Smut smut smut smut . . .
Woo-hoo! I finally finished a decent-length (for smut, at least) piece of fanfic! Posting here for friends to read while I spend forever deciding which is the best of the kazillion communities I read to post this to.
Title: Hermione's Runaway Imagination
Summary: Hermione has been captured by the Death Eaters, but her imprisonment and Bellatrix Lestrange's use of her as a sexual guinea pig are not so miserable when she can imagine some very different situations.
(Actually, there's probably going to be a non-smut sequel where dealing with what happened is not so easy. But this isn't that.)
The table was cold against Hermione's bare skin as the hooded Death Eater pushed her against it so hard that her upper body collapsed on top of it.
"Up on the table," commanded the lone female voice that Hermione had heard since her capture, familiar to her from the battle over the prophecy at the Ministry of Magic. Bellatrix Lestrange had given the orders while a taller Death Eater manhandled their prisoner from her cell into this room, which looked like a miniature operating theater. Only Lestrange had spoken, and during her imprisonment Hermione had not gotten a good enough look at any of the other hood-shadowed faces to put names to them.
Lestrange's companion grabbed Hermione's legs, pulled her feet out from under her, and shoved forward until the rest of her body was supported by the table as well. Hermione didn't struggle, but neither did she do anything to to make their task easier. Nonetheless, the assistant had no real trouble pulling one of her ankles over so that it could be tied to a hook at one corner of the table. Lestrange pulled her wand from beneath her robes and held it at the ready while the other untied Hermione's hands from behind her back, then grabbed her shoulders and without warning yanked her from her semi-sideways position onto her back. Hermione stifled a yelp as this pinned one arm under her body, but it was almost immediately pulled out so the assistant could secure that wrist to another hook. Only when the remaining arm and leg were tied down, leaving Hermione spread-eagled and helpless, did Lestrange relax her wand arm.
The other Death Eater went and opened the door to admit a group of his hooded comrades. As cold as this place is, I'm not surprised they dress that way, thought Hermione. Her train of thought was interrupted when Lestrange spoke in a lecturer's tone to the now-seated audience.
"Welcome to my demonstration on humiliation and shame techniques," she began. "I know many of you have relied on pain alone with other prisoners, but sometimes the addition of pleasurable physical sensations leads to emotional pain that is far longer-lasting and amusing to see."
What the hell kind of lesson was this, Hermione wondered. It seemed to her that most of Voldemort's minions were already quite skilled at producing emotional pain without any special training. And what kind of humiliation were they going to use on her? Was being tied naked on a table supposed to be a special humiliation? It was hardly a shock, and except for being chilly, not all that bad.
Lestrange was holding up something -- it looked like a flattened lump of dough. "I have created this stimulator clay which can be formed into whatever shape is needed and placed upon the subject's body to provide pleasurable counterpoint to whatever else is being inflicted." She deliberately walked over to the table and reached out to place her lump of clay against Hermione's pubic mound, smoothing one edge downward to dip between her legs slightly. Hope this doesn't stick to hair, Hermione idly thought, though she would probably want to make it so it would hurt like hell when you take it off.
Lestrange backed up a few steps, pointed her wand at Hermione, and pronounced a spell Hermione's brain didn't manage to process because of the incredible sensation when the material plastered on her started to vibrate in a way more suited to items driven by electric motors than magic. Perhaps the magic was in how it seemed to know where the vibration needed to be strongest, and certainly no Muggle device would have stayed in place without straps as Hermione squirmed underneath it. It's a nice refinement, I'll give her that, Hermione thought once the initial surprise had passed, but the idea of the vibrator is more than a century old!
It seemed to impress the onlookers, if the ensuing murmur was any indication. Lestrange let them subside a bit before continuing. "And this is just the first step. After commencing the pleasurable sensation -- and ensuring a bit of lubrication for your own comfort, if your prisoner is female -- you can go on to more traditional methods of violation. To assure a better view for this demonstration, we will be using these--" Hermione managed to open and focus her eyes to see the large dildo Lestrange was holding up -- "but the results will be far more . . . intimate when you are up close and personal with your prisoner."
Hermione suppressed a snicker. This was humiliation? Publicly failing a class would be humiliation; this was not that far from one of the exhibitionistic fantasies that entertained her on those days when History of Magic covered something she knew already. All right, she wasn't usually tied down in those, but tuning out the lecturing voice was not new. She closed her eyes and called forth a favorite: Professor Lupin striding boldly into the classroom and heading straight for her, ignoring stares and comments from the other students, and whispering in her ear that he couldn't wait a second longer, and both of them tearing off one another's clothes -- the open-mouthed gasp that came from Hermione's mouth when the Death Eater rammed the dildo into her cunt was accompanied by a mental 'Oh, yes, Remus!' (The small part of her brain not taken up with bodily sensation mused that it was probably a good thing she was prone to wordless noise during sexual activity -- Lestrange would certainly not be happy to know that her demonstration subject was able to envision a completely different situation.
Hermione's mind could see Neville apparently frozen in his chair, staring at her and Lupin fucking, and next to him Ron sliding a hand under his own robes. She felt Lestrange's sharp fingernails scratching and pinching her breasts as Lupin's, and she was barely aware of the feeling when a second dildo nudged between her ass cheeks; indeed, even though the first dildo had been charmed to thrust on its own, Hermione's pelvic movements were making it quite difficult for the Death Eater to get the second dildo positioned correctly. She was also so wet that the head of the new dildo had tended to slide around -- however, this bit of lubrication on it made the eventual penetration of her ass not completely pleasant, but less painful than Lestrange had probably intended.
It was Professor Snape, of course -- angry at being left out of this intrusion into his classroom (The analytical brain area no longer even bothered to point out that a moment ago it had been Binns' room). Snape would feel he had a right to wedge his way in behind her, not that she was really objecting -- the initial hurt quickly subsided into a sensation that meshed with the more pleasurable ones. The two cocks thrust in and out of her in slightly different rhythms and she was never quite ready for the next push. Snape's mouth was against the side of her neck; Lavender Brown had covered her face with her hands but was still peeking between her fingers; Draco Malfoy was frozen in fury that his favorite professor would bestow such attention on Hermione Granger, of all people!
Something was pressing down against her clit and the vibrations there were so strong -- oh my God oh yes . . .
Bellatrix Lestrange smiled widely as Hermione arched off the table, supported only by her bound extremities, screaming nearly as loud as a torture victim.
When the girl's noises had died down, she nodded to her assistant to shut off the sex toys and then once again addressed the audience. "Providing this kind of pleasure when you are taking them against their will leaves them engulfed in shame and self-disgust, which lasts far longer than any physical wound. It is the perfect beginning when you mean to spend a lengthy amount of time amusing yourself with a prisoner."
Not if they know what you're trying to do, thought a bleary Hermione, once more aware of the actual world around her. I'm not not ashamed of what my body responds to and I certainly won't let you mess with my mind!
But it seemed that the Death Eaters were actually applauding Lestrange, and some came to talk to her or examine the objects she had used, while others filtered out of the room.
When the audience was completely gone, Lestrange and her hooded helper again went through the process of keeping Hermione at wand-point as they untied her hands from the table and retied them behind her back. Only then did they let her feet loose, but Hermione pushed herself to the edge of the table and managed to stand up with only minimal awkwardness and no shoving from her captors. The assistant took her upper arm and pulled her out of the room and down the hall toward the cell she had occupied. Now that her orgasmic high had subsided, she was definitely feeling sore between her legs, as well as becoming aware of the massive rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Lestrange had left some nail marks on her chest, too, but those didn't really hurt in comparison.
The black-caped figure opened the door of the cell and escorted her in, closing the door behind them. Hermione expected the next step to be untying her wrists -- after all, she hadn't been tied up when she was in the cell before. She did not expect the force of his whole body suddenly pressing her against the wall.
"I'm flattered, Miss Granger," said a familiar voice from inside the hood.
Hermione froze in shock. It couldn't be.
"I never would have expected it of you," continued Severus Snape. "I mean, I did tell Bellatrix that just because you were Muggle-born and a Gryffindor didn't mean you would be some sort of martyr for virginity like those female Christian saints, but I still had not thought to find such gleeful scenarios in your mind in that sort of situation."
Hermione found her voice. "What?"
Snape made the annoyed exhalation that usually went with a diatribe about a student missing an answer they should have known. "I see Potter never talked about his Occlumency lessons. But I would have expected you to do some research on the subject. Sending a probe into someone's mind is not at all difficult for the trained wizard. It requires looking into the subject's eyes, so most people are aware of what's happening and try to defend themselves. The glazed state of your eyes, however, made it obvious that I should expect no mental resistance to Legilimancy at all at that moment."
It is absolutely ridiculous, reasoned Hermione to herself, that I am a prisoner of people who want to exterminate most of the world, but the greatest panic I've felt is on finding that my Potions professor knows he was in some of my sexual fantasies. And saw the screaming orgasm they helped bring me to. Be realistic; he can't take away points for that...
"Indeed, after watching that performance I'm tempted to get you on your knees and see if your mouth is as accommodating as your other orifices seem to be."
What?! Surely she hadn't heard that right. But before she could come out with a coherent reply, Snape leaned forward and kissed her roughly, pushing her even more firmly against the wall -- that was definitely a hard-on under those robes, but he was also fumbling behind her with her hands, sticking something into one of them and trying to close her fingers around it. She made a fist around the small item and realized she was also pushing her hips back toward Snape almost automatically and participating enthusiastically in the kiss.
Suddenly, Snape pulled away. "Perhaps some other time. Right now I have important things to do," he said with apparent contempt -- for her or himself or something else entirely, Hermione didn't know. He brought out his wand and said a spell, and the rope fell away from her wrists, slithered across the floor, and followed Snape as he turned and exited the cell, bending quickly to scoop up the enchanted rope before closing the door behind him.
Hermione was more aware of the chill than before -- the moments with Snape's body against hers had been the only time she'd felt warm since her capture. She went to lie down on the cot in the corner opposite the cell door and pulled the threadbare excuse for a blanket over herself, even her head. Hoping this was adequate protection from any possible observer, she uncurled her hand to examine whatever Snape had slipped her. Her fingertips told her it was parchment, but when she figured out how to undo the intricate folds, there seemed to be some gooey stuff inside the packet. Holding it up to her nose identified a common healing salve, and she mentally thanked Professor Snape as she smeared a thin layer on her chafed wrists and ankles -- just enough to blunt the pain; it would be suspicious if her wounds healed too quickly.
And now there was nothing to do but wonder. Had Snape flattening her against the wall been just a pretext to give her the packet of salve? It seemed like overdoing it, plus she was still sure he had been erect and that didn't seem worth bothering to fake, even if someone were able to see what was going on in the cell. But the packet was a sort of message in itself, that Snape was here and would do what he could for her. Actually, it was nice to know.
Hermione didn't feel able to ponder further; she was tired and her thoughts hazy. She turned onto her side, made sure the blanket was tucked under her on all sides, and tried to clear her mind. However, as she drifted off to sleep an idea floated around: what would it be like to suck Professor Snape's cock and make him lose even more control of himself than it seemed he had this time? The scenario was an oddly soothing path to pleasant dreams.
Title: Hermione's Runaway Imagination
Summary: Hermione has been captured by the Death Eaters, but her imprisonment and Bellatrix Lestrange's use of her as a sexual guinea pig are not so miserable when she can imagine some very different situations.
(Actually, there's probably going to be a non-smut sequel where dealing with what happened is not so easy. But this isn't that.)
The table was cold against Hermione's bare skin as the hooded Death Eater pushed her against it so hard that her upper body collapsed on top of it.
"Up on the table," commanded the lone female voice that Hermione had heard since her capture, familiar to her from the battle over the prophecy at the Ministry of Magic. Bellatrix Lestrange had given the orders while a taller Death Eater manhandled their prisoner from her cell into this room, which looked like a miniature operating theater. Only Lestrange had spoken, and during her imprisonment Hermione had not gotten a good enough look at any of the other hood-shadowed faces to put names to them.
Lestrange's companion grabbed Hermione's legs, pulled her feet out from under her, and shoved forward until the rest of her body was supported by the table as well. Hermione didn't struggle, but neither did she do anything to to make their task easier. Nonetheless, the assistant had no real trouble pulling one of her ankles over so that it could be tied to a hook at one corner of the table. Lestrange pulled her wand from beneath her robes and held it at the ready while the other untied Hermione's hands from behind her back, then grabbed her shoulders and without warning yanked her from her semi-sideways position onto her back. Hermione stifled a yelp as this pinned one arm under her body, but it was almost immediately pulled out so the assistant could secure that wrist to another hook. Only when the remaining arm and leg were tied down, leaving Hermione spread-eagled and helpless, did Lestrange relax her wand arm.
The other Death Eater went and opened the door to admit a group of his hooded comrades. As cold as this place is, I'm not surprised they dress that way, thought Hermione. Her train of thought was interrupted when Lestrange spoke in a lecturer's tone to the now-seated audience.
"Welcome to my demonstration on humiliation and shame techniques," she began. "I know many of you have relied on pain alone with other prisoners, but sometimes the addition of pleasurable physical sensations leads to emotional pain that is far longer-lasting and amusing to see."
What the hell kind of lesson was this, Hermione wondered. It seemed to her that most of Voldemort's minions were already quite skilled at producing emotional pain without any special training. And what kind of humiliation were they going to use on her? Was being tied naked on a table supposed to be a special humiliation? It was hardly a shock, and except for being chilly, not all that bad.
Lestrange was holding up something -- it looked like a flattened lump of dough. "I have created this stimulator clay which can be formed into whatever shape is needed and placed upon the subject's body to provide pleasurable counterpoint to whatever else is being inflicted." She deliberately walked over to the table and reached out to place her lump of clay against Hermione's pubic mound, smoothing one edge downward to dip between her legs slightly. Hope this doesn't stick to hair, Hermione idly thought, though she would probably want to make it so it would hurt like hell when you take it off.
Lestrange backed up a few steps, pointed her wand at Hermione, and pronounced a spell Hermione's brain didn't manage to process because of the incredible sensation when the material plastered on her started to vibrate in a way more suited to items driven by electric motors than magic. Perhaps the magic was in how it seemed to know where the vibration needed to be strongest, and certainly no Muggle device would have stayed in place without straps as Hermione squirmed underneath it. It's a nice refinement, I'll give her that, Hermione thought once the initial surprise had passed, but the idea of the vibrator is more than a century old!
It seemed to impress the onlookers, if the ensuing murmur was any indication. Lestrange let them subside a bit before continuing. "And this is just the first step. After commencing the pleasurable sensation -- and ensuring a bit of lubrication for your own comfort, if your prisoner is female -- you can go on to more traditional methods of violation. To assure a better view for this demonstration, we will be using these--" Hermione managed to open and focus her eyes to see the large dildo Lestrange was holding up -- "but the results will be far more . . . intimate when you are up close and personal with your prisoner."
Hermione suppressed a snicker. This was humiliation? Publicly failing a class would be humiliation; this was not that far from one of the exhibitionistic fantasies that entertained her on those days when History of Magic covered something she knew already. All right, she wasn't usually tied down in those, but tuning out the lecturing voice was not new. She closed her eyes and called forth a favorite: Professor Lupin striding boldly into the classroom and heading straight for her, ignoring stares and comments from the other students, and whispering in her ear that he couldn't wait a second longer, and both of them tearing off one another's clothes -- the open-mouthed gasp that came from Hermione's mouth when the Death Eater rammed the dildo into her cunt was accompanied by a mental 'Oh, yes, Remus!' (The small part of her brain not taken up with bodily sensation mused that it was probably a good thing she was prone to wordless noise during sexual activity -- Lestrange would certainly not be happy to know that her demonstration subject was able to envision a completely different situation.
Hermione's mind could see Neville apparently frozen in his chair, staring at her and Lupin fucking, and next to him Ron sliding a hand under his own robes. She felt Lestrange's sharp fingernails scratching and pinching her breasts as Lupin's, and she was barely aware of the feeling when a second dildo nudged between her ass cheeks; indeed, even though the first dildo had been charmed to thrust on its own, Hermione's pelvic movements were making it quite difficult for the Death Eater to get the second dildo positioned correctly. She was also so wet that the head of the new dildo had tended to slide around -- however, this bit of lubrication on it made the eventual penetration of her ass not completely pleasant, but less painful than Lestrange had probably intended.
It was Professor Snape, of course -- angry at being left out of this intrusion into his classroom (The analytical brain area no longer even bothered to point out that a moment ago it had been Binns' room). Snape would feel he had a right to wedge his way in behind her, not that she was really objecting -- the initial hurt quickly subsided into a sensation that meshed with the more pleasurable ones. The two cocks thrust in and out of her in slightly different rhythms and she was never quite ready for the next push. Snape's mouth was against the side of her neck; Lavender Brown had covered her face with her hands but was still peeking between her fingers; Draco Malfoy was frozen in fury that his favorite professor would bestow such attention on Hermione Granger, of all people!
Something was pressing down against her clit and the vibrations there were so strong -- oh my God oh yes . . .
Bellatrix Lestrange smiled widely as Hermione arched off the table, supported only by her bound extremities, screaming nearly as loud as a torture victim.
When the girl's noises had died down, she nodded to her assistant to shut off the sex toys and then once again addressed the audience. "Providing this kind of pleasure when you are taking them against their will leaves them engulfed in shame and self-disgust, which lasts far longer than any physical wound. It is the perfect beginning when you mean to spend a lengthy amount of time amusing yourself with a prisoner."
Not if they know what you're trying to do, thought a bleary Hermione, once more aware of the actual world around her. I'm not not ashamed of what my body responds to and I certainly won't let you mess with my mind!
But it seemed that the Death Eaters were actually applauding Lestrange, and some came to talk to her or examine the objects she had used, while others filtered out of the room.
When the audience was completely gone, Lestrange and her hooded helper again went through the process of keeping Hermione at wand-point as they untied her hands from the table and retied them behind her back. Only then did they let her feet loose, but Hermione pushed herself to the edge of the table and managed to stand up with only minimal awkwardness and no shoving from her captors. The assistant took her upper arm and pulled her out of the room and down the hall toward the cell she had occupied. Now that her orgasmic high had subsided, she was definitely feeling sore between her legs, as well as becoming aware of the massive rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Lestrange had left some nail marks on her chest, too, but those didn't really hurt in comparison.
The black-caped figure opened the door of the cell and escorted her in, closing the door behind them. Hermione expected the next step to be untying her wrists -- after all, she hadn't been tied up when she was in the cell before. She did not expect the force of his whole body suddenly pressing her against the wall.
"I'm flattered, Miss Granger," said a familiar voice from inside the hood.
Hermione froze in shock. It couldn't be.
"I never would have expected it of you," continued Severus Snape. "I mean, I did tell Bellatrix that just because you were Muggle-born and a Gryffindor didn't mean you would be some sort of martyr for virginity like those female Christian saints, but I still had not thought to find such gleeful scenarios in your mind in that sort of situation."
Hermione found her voice. "What?"
Snape made the annoyed exhalation that usually went with a diatribe about a student missing an answer they should have known. "I see Potter never talked about his Occlumency lessons. But I would have expected you to do some research on the subject. Sending a probe into someone's mind is not at all difficult for the trained wizard. It requires looking into the subject's eyes, so most people are aware of what's happening and try to defend themselves. The glazed state of your eyes, however, made it obvious that I should expect no mental resistance to Legilimancy at all at that moment."
It is absolutely ridiculous, reasoned Hermione to herself, that I am a prisoner of people who want to exterminate most of the world, but the greatest panic I've felt is on finding that my Potions professor knows he was in some of my sexual fantasies. And saw the screaming orgasm they helped bring me to. Be realistic; he can't take away points for that...
"Indeed, after watching that performance I'm tempted to get you on your knees and see if your mouth is as accommodating as your other orifices seem to be."
What?! Surely she hadn't heard that right. But before she could come out with a coherent reply, Snape leaned forward and kissed her roughly, pushing her even more firmly against the wall -- that was definitely a hard-on under those robes, but he was also fumbling behind her with her hands, sticking something into one of them and trying to close her fingers around it. She made a fist around the small item and realized she was also pushing her hips back toward Snape almost automatically and participating enthusiastically in the kiss.
Suddenly, Snape pulled away. "Perhaps some other time. Right now I have important things to do," he said with apparent contempt -- for her or himself or something else entirely, Hermione didn't know. He brought out his wand and said a spell, and the rope fell away from her wrists, slithered across the floor, and followed Snape as he turned and exited the cell, bending quickly to scoop up the enchanted rope before closing the door behind him.
Hermione was more aware of the chill than before -- the moments with Snape's body against hers had been the only time she'd felt warm since her capture. She went to lie down on the cot in the corner opposite the cell door and pulled the threadbare excuse for a blanket over herself, even her head. Hoping this was adequate protection from any possible observer, she uncurled her hand to examine whatever Snape had slipped her. Her fingertips told her it was parchment, but when she figured out how to undo the intricate folds, there seemed to be some gooey stuff inside the packet. Holding it up to her nose identified a common healing salve, and she mentally thanked Professor Snape as she smeared a thin layer on her chafed wrists and ankles -- just enough to blunt the pain; it would be suspicious if her wounds healed too quickly.
And now there was nothing to do but wonder. Had Snape flattening her against the wall been just a pretext to give her the packet of salve? It seemed like overdoing it, plus she was still sure he had been erect and that didn't seem worth bothering to fake, even if someone were able to see what was going on in the cell. But the packet was a sort of message in itself, that Snape was here and would do what he could for her. Actually, it was nice to know.
Hermione didn't feel able to ponder further; she was tired and her thoughts hazy. She turned onto her side, made sure the blanket was tucked under her on all sides, and tried to clear her mind. However, as she drifted off to sleep an idea floated around: what would it be like to suck Professor Snape's cock and make him lose even more control of himself than it seemed he had this time? The scenario was an oddly soothing path to pleasant dreams.