. Distantly, she noticed how the blond man who was taking her so mercilessly was moaning louder and louder, felt his movements become faster and, if possible, even harder.

Fascinated, Lucius stared at the spot where his cock disappeared inside the young woman. As if hypnotized, he blocked out everything, only perceiving the slapping sound whenever his body met hers, only hearing her lust-filled screams, but everything else disappeared. Where he was, that his wife was waiting for him in bed, that his son could still be awake and sneaking around the house. That with every step he took towards this woman, he was heading further towards his own ruin. None of this was on his mind. There was only him, the master, and her, the perfect woman. The slave that submitted willingly, that was almost melting with lust because of his rough treatment.

Once again, he increased his pace. He could see that she had given up her attempt to stifle her own screams. Moaning and panting, almost mad with lust, he thrust into her again and again until he felt her body starting to tremble, and heard her finally scream out her orgasm. With one last, slow, deep thrust, he came too.

oOoOoOo

When Hermione was finally able to breathe normally again, there was no sign of Lucius Malfoy. Groaning and completely exhausted, she turned around, let herself slide off the table, and crouched down on the floor. She was cold, the sweat that had formed all over her body made her shiver, a mixture of wetness and semen ran down her thigh. With the last of her strength, she got up again, grabbed her clothes, put them on and then stood by the remains of the fire, which was now just a hot glow. She stared into it blankly.

The realisation of what had just happened slowly seeped into her. She would have expected to feel ashamed, but she felt nothing of the sort. Instead, she began to realise. She had wanted to have sex with him. And not wanted it. He had forced her to give in to her lust, to face what she truly desired. Had pushed her to the limit of what she could accept for herself. And beyond that. He had taken her almost as violently as Snape had back then, but she didn't feel abused. She felt understood.

As she mechanically did the rest of the dishes, she thought about what had just happened. It hadn't just been wild sex. She felt as if she had looked into a dark abyss of her soul - and found it beautiful. Lucius Malfoy was not an empathetic person, she knew that. He wasn't even particularly intelligent, at least in the area of emotions. But his many years of experience with women had obviously given him a deeper understanding of what sex could mean than she had thought possible. Sex had never been repulsive to her - at least until the incident with Snape - but she had never attached much emotional significance to it either.

Ron.

Sadly, Hermione hung back the tea towel, put away the last of the pots, and made her way to her cubbyhole. If Narcissa Malfoy's stories were correct, Bellatrix Lestrange was trying to break Ron through sex. An emotional torture that would sooner or later reduce him to the mere level of his physical form, until he finally knew no other feeling than that of sex drive and its satisfaction. She had to get him out of it, the earlier the better.

Dear, good Ron.

Tired, she turned on the small light above her mattress, changed from the black dress into her baggy nightgown, and then lay down on her bed, crying. She didn't know if Ron would ever be able to be the same again. But she knew she couldn't. Since tonight at the latest, she knew that she had changed, that she had grown up. And that Ron would never be able to understand her new side, the depths of her sexual desire.

She had to talk to Malfoy. She needed to know more about what had happened today. Even though she was beginning to understand herself, she still couldn't fully explain how she had been able to enjoy sex so much.

And she needed to talk to Snape. She needed to know what he was planning, what she could do, when it would be time.

She also needed to talk to Draco. She wouldn't tell him about Snape for now, the danger of any additional confidant was too great. But she had to tell him that he could hope again.

They could all hope again.