rubykate & utopianbabie
Title: Ugly
Author: rubykate
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Challenge: Underneath her skin and jewelry/hidden in her words and eyes/is a wall that's cold and ugly - Tool, "Cold & Ugly"
Rating: R
Words: 150 exactly
Hermione can see why the boys refer to Pansy as ugly. Her mousy brown hair can't make up its mind whether it's curly or frizzy, her nose sticks up at the end, she frowns too much. She's straight up and down without being slender: small breasts, small hips, no waist. She's too tall, too deathly pale, the dresses she wears don't suit her, her jewellery is childish and brash. Pansy is certainly not a beauty.
Hermione kisses Pansy in the prefects' bathroom, naked and dripping on the cold tiles, Pansy's ugliness on full show. If this was a fairytale or a paperback romance Hermione would be searching for Pansy's inner beauty, digging out some hidden compassion or regret.
Hermione doesn't bother to look for any of that. Pansy is as ugly on the inside as she is on the outside, but after everything that's happened, that's exactly what Hermione wants.
Author: utopianbabie
Title: Thinking of You
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Contains rape.
Word count: 2,400
Beta: velvetandlace
A/N: Subheadings are taken from A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare.
i. milk-white
There are days when Hermione thinks it’s all too hard. Even now, with Pansy lying at her side, the first rays of morning light softening her stern features, when her breathing is made shallow with childish dreams and the ever-impending dawn, when all she can see are the places that she herself had kissed with desperation just mere hours ago, even now when she’s lost in her love for Pansy, she thinks she might just give up.
Because it’s just all too hard.
Pansy stirs in her sleep and turns, her body seeking Hermione’s warmth. Hermione’s fingers tentatively brush Pansy’s cheek and she wishes she knew how all…this came about, racking her brain once again for the answer. Because the thing is, four months ago she wouldn’t have been so eager to touch Pansy at all. It wouldn’t have been the last thing on her mind - she’d certainly thought about punching the girl’s lights out once or twice - but this touch? Never this touch.
And sometimes, even these days when she’s with her, it’s the same. Some days she can’t figure out why she’s with Pansy at all.
That’s a terrible thing to think about the girl you love.
Her mind berates her, and she’s quick to assure herself that it’s not as if she doesn’t love Pansy. She does. Sometimes, when their bodies are pressed together after love making, still warm and damp and humming, she thinks she may love her a little too much, because she doesn’t want to let go.
Even now, as morning looms she doesn’t want to let go - she lets her fingers smooth back a lock of hair from Pansy’s forehead - even when she wants to let go she can’t.
And there have been times when she’s wanted to, so badly.
“Pansy?” Ron had said incredulously after her confession. But his features quickly dissolved into a grin and he tapped her amiably - and a little too hard, as usual - on her shoulder.
“Nice one Hermione!” He congratulated with a chuckle. “S’good to see you having a laugh for a change.”
But she said nothing, just stared seriously back at him.
“You are having a laugh?” He questioned nervously, glancing sideways at Harry.
“She’s not, Ron.” Harry spoke up. “It’s true.” He grasped Hermione’s arm lightly, quickly, in a boyishly clumsy effort at comfort, and she was grateful for that touch, even as guarded as it was.
“But you,” Ron stuttered, arms gesturing at her haltingly. “You…I mean…y-you.”
“It’s okay Ron; Hermione knows what she’s doing,” Harry continued, and it was then that she realised he didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. Or maybe she didn’t believe what he was saying. Either way…
“I do, you know, Ron.” She stated confidently, busying herself by packing away her spell books, her downcast eyes hiding her own doubts.
He looked at her, eyes narrowed.
“I have Arithmancy” she said and turned, leaving the boys to themselves.
She never had worked out why it felt like she was lying when she’d told them.
Hermione sighs and squirms closer to Pansy, wrapping her arms around her. Pansy was the only one that understood her now, and even though she missed Harry and Ron, she kept finding that Pansy was really the only one she wanted to be with. She kisses the soft skin of Pansy’s shoulder and her eyes close, sleepily.
And she dreams of Pansy and nothing else.
ii. now purple
She doesn’t mind the snow. The other girls always complained because, to them, it meant thick stockings and figure hiding overcoats. Hermione has only contempt for those girls and their flighty, impractical ways. Snow to her means warm butterbeer and sitting by the fire, and watching Ron and Harry make complete fools out of themselves as they try to chuck Every Flavour Beans into each others mouths, from ever increasing distances. She tries to think. How long has it been since she’s done that? She can’t remember. Snowflakes float from the sky and settle on her scarf, fading white on red and she tries to remember, but as she rounds the corner to the greenhouse, all thought of anything but Pansy are blown from her mind.
The pulling excitement in her belly starts. This was their place, hers and Pansy’s, and even though she’s early and Pansy won’t finish Divination for another hour, and Hermione can wait. She can always wait.
She quickens her pace as she approaches the greenhouse. Some days she thinks she can’t go on with this; other days, she thinks that perhaps Pansy is the only thing keeping her going. She can never wait to see her, talk to her. She can never wait to just be near her and get lost in all the things she loved about her, like…like her…
And then she hears the voices.
“She won’t be here for another hour and a half, Draco, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, Pansy. I couldn’t care less if that irritating mudblood found us out. In fact, it’d be a good laugh.”
“But if she finds out, she might try to leave me, and then what would have been the point of this thing that I’ve had to do?”
“As if you don’t enjoy it.”
“I never said that. It’s just that, well, the whole point is keeping her distracted and isolated and if she tried to leave…”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? She’ll try and she’ll fail. She’s completely under the control of the potion! Pathetic really. I didn’t even make it that strong. Now shut up and get out of that bloody skirt will you?”
Pansy giggles, a low cackle. It follows Hermione as she runs; faster than she has ever ran, right from the castle grounds.
It’s not until she‘s deep inside the dank sanctuary of the Forbidden Forest when she stops, flinging herself against a tree and dragging the damp musty air into her lungs in great whooping gasps.
She won’t be here for another hour and a half, Draco…
She stares ahead, her whole body throbbing in time to the banging of her laboring heart.
This thing that I’ve had to do…
As if you don’t enjoy it…
Her eyes gaze, unblinking, dry into the darkness.
She’s completely under the control of the potion…
But she doesn’t see darkness, no, all she sees is Pansy, skirt hiked up around her waist, her ass perched on the dirty bench, legs spread with Draco wedged between them.
iii. with love's wound
*drip*
The prefect’s bathroom is deserted. It always is at this hour. Except, on this day, a silent girl, standing wrapped in a damp robe near the shower stalls, stands still and waits. Hermione thought that a shower would calm her, so she came here when she’d made her way back from the Forbidden Forest.
But it didn’t calm her and now she can’t seem to make herself leave.
*drip*
She’s tense and angry but the need to see Pansy, the need for Pansy overcomes her, and she waits. Even though she knows it’s not her own will that keeps her here…
Or maybe…maybe she stays because now she knows it is.
*drip*
Maybe. This was another of their places (they had a few), this was their nighttime place and she knew Pansy would be here soon.
She only had to wait.
Hermione walks over to the wash basin and looks at her reflection in the mirror above it. The harshness of her face startles her, all angles and slick wet hair sticking to contours. Suddenly she’s too grown up. Suddenly, she’s too real…It’s like she hasn’t looked at herself for a very long time.
She slips her robe from still warm, damp skin, her not quite woman’s body and she’s naked, it feels new but she realizes now that she’s always been this way. To Pansy, anyway.
*drip*
She inhales the steamy air and bites her lower lip. Bracing a hand on the sink edge she reaches to turn the dripping tap tight, to stop the noise…she needs silence to think.
…completely under the control…
She should have known. God, she should have known. She found the sweet smelling liquid and Pansy said it was perfume. She joked about how funny it was that Pansy wore perfume made from her namesake, and Pansy just smiled. She should have known, she knew the properties of flowers, she knew…
But every time she tried to care she couldn’t.
She would confront Pansy about it tonight. She would.
I will, I will I will.
Her mind repeats but the thought, like the intention, is slippery, hard to grasp and she’s so afraid that when she sees Pansy, it will fly away.
And suddenly Pansy has arrived.
The larger girl enters the bathroom, eerie light dampening the harshness of her features and Hermione can almost let herself forget, but no, not this time. She’s seen too much.
She moves towards Pansy, quickly, face hard, and before her body, or mind can make her do otherwise she lashes out, slapping Pansy so hard it sends the larger girl slamming into the sink. Hermione watches as if in a dream, as Pansy’s hip collides with the porcelain, watches as her square shoulder smashes the mirror to distorted shards.
It doesn’t reflect anything,
She thinks as her eyes slide from its cracked surface to Pansy’s wide, scared eyes. Hermione grasps her lover’s arm with one hand and uses her other to pull the girl’s robe from her shoulders, exposing pansy’s small, but youthfully firm breasts to her gaze. Pansy tries to jerk her arm from Hermione’s grasp and nearly succeeds.
No, you have to know…
Is all Hermione can think as her fist buries itself in Pansy’s stomach and she watches as the girl doubles over, moaning in pain...a sound so similar to her moans of pleasure that Hermione smiles and feels the warm bloom of arousal begin to blossom in her belly.
She feels the need come on and she uses it.
As she forces Pansy’s naked, shaking body to the dripping tiles beneath them, Hermione can see why the boys refer to Pansy as ugly. Her mousy brown hair can't make up its mind whether it's curly or frizzy, her nose sticks up at the end, she frowns too much. She's straight up and down without being slender; small breasts, small hips, no waist. She's too tall, too deathly pale, the dresses she wears don't suit her; her jewelry is childish and brash.
Pansy is certainly not a beauty.
Hermione kisses Pansy in the prefects' bathroom, naked and dripping on the cold tiles, Pansy's ugliness on full show. If this was a fairytale or a paperback romance Hermione would be searching for Pansy's inner beauty, digging out some hidden compassion or regret.
Hermione doesn't bother to look for any of that. Pansy is as ugly on the inside as she is on the outside, but after everything that's happened, that's exactly what Hermione wants. And that’s what she’ll take right now, right here whether Pansy wants her to or not. This is her payment.
She pins Pansy’s arms to the cold tiles, and bends down to take a tight, hard nipple between her lips, sucking, biting and listening to her lover moan and gasp. She feels outside of herself, and the clammy flesh of Pansy’s arms seems like it’s struggling under somebody else’s grip. Hermione lifts her head and a feral grin tears at her face, suddenly all she can feel is the need, the compulsion to take as much of Pansy as possible.
All sound disappears and all she hears is her blood rushing.
Forcing the larger girls legs open with her knees she bends to mash her lips against Pansy’s mouth, kissing her hungrily and forcing her tongue into Pansy’s mouth, tasting the salt on her lips.
Salt spilled just for her.
Hermione raises her body and looks between them at Pansy’s spread eagled legs and her bare belly rising and falling with frantic breathes. She releases an arm...She has to touch... But before fingertips have a chance to connect with flesh, Pansy’s fist collides with her cheekbone and she falls back. Hermione hears a wild scream tear through the air and with stomach churning clarity she knows that it was issued from her own mouth and when the stars fade from in front of her eyes, she sees that Pansy is crawling away.
No, her mind commands and Hermione tackles the larger girl, feeling the collision of bones, skin and muscle and the hardness of Pansy’s skull as she holds her face down against the sodden tiles.
“You’re mine...”
The words are obscured by gritted teeth, and Hermione runs her free hand down the Pansy’s back, squeezing a fleshy buttock and letting her caress continue downwards, to the soft inside of Pansy’s thigh.
“Say you’re mine.” And it echoes.
Pansy’s thigh muscles tense and she moans, but doesn’t answer.
This is my reward, Hermione thinks, feeling water on her cheeks…warm.
Hermione flattens her body against Pansy’s prone form, feeling her breasts push against Pansy’s hard back. She shoves a knee between her lover’s legs again and possessively, licks a path up the side of Pansy’s neck.
“Say you’re mine!” Hermione demands once again, using the hand still buried in Pansy’s hair to wrench the girls head to the side. Hermione kisses her cheek hungrily and Pansy utters…
“…y-yours…”
Hermione slides a hand back down Pansy’s side and in between their bodies, slipping her hand between her own legs and finding that she is dripping, warm and heavy with arousal. She can’t help but touch herself, and rub at her over heated flesh. Still holding Pansy’s head to the tiles Hermione rubs at her own wet clit and moans in pleasure as electric lust zips though her abdomen, ticklish, strong and....
That’s shame, some newly awakened part of Hermione’s brain utters, but that’s for later she thinks at the back of her mind, as she tears her hand away from her own body and follows the smooth, warm flesh that extends from Pansy’s buttocks to the wet, hot valley between her legs.
“I didn’t hear you,” Hermione whispers against her hair. The words come out with a smile in them and the power she feels…the control she feels, makes her throb with enough arousal to push her over the edge.
“I’m...Y-you-ours…Yours” Pansy stutters out.
“That’s a good girl,” Hermione mutters and bites Pansy’s shoulder, at the same time she thrusts her fingers deep inside Pansy, pulling them in and up and luxuriating in Pansy’s painful moans and sobs.
Because this is her payment. This is her reward.
Hermione grins and feels warmth on her lips, tastes the salt and continues to slid her slick fingers in and out of Pansy, feeling the control…her control.
Her reward.
End.
Author: rubykate
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Challenge: Underneath her skin and jewelry/hidden in her words and eyes/is a wall that's cold and ugly - Tool, "Cold & Ugly"
Rating: R
Words: 150 exactly
Hermione can see why the boys refer to Pansy as ugly. Her mousy brown hair can't make up its mind whether it's curly or frizzy, her nose sticks up at the end, she frowns too much. She's straight up and down without being slender: small breasts, small hips, no waist. She's too tall, too deathly pale, the dresses she wears don't suit her, her jewellery is childish and brash. Pansy is certainly not a beauty.
Hermione kisses Pansy in the prefects' bathroom, naked and dripping on the cold tiles, Pansy's ugliness on full show. If this was a fairytale or a paperback romance Hermione would be searching for Pansy's inner beauty, digging out some hidden compassion or regret.
Hermione doesn't bother to look for any of that. Pansy is as ugly on the inside as she is on the outside, but after everything that's happened, that's exactly what Hermione wants.
Author: utopianbabie
Title: Thinking of You
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Contains rape.
Word count: 2,400
Beta: velvetandlace
A/N: Subheadings are taken from A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare.
i. milk-white
There are days when Hermione thinks it’s all too hard. Even now, with Pansy lying at her side, the first rays of morning light softening her stern features, when her breathing is made shallow with childish dreams and the ever-impending dawn, when all she can see are the places that she herself had kissed with desperation just mere hours ago, even now when she’s lost in her love for Pansy, she thinks she might just give up.
Because it’s just all too hard.
Pansy stirs in her sleep and turns, her body seeking Hermione’s warmth. Hermione’s fingers tentatively brush Pansy’s cheek and she wishes she knew how all…this came about, racking her brain once again for the answer. Because the thing is, four months ago she wouldn’t have been so eager to touch Pansy at all. It wouldn’t have been the last thing on her mind - she’d certainly thought about punching the girl’s lights out once or twice - but this touch? Never this touch.
And sometimes, even these days when she’s with her, it’s the same. Some days she can’t figure out why she’s with Pansy at all.
That’s a terrible thing to think about the girl you love.
Her mind berates her, and she’s quick to assure herself that it’s not as if she doesn’t love Pansy. She does. Sometimes, when their bodies are pressed together after love making, still warm and damp and humming, she thinks she may love her a little too much, because she doesn’t want to let go.
Even now, as morning looms she doesn’t want to let go - she lets her fingers smooth back a lock of hair from Pansy’s forehead - even when she wants to let go she can’t.
And there have been times when she’s wanted to, so badly.
“Pansy?” Ron had said incredulously after her confession. But his features quickly dissolved into a grin and he tapped her amiably - and a little too hard, as usual - on her shoulder.
“Nice one Hermione!” He congratulated with a chuckle. “S’good to see you having a laugh for a change.”
But she said nothing, just stared seriously back at him.
“You are having a laugh?” He questioned nervously, glancing sideways at Harry.
“She’s not, Ron.” Harry spoke up. “It’s true.” He grasped Hermione’s arm lightly, quickly, in a boyishly clumsy effort at comfort, and she was grateful for that touch, even as guarded as it was.
“But you,” Ron stuttered, arms gesturing at her haltingly. “You…I mean…y-you.”
“It’s okay Ron; Hermione knows what she’s doing,” Harry continued, and it was then that she realised he didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. Or maybe she didn’t believe what he was saying. Either way…
“I do, you know, Ron.” She stated confidently, busying herself by packing away her spell books, her downcast eyes hiding her own doubts.
He looked at her, eyes narrowed.
“I have Arithmancy” she said and turned, leaving the boys to themselves.
She never had worked out why it felt like she was lying when she’d told them.
Hermione sighs and squirms closer to Pansy, wrapping her arms around her. Pansy was the only one that understood her now, and even though she missed Harry and Ron, she kept finding that Pansy was really the only one she wanted to be with. She kisses the soft skin of Pansy’s shoulder and her eyes close, sleepily.
And she dreams of Pansy and nothing else.
ii. now purple
She doesn’t mind the snow. The other girls always complained because, to them, it meant thick stockings and figure hiding overcoats. Hermione has only contempt for those girls and their flighty, impractical ways. Snow to her means warm butterbeer and sitting by the fire, and watching Ron and Harry make complete fools out of themselves as they try to chuck Every Flavour Beans into each others mouths, from ever increasing distances. She tries to think. How long has it been since she’s done that? She can’t remember. Snowflakes float from the sky and settle on her scarf, fading white on red and she tries to remember, but as she rounds the corner to the greenhouse, all thought of anything but Pansy are blown from her mind.
The pulling excitement in her belly starts. This was their place, hers and Pansy’s, and even though she’s early and Pansy won’t finish Divination for another hour, and Hermione can wait. She can always wait.
She quickens her pace as she approaches the greenhouse. Some days she thinks she can’t go on with this; other days, she thinks that perhaps Pansy is the only thing keeping her going. She can never wait to see her, talk to her. She can never wait to just be near her and get lost in all the things she loved about her, like…like her…
And then she hears the voices.
“She won’t be here for another hour and a half, Draco, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, Pansy. I couldn’t care less if that irritating mudblood found us out. In fact, it’d be a good laugh.”
“But if she finds out, she might try to leave me, and then what would have been the point of this thing that I’ve had to do?”
“As if you don’t enjoy it.”
“I never said that. It’s just that, well, the whole point is keeping her distracted and isolated and if she tried to leave…”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? She’ll try and she’ll fail. She’s completely under the control of the potion! Pathetic really. I didn’t even make it that strong. Now shut up and get out of that bloody skirt will you?”
Pansy giggles, a low cackle. It follows Hermione as she runs; faster than she has ever ran, right from the castle grounds.
It’s not until she‘s deep inside the dank sanctuary of the Forbidden Forest when she stops, flinging herself against a tree and dragging the damp musty air into her lungs in great whooping gasps.
She won’t be here for another hour and a half, Draco…
She stares ahead, her whole body throbbing in time to the banging of her laboring heart.
This thing that I’ve had to do…
As if you don’t enjoy it…
Her eyes gaze, unblinking, dry into the darkness.
She’s completely under the control of the potion…
But she doesn’t see darkness, no, all she sees is Pansy, skirt hiked up around her waist, her ass perched on the dirty bench, legs spread with Draco wedged between them.
iii. with love's wound
*drip*
The prefect’s bathroom is deserted. It always is at this hour. Except, on this day, a silent girl, standing wrapped in a damp robe near the shower stalls, stands still and waits. Hermione thought that a shower would calm her, so she came here when she’d made her way back from the Forbidden Forest.
But it didn’t calm her and now she can’t seem to make herself leave.
*drip*
She’s tense and angry but the need to see Pansy, the need for Pansy overcomes her, and she waits. Even though she knows it’s not her own will that keeps her here…
Or maybe…maybe she stays because now she knows it is.
*drip*
Maybe. This was another of their places (they had a few), this was their nighttime place and she knew Pansy would be here soon.
She only had to wait.
Hermione walks over to the wash basin and looks at her reflection in the mirror above it. The harshness of her face startles her, all angles and slick wet hair sticking to contours. Suddenly she’s too grown up. Suddenly, she’s too real…It’s like she hasn’t looked at herself for a very long time.
She slips her robe from still warm, damp skin, her not quite woman’s body and she’s naked, it feels new but she realizes now that she’s always been this way. To Pansy, anyway.
*drip*
She inhales the steamy air and bites her lower lip. Bracing a hand on the sink edge she reaches to turn the dripping tap tight, to stop the noise…she needs silence to think.
…completely under the control…
She should have known. God, she should have known. She found the sweet smelling liquid and Pansy said it was perfume. She joked about how funny it was that Pansy wore perfume made from her namesake, and Pansy just smiled. She should have known, she knew the properties of flowers, she knew…
But every time she tried to care she couldn’t.
She would confront Pansy about it tonight. She would.
I will, I will I will.
Her mind repeats but the thought, like the intention, is slippery, hard to grasp and she’s so afraid that when she sees Pansy, it will fly away.
And suddenly Pansy has arrived.
The larger girl enters the bathroom, eerie light dampening the harshness of her features and Hermione can almost let herself forget, but no, not this time. She’s seen too much.
She moves towards Pansy, quickly, face hard, and before her body, or mind can make her do otherwise she lashes out, slapping Pansy so hard it sends the larger girl slamming into the sink. Hermione watches as if in a dream, as Pansy’s hip collides with the porcelain, watches as her square shoulder smashes the mirror to distorted shards.
It doesn’t reflect anything,
She thinks as her eyes slide from its cracked surface to Pansy’s wide, scared eyes. Hermione grasps her lover’s arm with one hand and uses her other to pull the girl’s robe from her shoulders, exposing pansy’s small, but youthfully firm breasts to her gaze. Pansy tries to jerk her arm from Hermione’s grasp and nearly succeeds.
No, you have to know…
Is all Hermione can think as her fist buries itself in Pansy’s stomach and she watches as the girl doubles over, moaning in pain...a sound so similar to her moans of pleasure that Hermione smiles and feels the warm bloom of arousal begin to blossom in her belly.
She feels the need come on and she uses it.
As she forces Pansy’s naked, shaking body to the dripping tiles beneath them, Hermione can see why the boys refer to Pansy as ugly. Her mousy brown hair can't make up its mind whether it's curly or frizzy, her nose sticks up at the end, she frowns too much. She's straight up and down without being slender; small breasts, small hips, no waist. She's too tall, too deathly pale, the dresses she wears don't suit her; her jewelry is childish and brash.
Pansy is certainly not a beauty.
Hermione kisses Pansy in the prefects' bathroom, naked and dripping on the cold tiles, Pansy's ugliness on full show. If this was a fairytale or a paperback romance Hermione would be searching for Pansy's inner beauty, digging out some hidden compassion or regret.
Hermione doesn't bother to look for any of that. Pansy is as ugly on the inside as she is on the outside, but after everything that's happened, that's exactly what Hermione wants. And that’s what she’ll take right now, right here whether Pansy wants her to or not. This is her payment.
She pins Pansy’s arms to the cold tiles, and bends down to take a tight, hard nipple between her lips, sucking, biting and listening to her lover moan and gasp. She feels outside of herself, and the clammy flesh of Pansy’s arms seems like it’s struggling under somebody else’s grip. Hermione lifts her head and a feral grin tears at her face, suddenly all she can feel is the need, the compulsion to take as much of Pansy as possible.
All sound disappears and all she hears is her blood rushing.
Forcing the larger girls legs open with her knees she bends to mash her lips against Pansy’s mouth, kissing her hungrily and forcing her tongue into Pansy’s mouth, tasting the salt on her lips.
Salt spilled just for her.
Hermione raises her body and looks between them at Pansy’s spread eagled legs and her bare belly rising and falling with frantic breathes. She releases an arm...She has to touch... But before fingertips have a chance to connect with flesh, Pansy’s fist collides with her cheekbone and she falls back. Hermione hears a wild scream tear through the air and with stomach churning clarity she knows that it was issued from her own mouth and when the stars fade from in front of her eyes, she sees that Pansy is crawling away.
No, her mind commands and Hermione tackles the larger girl, feeling the collision of bones, skin and muscle and the hardness of Pansy’s skull as she holds her face down against the sodden tiles.
“You’re mine...”
The words are obscured by gritted teeth, and Hermione runs her free hand down the Pansy’s back, squeezing a fleshy buttock and letting her caress continue downwards, to the soft inside of Pansy’s thigh.
“Say you’re mine.” And it echoes.
Pansy’s thigh muscles tense and she moans, but doesn’t answer.
This is my reward, Hermione thinks, feeling water on her cheeks…warm.
Hermione flattens her body against Pansy’s prone form, feeling her breasts push against Pansy’s hard back. She shoves a knee between her lover’s legs again and possessively, licks a path up the side of Pansy’s neck.
“Say you’re mine!” Hermione demands once again, using the hand still buried in Pansy’s hair to wrench the girls head to the side. Hermione kisses her cheek hungrily and Pansy utters…
“…y-yours…”
Hermione slides a hand back down Pansy’s side and in between their bodies, slipping her hand between her own legs and finding that she is dripping, warm and heavy with arousal. She can’t help but touch herself, and rub at her over heated flesh. Still holding Pansy’s head to the tiles Hermione rubs at her own wet clit and moans in pleasure as electric lust zips though her abdomen, ticklish, strong and....
That’s shame, some newly awakened part of Hermione’s brain utters, but that’s for later she thinks at the back of her mind, as she tears her hand away from her own body and follows the smooth, warm flesh that extends from Pansy’s buttocks to the wet, hot valley between her legs.
“I didn’t hear you,” Hermione whispers against her hair. The words come out with a smile in them and the power she feels…the control she feels, makes her throb with enough arousal to push her over the edge.
“I’m...Y-you-ours…Yours” Pansy stutters out.
“That’s a good girl,” Hermione mutters and bites Pansy’s shoulder, at the same time she thrusts her fingers deep inside Pansy, pulling them in and up and luxuriating in Pansy’s painful moans and sobs.
Because this is her payment. This is her reward.
Hermione grins and feels warmth on her lips, tastes the salt and continues to slid her slick fingers in and out of Pansy, feeling the control…her control.
Her reward.
End.