Villa for aleysiasnape
Title: Villa
Author: marsdeafaden
Recipient: aleysiasnape
Pairing(s): Hermione Granger/Rodolphus Lestrange
Word Count: 3168
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con, Voldemort Wins
Summary: After Voldemort won the war he immediately started his final solution to rid the Wizarding world of Muggle-borns.
Author's Notes: I am extremely thankful to my beta who helped me a ton with fixing this story up and giving me motivation to fix it. As for the lovely aleysiasnape, I hope you like what I have come up with for you. I took elements of your prompts and put them into this story. When I read over what you would like in your gift, this plotline would not leave my mind! So I ran with it. The plot (okay it’s kind of a plot) is loosely based on a scene from Schindler's List.
Hermione had been in this grand house for weeks. Each morning she would rise up out from her cot, dress in her assigned uniform and then start the day’s laundry. As the sun began to climb into the sky, she could hear the cooks wake, turn on the large stoves and fill pots with water to boil. When she emerged from the cave of a basement, she would open the curtains in the house.
She started in the back of the house and worked her way forward, avoiding the two sets of ceiling to floor curtains in the very front of the house. One set was in the den and the other was in the dining room. Those would not be opened until he awoke.
Hermione walked to the main hallway and began to climb the central stairs, carefully moving up without making too much sound. The last thing that Hermione wanted was to wake him up earlier than he wanted. Even if it was only two minutes earlier. The fewer bruises the better.
At the top of the stairs she checked the vases of fake flowers, yes they were literally fabric and plastic, and then opened yet more curtains on either end of the hallway. The morning siren went off and lines of people poured out of wood shacks, jogging through the camp off to be worked to death in various construction jobs.
Hermione had never imagined that history would repeat itself and so soon. Voldemort had set up ghettos and concentration camps throughout the United Kingdom and was forcing muggle-born witches and wizards to register. The muggle-borns were then forced to pack, leave their homes and lives behind and move into ghettos that were sorted by the usefulness of the people.
Hermione had been lucky. Extremely lucky. Before muggle-born witches and wizards were rounded up into a ghetto outside of Diagon Alley, surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix had tried to keep her hidden. Lupin knew that they couldn’t keep her hidden forever, that she was a huge risk to the safety of all of the Order. Voluntarily, Hermione decided to take herself to the ghetto but with forged papers and under several complex glamour spells.
With the help of the Weasleys, Hermione Granger turned into Emilia Cray. Her wand was destroyed, the magical signature removed. A newer, cheaper wand was given to her. Hermione looked at herself in a mirror. Straight long hair, paler skin, blue eyes. She didn’t even recognize herself.
From the ghettos, Hermione was rounded up with other witches and shipped off on a box car. The train trudged through the thick snow until it came to an area with workers building what looked like long, tall storage areas with many wide shelves made of wood. She would later learn that the ‘shelves’ were bunks where people would be crammed into to sleep.
As she exited the boxcar, a Death Eater officer pulled her aside and handed her off to another officer. The new officer grabbed her upper arm and dragged her over to a group of shivering girls. The officer let her arm go with a shove towards the girls and Hermione quickly moved closer to the group.
“When you hear me blow a whistle, you will all line up single file, and follow me. If I jog, you jog. If I stop, you stop. NO exceptions,” the Officer barked.
Several of the girls sized Hermione up and huddled closer together. She wanted to steal a wand and perform a heating spell on her legs, but death was not worth a simple spell. She had to keep on surviving for hope. For the Order.
A whistle screeched and Hermione skittered into a line with the other girls as the officer charged by screaming at them. Hermione did her best to keep up with everyone else. The officer snaked the line of girls through the construction.
Abruptly, they stopped and the officer yelled at them to stand forward, to face a horse drawn carriage. Out of the carriage stepped a tall man, wrapped in thick cloaks. The man looked up at them and Hermione nearly choked, it was Rodolphus Lestrange.
He waltzed towards them with his nose held high in the air. As Rodolphus walked up and down in front of the line of girls, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets trying to keep his hands warm. Finally, he stopped pacing and took a step back.
“I am looking for a maid to work in my… uhh, new villa.” He said, nodding his head towards a large white house perched on top of a rocky hill. “How many of you have had domestic experience?” Rodolphus asked as he started pacing again. Most of the girls around Hermione raised their hands. “On second thought… I really do not want someone else’s maid.”
Rodolphus stopped when his eyes met Hermione’s. His eyes widened and he took several steps towards her. She kept her eyes locked on his, even though she knew it was a bad idea to be making such contact with a dangerous man.
“What is your name?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Emilia Cray,” she answered with a panicked voice.
“Emilia Cray,” he repeated. He walked back to the officers and mumbled “Yeah, that one, Emilia. She’s good.”
Three days later, an officer delivered her to Rodolphus’ villa. She dressed in her uniform which consisted of a simple black dress that covered her up well and a pair of black heeled shoes. Removing the arm band from the dress she wore previously, she slid it up her left arm and turned it so that the dirty red triangle was showing.
Hermione pulled back the plastic curtain at the front of her makeshift enclosure. She was all alone, in the basement with heat and a proper bed. Hermione hated to admit that she was the luckiest muggle-born in this whole camp. She was given fresh water and food, a warm place to sleep and she was not forced into backbreaking labor from sunrise to sunset. Rodolphus Lestrange the fool, had brought a member of the Order directly into his home.
He had her spending her days serving him and his fellow Death Eaters drinks during their meetings. As she worked she listened closely to what the men had to say about Voldemort’s recent attacks, the newest shipment of muggle borns from the ghettos and the dwindling search for Harry Potter. Whenever there was talk about the failure to find Harry, Hermione had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. These idiots clearly underestimated Harry’s abilities.
With a mischievous smile, she went up the stairs to the main floor and into the kitchen to collect a tea tray. Carefully, she walked with the tray into the dining room where Rodolphus sat at the head of a long table, reading the Daily Prophet.
She set the tray down and poured him a cup of steaming tea. He set the open paper down in front of him, watching her work with a curios glint in his eye. As delicately as she could, she pushed the full cup and saucer across the small space between them. He offered a light smile as she curtsied and as she turned away to leave the tea cup came flying past her and crashed. Rodolphus was standing, his chair over turned and his face, boiling red with anger.
“Take. That. OFF.” He growled, pointing at her arm band. “I said, take that fucking thing off!”
Hermione ripped of her dirty, Mud-blood arm band off and threw it to the ground. He stood there watching her as the cloth hit the ground the rage slowly fell from his face.
“Well? Are you going to pick up my chair and fix me a cup of tea?” Rodolphus asked. “Two lumps this time, please.”
A loud thud that sounded like someone had fallen caught Hermiones attention. She straightened up and strained her ears. Another soft thud came from down the hallway behind her. Hermione inched her way down the hallway, stopping in front of his door. Twisting the handle, she flinched when it squeaked, her eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of his wrath.
Nothing. No back lash, no kicking off the bed spread like a child, not even a disapproving grunt. Hermione opened her eyes, and to her surprise he wasn’t even in bed. Oddly, the bathroom door was still open, which meant that he was not in there either. She stood, flabbergasted. Something twitching on top of the bed caught her eye. Was that his foot?
Hermione crept around the bed. There he was, Rodolphus Lestrange in all his glory, face down on the floor with his legs still tangled in the bed sheets. She sighed. He must have a horrific hangover. Out of the pocket of her apron, she pulled a bottle of pills and set them on the nightstand. Carefully, she retreated from the bed before escaping the room to fetch a pitcher of water.
Sneaking back in, she rounded the corner of his bed to find that he had awoken and was starting to sit up. Rodolphus groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. Hermione sunk to her knees and poured him a glass of water. Grabbing the pills, she shook a few of the tablets into the palm of her hand and held both the pills and water.
“Master?” she asked quietly. His head slowly raised and he snatched up her offering in one large hand. She silently swore to herself that she was becoming less of a maid and more of a caretaker.
“Emilia,” Rodolphus sighed after tossing back the pills and had draining the water. “You should know better than to push me out of bed while I am sleeping. Especially after a wonderfully drunken night.”
“Master, I didn’t. You-“ Hermione didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before his fist connected with her jaw. He hit her so hard that she was knocked back off of her knees and onto her behind.
“You pushed me, dragged me whatever. But clearly you did this to me. I would never allow myself to fall out of bed on my own accord,” he said, examining his nails. “It’s clearly part of your hidden agenda and if I know one thing about Mudbloods, it’s that they all have hidden agendas.”
With a chuckle, Rodolphus lurched to his feet and stumbled off to the loo, slamming the door behind him, the sound making her wince. Only when she heard the water running did she rise and start to gather the dirty linens from his bed.
Hermione hummed to herself in an attempt to keep herself calm as she unfolded the pressed sheets and made Rodolphus’ bed. Moving around the bed she tucked in corners and smoothed out creases, Hermione reminded herself why she hadn’t just killed him or herself, there was still plenty of hope out there that the Order could turn this war around.
As she laid down the thick cream colored comforter, she jumped slightly as the door to Rodolphus’ bed room slammed closed. Confused, she gingerly began to approach the offending door when from behind her she heard a dripping noise.
With her hand on the corner of the bed, she spun around on her heels. The door to the bathroom was open and Rodolphus was standing in the door frame holding his wand. He was completely naked and dripping wet. Hermione was frozen against the edge of the bed, she couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming his body. Jutting out from his hips was a half hard prick that shined with beads of water.
“D-Do you wish for a t-towel Sir?” Hermione stuttered, staying against the bed.
Rodolphus took several slow steps forward until he was directly in front of her. Hermione did not look up at him or down at his prick; she stared straight into his muscular chest, watching it rise and fall. She could feel his exhale moving her fringe and knew that he was watching her closely.
He reached down and took one of her hands in his, moving it delicately. She was shocked. This was the gentlest touch that he had ever given her in all of the time that she had been trapped in his villa. He put her hand on his erection. Hermione pulled in a sharp breath through her mouth, still keeping her eyes focused on his chest.
Using both of his hands, he circled her fingers around his prick and began moving her hand up and down the shaft. Hermione felt him harden under her touch and was disgusted. She tried to distract herself from the sin she was committing, but her mind kept wandering back to where her hand was. Bile started to rise in her throat and she thought that she might choke.
“Do you feel what you do to me, Emilia?” Rodolphus whispered into her ear. “I did not know that I had hired a Mudblood slut.”
She cringed at his words and wondered if him calling her a slut was his way of justifying his attraction to her. He leaned forward into her, resting his lips on her forehead, his hand still assisting hers in stroking his prick. Hermione could not distract herself from the soft skin in her hand. She loathed to admit it, but she liked the feeling of his cock in her hand.
His shaft was smooth and the head was a pearly pink with a little white bead on the tip. After her stolen glances, she went back to looking at his chest, thinking more about what she was touching. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice when Rodolphus removed his hand from hers.
His hands traveled up to her face, warmly rubbing her cheeks with the pads of fingers. His member twitched in her hand and she heard him take in a sharp breath. Rodolphus slid his hands down her neck to her shoulders and on to her chest where he molded his palms to her breasts. He gave them a light squeeze and his breath hitched again when a knock on his bedroom door killed the erotic feeling.
“Sir Lestrange! Sir Lestrange!” cried a male voice.
“Just a moment!” Rodolphus hissed, slipping his member out of her grip and snatching up a robe before he opened the door. “Ahh, Officer Humpfry. What have you brought me?”
Hermione stood frozen, not knowing what to do. She told her legs to move but they refused to listen. She tried to tune out the conversation between him and the officer, her mind was still on what had just happened.
“You will have to excuse me; my maid forgot to lay out my clothes after my bath. Allow me to dress and I’ll meet you in the parlor,” Rodolphus said. He closed the door and walked past Hermione, stopping to look at her. “Well? I can’t run this fucking camp in the nude. Aren’t you going to get my uniform?”
“Yes sir, of course sir,” She responded stiffly, skittering off to his closet. Focusing on putting together his complete uniform, Hermione didn’t notice that he had followed her and was standing directly behind her. Rodolphus thrust forward, slamming his pelvis into her bum, pinning her against the wall. She let out a squeak, causing him to laugh.
“Emilia,” He cooed “You have a job to finish first.”
His hands ran up her thighs, pushing up her dress until it was bunched at her waist. He continued to run his hands over her upper thighs and slipped one of his large hands down her panties. He cupped her womanhood and when she gasped, he slid a finger inside of her. Hermione closed her eyes and held on tight to the wooden fixtures in front of her as he pumped his finger in and out of her. He slipped a second finger inside of her and she failed to keep herself from crying out.
“Do you hear how wet you are Emilia?” He growled, moving his fingers faster to make the slopping, wet sound louder. Hermione felt him use his other hand to free his dick and place it between her legs, rubbing its head against her soaked core. He pulled his fingers out off her and shoved them into her mouth before she could protest.
Rodolphus pushed her panties aside and plunged his cock to the hilt inside of her, making Hermione rise up on the balls of her feet. She started sucking lightly on his fingers when he began to pump in and out of her making her groan. She spread her legs farther, allowing him more access to defile her. He began to fuck her like a dying sex thirsty man, pounding her as if he hadn’t had the pleasure of being inside of a woman for ten years.
Her finger nails dug into the wood she was holding on in an attempt to keep herself steady. With his fingers still in her mouth, she found it near to impossible to keep groans of pleasure from escaping. He removed his fingers from her mouth and grabbed on to her hips, bruising them with his embrace. Hermione managed to release a strangled cry in response to the pain but he appeared to ignore it.
Rodolphus started a mantra of saying her name while he bucked his hips wildly. Hermione was caught off guard and lost her poise causing her to hit her head against the shelves in front of her. He let out a groan that sounded more like a battle cry as he slammed one last time into her and collapsed forward to hold onto fixtures for stability as he body shook violently. His seed released into her with hot spurts.
Hermione panted, trying to recapture her dignity as he rested his head on her shoulder. Anger started to replace the pleasure she had just felt. She wanted to strike him for being a brute and taking her like some reckless whore. He released his grip of the fixtures Hermione was still leaning on and pulled himself out of her. Hermione pushed herself up so that she was standing straight and no longer on her tiptoes.
She felt semen run down her thigh and wanted to vomit, her mind started to attack her for having felt so much pleasure from Rodolphus’ touch. Cloth moved around her feet and she opened her eyes to see Rodolphus gathering the uniform she had put together for him. She didn’t even remember letting go of it. Right as she was going to help him gather it up and start apologizing. He rose with his clothing and exited the closet without looking at her.
When he shut the closet door, she fell to the ground and began to weep, praying that Rodolphus would not break her before the Order saved her.
Author: marsdeafaden
Recipient: aleysiasnape
Pairing(s): Hermione Granger/Rodolphus Lestrange
Word Count: 3168
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con, Voldemort Wins
Summary: After Voldemort won the war he immediately started his final solution to rid the Wizarding world of Muggle-borns.
Author's Notes: I am extremely thankful to my beta who helped me a ton with fixing this story up and giving me motivation to fix it. As for the lovely aleysiasnape, I hope you like what I have come up with for you. I took elements of your prompts and put them into this story. When I read over what you would like in your gift, this plotline would not leave my mind! So I ran with it. The plot (okay it’s kind of a plot) is loosely based on a scene from Schindler's List.
Hermione had been in this grand house for weeks. Each morning she would rise up out from her cot, dress in her assigned uniform and then start the day’s laundry. As the sun began to climb into the sky, she could hear the cooks wake, turn on the large stoves and fill pots with water to boil. When she emerged from the cave of a basement, she would open the curtains in the house.
She started in the back of the house and worked her way forward, avoiding the two sets of ceiling to floor curtains in the very front of the house. One set was in the den and the other was in the dining room. Those would not be opened until he awoke.
Hermione walked to the main hallway and began to climb the central stairs, carefully moving up without making too much sound. The last thing that Hermione wanted was to wake him up earlier than he wanted. Even if it was only two minutes earlier. The fewer bruises the better.
At the top of the stairs she checked the vases of fake flowers, yes they were literally fabric and plastic, and then opened yet more curtains on either end of the hallway. The morning siren went off and lines of people poured out of wood shacks, jogging through the camp off to be worked to death in various construction jobs.
Hermione had never imagined that history would repeat itself and so soon. Voldemort had set up ghettos and concentration camps throughout the United Kingdom and was forcing muggle-born witches and wizards to register. The muggle-borns were then forced to pack, leave their homes and lives behind and move into ghettos that were sorted by the usefulness of the people.
Hermione had been lucky. Extremely lucky. Before muggle-born witches and wizards were rounded up into a ghetto outside of Diagon Alley, surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix had tried to keep her hidden. Lupin knew that they couldn’t keep her hidden forever, that she was a huge risk to the safety of all of the Order. Voluntarily, Hermione decided to take herself to the ghetto but with forged papers and under several complex glamour spells.
With the help of the Weasleys, Hermione Granger turned into Emilia Cray. Her wand was destroyed, the magical signature removed. A newer, cheaper wand was given to her. Hermione looked at herself in a mirror. Straight long hair, paler skin, blue eyes. She didn’t even recognize herself.
From the ghettos, Hermione was rounded up with other witches and shipped off on a box car. The train trudged through the thick snow until it came to an area with workers building what looked like long, tall storage areas with many wide shelves made of wood. She would later learn that the ‘shelves’ were bunks where people would be crammed into to sleep.
As she exited the boxcar, a Death Eater officer pulled her aside and handed her off to another officer. The new officer grabbed her upper arm and dragged her over to a group of shivering girls. The officer let her arm go with a shove towards the girls and Hermione quickly moved closer to the group.
“When you hear me blow a whistle, you will all line up single file, and follow me. If I jog, you jog. If I stop, you stop. NO exceptions,” the Officer barked.
Several of the girls sized Hermione up and huddled closer together. She wanted to steal a wand and perform a heating spell on her legs, but death was not worth a simple spell. She had to keep on surviving for hope. For the Order.
A whistle screeched and Hermione skittered into a line with the other girls as the officer charged by screaming at them. Hermione did her best to keep up with everyone else. The officer snaked the line of girls through the construction.
Abruptly, they stopped and the officer yelled at them to stand forward, to face a horse drawn carriage. Out of the carriage stepped a tall man, wrapped in thick cloaks. The man looked up at them and Hermione nearly choked, it was Rodolphus Lestrange.
He waltzed towards them with his nose held high in the air. As Rodolphus walked up and down in front of the line of girls, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets trying to keep his hands warm. Finally, he stopped pacing and took a step back.
“I am looking for a maid to work in my… uhh, new villa.” He said, nodding his head towards a large white house perched on top of a rocky hill. “How many of you have had domestic experience?” Rodolphus asked as he started pacing again. Most of the girls around Hermione raised their hands. “On second thought… I really do not want someone else’s maid.”
Rodolphus stopped when his eyes met Hermione’s. His eyes widened and he took several steps towards her. She kept her eyes locked on his, even though she knew it was a bad idea to be making such contact with a dangerous man.
“What is your name?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Emilia Cray,” she answered with a panicked voice.
“Emilia Cray,” he repeated. He walked back to the officers and mumbled “Yeah, that one, Emilia. She’s good.”
Three days later, an officer delivered her to Rodolphus’ villa. She dressed in her uniform which consisted of a simple black dress that covered her up well and a pair of black heeled shoes. Removing the arm band from the dress she wore previously, she slid it up her left arm and turned it so that the dirty red triangle was showing.
Hermione pulled back the plastic curtain at the front of her makeshift enclosure. She was all alone, in the basement with heat and a proper bed. Hermione hated to admit that she was the luckiest muggle-born in this whole camp. She was given fresh water and food, a warm place to sleep and she was not forced into backbreaking labor from sunrise to sunset. Rodolphus Lestrange the fool, had brought a member of the Order directly into his home.
He had her spending her days serving him and his fellow Death Eaters drinks during their meetings. As she worked she listened closely to what the men had to say about Voldemort’s recent attacks, the newest shipment of muggle borns from the ghettos and the dwindling search for Harry Potter. Whenever there was talk about the failure to find Harry, Hermione had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. These idiots clearly underestimated Harry’s abilities.
With a mischievous smile, she went up the stairs to the main floor and into the kitchen to collect a tea tray. Carefully, she walked with the tray into the dining room where Rodolphus sat at the head of a long table, reading the Daily Prophet.
She set the tray down and poured him a cup of steaming tea. He set the open paper down in front of him, watching her work with a curios glint in his eye. As delicately as she could, she pushed the full cup and saucer across the small space between them. He offered a light smile as she curtsied and as she turned away to leave the tea cup came flying past her and crashed. Rodolphus was standing, his chair over turned and his face, boiling red with anger.
“Take. That. OFF.” He growled, pointing at her arm band. “I said, take that fucking thing off!”
Hermione ripped of her dirty, Mud-blood arm band off and threw it to the ground. He stood there watching her as the cloth hit the ground the rage slowly fell from his face.
“Well? Are you going to pick up my chair and fix me a cup of tea?” Rodolphus asked. “Two lumps this time, please.”
A loud thud that sounded like someone had fallen caught Hermiones attention. She straightened up and strained her ears. Another soft thud came from down the hallway behind her. Hermione inched her way down the hallway, stopping in front of his door. Twisting the handle, she flinched when it squeaked, her eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of his wrath.
Nothing. No back lash, no kicking off the bed spread like a child, not even a disapproving grunt. Hermione opened her eyes, and to her surprise he wasn’t even in bed. Oddly, the bathroom door was still open, which meant that he was not in there either. She stood, flabbergasted. Something twitching on top of the bed caught her eye. Was that his foot?
Hermione crept around the bed. There he was, Rodolphus Lestrange in all his glory, face down on the floor with his legs still tangled in the bed sheets. She sighed. He must have a horrific hangover. Out of the pocket of her apron, she pulled a bottle of pills and set them on the nightstand. Carefully, she retreated from the bed before escaping the room to fetch a pitcher of water.
Sneaking back in, she rounded the corner of his bed to find that he had awoken and was starting to sit up. Rodolphus groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. Hermione sunk to her knees and poured him a glass of water. Grabbing the pills, she shook a few of the tablets into the palm of her hand and held both the pills and water.
“Master?” she asked quietly. His head slowly raised and he snatched up her offering in one large hand. She silently swore to herself that she was becoming less of a maid and more of a caretaker.
“Emilia,” Rodolphus sighed after tossing back the pills and had draining the water. “You should know better than to push me out of bed while I am sleeping. Especially after a wonderfully drunken night.”
“Master, I didn’t. You-“ Hermione didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before his fist connected with her jaw. He hit her so hard that she was knocked back off of her knees and onto her behind.
“You pushed me, dragged me whatever. But clearly you did this to me. I would never allow myself to fall out of bed on my own accord,” he said, examining his nails. “It’s clearly part of your hidden agenda and if I know one thing about Mudbloods, it’s that they all have hidden agendas.”
With a chuckle, Rodolphus lurched to his feet and stumbled off to the loo, slamming the door behind him, the sound making her wince. Only when she heard the water running did she rise and start to gather the dirty linens from his bed.
Hermione hummed to herself in an attempt to keep herself calm as she unfolded the pressed sheets and made Rodolphus’ bed. Moving around the bed she tucked in corners and smoothed out creases, Hermione reminded herself why she hadn’t just killed him or herself, there was still plenty of hope out there that the Order could turn this war around.
As she laid down the thick cream colored comforter, she jumped slightly as the door to Rodolphus’ bed room slammed closed. Confused, she gingerly began to approach the offending door when from behind her she heard a dripping noise.
With her hand on the corner of the bed, she spun around on her heels. The door to the bathroom was open and Rodolphus was standing in the door frame holding his wand. He was completely naked and dripping wet. Hermione was frozen against the edge of the bed, she couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming his body. Jutting out from his hips was a half hard prick that shined with beads of water.
“D-Do you wish for a t-towel Sir?” Hermione stuttered, staying against the bed.
Rodolphus took several slow steps forward until he was directly in front of her. Hermione did not look up at him or down at his prick; she stared straight into his muscular chest, watching it rise and fall. She could feel his exhale moving her fringe and knew that he was watching her closely.
He reached down and took one of her hands in his, moving it delicately. She was shocked. This was the gentlest touch that he had ever given her in all of the time that she had been trapped in his villa. He put her hand on his erection. Hermione pulled in a sharp breath through her mouth, still keeping her eyes focused on his chest.
Using both of his hands, he circled her fingers around his prick and began moving her hand up and down the shaft. Hermione felt him harden under her touch and was disgusted. She tried to distract herself from the sin she was committing, but her mind kept wandering back to where her hand was. Bile started to rise in her throat and she thought that she might choke.
“Do you feel what you do to me, Emilia?” Rodolphus whispered into her ear. “I did not know that I had hired a Mudblood slut.”
She cringed at his words and wondered if him calling her a slut was his way of justifying his attraction to her. He leaned forward into her, resting his lips on her forehead, his hand still assisting hers in stroking his prick. Hermione could not distract herself from the soft skin in her hand. She loathed to admit it, but she liked the feeling of his cock in her hand.
His shaft was smooth and the head was a pearly pink with a little white bead on the tip. After her stolen glances, she went back to looking at his chest, thinking more about what she was touching. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice when Rodolphus removed his hand from hers.
His hands traveled up to her face, warmly rubbing her cheeks with the pads of fingers. His member twitched in her hand and she heard him take in a sharp breath. Rodolphus slid his hands down her neck to her shoulders and on to her chest where he molded his palms to her breasts. He gave them a light squeeze and his breath hitched again when a knock on his bedroom door killed the erotic feeling.
“Sir Lestrange! Sir Lestrange!” cried a male voice.
“Just a moment!” Rodolphus hissed, slipping his member out of her grip and snatching up a robe before he opened the door. “Ahh, Officer Humpfry. What have you brought me?”
Hermione stood frozen, not knowing what to do. She told her legs to move but they refused to listen. She tried to tune out the conversation between him and the officer, her mind was still on what had just happened.
“You will have to excuse me; my maid forgot to lay out my clothes after my bath. Allow me to dress and I’ll meet you in the parlor,” Rodolphus said. He closed the door and walked past Hermione, stopping to look at her. “Well? I can’t run this fucking camp in the nude. Aren’t you going to get my uniform?”
“Yes sir, of course sir,” She responded stiffly, skittering off to his closet. Focusing on putting together his complete uniform, Hermione didn’t notice that he had followed her and was standing directly behind her. Rodolphus thrust forward, slamming his pelvis into her bum, pinning her against the wall. She let out a squeak, causing him to laugh.
“Emilia,” He cooed “You have a job to finish first.”
His hands ran up her thighs, pushing up her dress until it was bunched at her waist. He continued to run his hands over her upper thighs and slipped one of his large hands down her panties. He cupped her womanhood and when she gasped, he slid a finger inside of her. Hermione closed her eyes and held on tight to the wooden fixtures in front of her as he pumped his finger in and out of her. He slipped a second finger inside of her and she failed to keep herself from crying out.
“Do you hear how wet you are Emilia?” He growled, moving his fingers faster to make the slopping, wet sound louder. Hermione felt him use his other hand to free his dick and place it between her legs, rubbing its head against her soaked core. He pulled his fingers out off her and shoved them into her mouth before she could protest.
Rodolphus pushed her panties aside and plunged his cock to the hilt inside of her, making Hermione rise up on the balls of her feet. She started sucking lightly on his fingers when he began to pump in and out of her making her groan. She spread her legs farther, allowing him more access to defile her. He began to fuck her like a dying sex thirsty man, pounding her as if he hadn’t had the pleasure of being inside of a woman for ten years.
Her finger nails dug into the wood she was holding on in an attempt to keep herself steady. With his fingers still in her mouth, she found it near to impossible to keep groans of pleasure from escaping. He removed his fingers from her mouth and grabbed on to her hips, bruising them with his embrace. Hermione managed to release a strangled cry in response to the pain but he appeared to ignore it.
Rodolphus started a mantra of saying her name while he bucked his hips wildly. Hermione was caught off guard and lost her poise causing her to hit her head against the shelves in front of her. He let out a groan that sounded more like a battle cry as he slammed one last time into her and collapsed forward to hold onto fixtures for stability as he body shook violently. His seed released into her with hot spurts.
Hermione panted, trying to recapture her dignity as he rested his head on her shoulder. Anger started to replace the pleasure she had just felt. She wanted to strike him for being a brute and taking her like some reckless whore. He released his grip of the fixtures Hermione was still leaning on and pulled himself out of her. Hermione pushed herself up so that she was standing straight and no longer on her tiptoes.
She felt semen run down her thigh and wanted to vomit, her mind started to attack her for having felt so much pleasure from Rodolphus’ touch. Cloth moved around her feet and she opened her eyes to see Rodolphus gathering the uniform she had put together for him. She didn’t even remember letting go of it. Right as she was going to help him gather it up and start apologizing. He rose with his clothing and exited the closet without looking at her.
When he shut the closet door, she fell to the ground and began to weep, praying that Rodolphus would not break her before the Order saved her.