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hpkinkfestTitle: Haggling the Price
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blissed_bess
Prompt Number: #108 submitted byscarletladyy
Kink Showcased: Forced Prostitution
Optional supplementary prompt: Voldemort won the war and Hermione is given to Male Character. They decide to make some money off her by forcing her to prostitute herself and being her pimp.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Hermione/others, Hermione/Lucius, Hermione/Blaise
Summary: At first, Blaise has no use for her…
Warnings/Content Notes: consent issues, dubcon, forced prostitution, humiliation, exhibitionism, dark fic, coerced consent
Word Count: 2311
Author’s Notes: A special thank you to my betamaryfic!
Author's Notes 2: Title adapted from quote by Winston Churchill:
Churchill: Madam, would you sleep with me for five million pounds?
Socialite: My goodness, Mr. Churchill... Well, I suppose... we would have to discuss terms, of course...
Churchill: Would you sleep with me for five pounds?
Socialite: Mr. Churchill, what kind of woman do you think I am?!
Churchill: Madam, we've already established that. Now we are haggling about the price.
Haggling the Price
“How may I pleasure you?” she asks wetly, unable to keep the tears from her voice.
“On your back, legs spread. Work for it, little whore, make it good for me.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” Her voice wavers with her mortification, shivers with her shame.
“Suck me, slut. Just like last time. Slow and hard - I’m in no rush.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” she pleads fervently, loudly, desperately - knowing now that he might be watching at any time to check the quality of her service.
“Ride me, bitch, like you can’t get enough. Wanna see you come screaming on my cock.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” she sobs, unable to suppress her sorrow.
“Fuck it all. I’m not paying for fucking mudblood snot. Fucking useless! I want a refund, you hear me, I’m not fucking paying for this!”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” She’s tired, just wants to curl up and sleep.
“A massage, love, with a happy ending, you know the drill.”
***
“How may I …” and she faints, lands with a thud on the floor.
“Oh, ok. You know what, I don’t actually need you awake for this…”
***
“I don’t think you’re trying hard enough, Hermione.” Blaise’s voice is soft, though the menace is clear. “Your numbers are down again this week. What is it about your role and responsibilities here are you not understanding?”
She wants nothing more than to step up and slap him soundly across his smug face. Or, better yet, to shove her wand right up under his chin and blast him beyond repair.
“Of course I am trying,” and even she could hear the exasperation in her voice. “I…surely, Blaise, surely you can see…I can’t do this. I just can’t. There must be some other way, something else you could have me do. I was…you know this, Blaise. I was a bright witch, the brightest…”
“But not bright enough to choose the winning side, eh, Granger?” He sighs and the leather of his chair creaks as he leans back. “I didn’t ask for you, you know. When the Dark Lord was rewarding his faithful, I was holding out for Neville Longbottom. Him, I could have used. But you – wrong temperament, wrong gender, wrong blood – what was I meant to do with you? Those runes branded on your wrists bind your magic. Your so-called ‘brightness’ in that area is now null and void…”
“Please, Blaise, there must be something else…”
He leans forward, shaking his head; rests his elbows on the polished mahogany of his desk top, hands raised in finality. “When you first arrived here, we made a deal, remember? I’m certainly keeping my end of our bargain – your parents are still alive, are they not? But it seems you’re unhappy with keeping your end of the bargain. It’s a shame, really. When I return you to the Dark Lord, telling him that you were unhappy with your placement with me, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if He judges you to be a complete waste of space, and simply AK’s you on the spot. And then, well, you know the score, He’ll have no further use for your parents either. Is it my understanding that this is what you truly want?”
His cruelty is blindingly sharp, and she blinks hard to clear her vision.
“No, that’s not what I want. You know that’s not what I want. Please, Blaise, keep the bargain, keep my parents safe. I’ll…I’ll do anything…”
“Yes, yes, you’ve said that before,” he snaps coldly. He picks up the leather bound appointment book, the one embossed with red and gold, and flicks through the pages. “Yet here we are, barely a month in, and already you’re not meeting my expectations. Your earnings will need to drastically improve if you truly want to cover the cost of my protection of your family. Do you understand?”
‘Yes, Blaise, I understand completely. Of course, I’ll try harder.”
“Good, then. Well, I’m glad we’ve had this little talk, Hermione. It’s good to clarify these things. You need to accept your new role as a working prostitute, and meet your responsibilities to earn money by making your clients happy. It’s that simple.” He taps the appointment book. ‘Today, you have a two o’clock at the Ministry of Magic, and a six o’clock here in the Blue Room. You can see that this is not good enough. After your six o’clock, and every night from now on, you will work the bar downstairs, flaunting your availability and suitably advertising your services. I’m sure we’ll see a drastic increase in your earnings before the week’s out. You may go.”
“I… I just…” She chokes on her helplessness.
“Yes?” There’s so much smugness, pulsing in that one, short word.
“I…if…” But she lowers her head and breathes a faltering sigh. “I’d better go,” she murmurs, “I’ve got an appointment. I need to get ready…”
“Good girl.”
***
Her two o’clock is a straightforward suck and fuck. She sucks him with feigned enthusiasm, and she fakes a breathless orgasm when he fucks her. She collects his galleons, confirms their appointment for next week, and dresses quickly when their hour is up.
The brands on her wrists spark and tingle as she floos back from the Ministry, reinforcing the impossibility of escape. After dropping off her earnings, in a humiliating ritual that Blaise enjoys all too much, she returns to her cell in the basement. She fills her time with a scorching hot shower, some reading, a quick nap, and a light snack. Then she’s on her way to the Blue Room for her six o’clock appointment.
She pauses at the doorway, heart pounding, mind rebelling, wishing beyond hope that she could be saved. But there’s no way out. She forces her trembling hand to open the door, steps into the room on shaky legs, and addresses her waiting client.
“How may I pleasure you?” she asks, and waits in dread for his instructions.
“Oh, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy’s tight-lipped hiss taunts her, “just seeing you finally put in your place, let me assure you, that pleases me already.”
He’s lounging in an oversized armchair, one hand resting on his cane; legs spread wide, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. His long hair is immaculate, blindingly white against the dark of his robes. He hasn’t changed at all, looks exactly as if he’d stepped straight out of one of her nightmares.
“Tell me, my dear, what do you do that would be worthy of my hard-earned galleons? Blaise speaks very highly of you, I must say.”
She shifts nervously on her feet, such small movements given her desire to scream in rage and run wildly from the room, from her life. Yet, even though her heart quails with fear and horror and disgust, there is a small tiny part that is thinking if she’s good, if she pleases him enough, then through his recommendations he may well generate for her lots of new business.
The exquisite torment of her predicament steals her breath away.
“I... I will…”
“Come now, Miss Granger, speak up, I can barely hear you.”
“I could… start by sucking you. Then we could move to the bed and I could -”
“I think you need to think again,” he smirks extravagantly. “Whatever would make you think that I would allow a filthy little mudblood, such as yourself, touch me? Try again, Miss Granger. What is it, exactly, that you’re selling me?”
How can words still hurt so much? After her heart has been broken, by loss of her friends, of the war? After what has been done to her, to her mind, her body? After what she has endured, her branding, her use? How is it possible that Lucius Malfoy’s words still have the power to bring her to tears?
“Let me help you, Hermione,” he leans forward and points to the floor at his feet. With a flourish of his wand, a sybian fucking machine, with a double dildo, appears. “You will disrobe, seat yourself on this, and ride till I tell you to come. You will give me an erotic performance, my dear, for my viewing pleasure. On your knees, at my feet, pleasuring yourself on a muggle-made machine – how appropriate for a mudblood judged unworthy of magic. I understand it is perfectly safe; in fact, I’ve had my house-elf prepare it for you. Begin, Miss Granger. Or would you like me to return to Blaise and arrange for a refund?”
“No,” she gasps loudly. “No. Don’t go to Blaise.” She slides off her slippers, shrugs out of her shift, and steps forward to kneel at his feet. “I’ve not used one of these before, but I believe I can give you your money’s worth.”
It’s a slow slide onto the slippery dildos, well slicked by some poor Malfoy elf. She disconnects from place and person and time and self, and rides an automated machine that vibrates and thrusts and doubles her pleasure; till her calves burn from her bouncing, and her nipples pulse painfully from her pinching; till she pants her need to the sounds of Lucius Malfoy jacking himself. And when he tells her to come, she does, loudly, violently; with his splattered come dripping from her hair.
It’s her first real orgasm since she started her new life as Blaise’s whore-for-hire, and it breaks what is left of her heart.
When dismissed, she gathers her clothes, not even bothering to dress, and makes her way back to her cell so she can stand under the hot spray of her shower and cry.
***
“It’s nice to see such an increase in your numbers, Hermione. Your improved attitude is certainly paying off – indeed, you’ve been quite busy these last few weeks.” He taps her appointment book, looking well pleased.
“Thank you, Blaise,” she murmurs, then deliberately and forcibly squares her shoulders. “Actually, I requested to see you because I wanted to ask something.”
He leans back in his chair, frowning. “Go on…”
“When I first came here, when I first started working, you gave me something - a potion. A potion that helped me to relax, helped me not think too much, helped me feel pleasure, not pain.”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “The Dimittam Potion – a potent little drop, that one. You must understand, when you first arrived, fresh from the Dark Lord, you were so… upset. It was hard, for me, watching you struggle to accept your new place in the world. I wanted to help, in whatever small way I could.”
“It did help, you see, it helped a lot. I remember now just how good it was.”
“It’s quite a unique potion - rare, of course, Dark too, given its addictive ingredients. I took great care with your doses though, great care,” he smiles kindly, raising his eyebrows, prompting her to go on.
“Oh.” She runs a shaking hand through her hair, her mind racing while she tugs curly strands straight, twists them round and round her fingers. Addictive. Dark. Rare. Nothing was ever easy. Nothing. But she couldn’t go on as things were, could only move forward. She’d be careful, discerning, moderate – would never let herself become addicted. Dark? Well, everything was Dark these days. And rare - sure, she knew there’d be a price…
“I want to ask for more,” she blurts out, then pushes on quickly before her courage fails. “I’m working a lot now, Blaise, a lot. It’s hard; working so much - so many clients…men, women…groups. I thought, if I could have the potion again, just for a little while, it would help, wouldn’t it? Help make it better. I could work better…work more.”
“I see,” he steeples his fingers, taps them together. “Of course, I’m happy to help…”
“Thank you, thank you,” her desperation makes her voice husky. “I understand that it’s a risky potion, but I know you’ll monitor it, Blaise, look after me, keep me safe… I just think it will help, you know… really help...”
“… however, the real problem,” he continues, frowning apologetically, “the real problem, is how expensive it is. Very expensive. It was a generous gift to you, those first few doses. I simply wouldn’t be able to provide any more…for free.”
“But I’m earning more money now…”
“… and that covers the safety of your family. Just.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, I really am. Now, if that was all…”
“It’s just… I remember, Blaise, it was a good potion.” She’s ready to beg; she knows he knows. “What can I do? I’d do anything… There must be something…” Please, please, I beg you, please…
“Well, if I think of something, I’ll certainly let you know. Now, I really must ask you to leave – I have a business meeting.” He pauses dramatically, frowns speculatively. “Although…what about…no, it hardly seems fair to ask…”
“Yes. Yes. Ask.” End this pretence, please.
“Your oral technique – I’ve seen a vast improvement in the quality, and the results. I watch, as you know, every now and then, just to check how well you’re doing. And I must say that I’m very impressed with what I see.” He slides his chair back, bites his bottom lip, and palms his dick through his robes. “I’ve never been much interested in a woman cock-sucker before, but how about, just this once, I sample your technique? Then I can have a dig through my cupboard, see if I can find another vial of that potion. What do you think?”
And she’s on her knees between his spread legs before he finishes his question. A vial of the potion, at a tiny sip a time, will probably last a whole week.
Yes! she smiles triumphantly round her mouthful of cock, finally, a battle she’s won.
Fin
Author:
blissed_bessPrompt Number: #108 submitted by
scarletladyyKink Showcased: Forced Prostitution
Optional supplementary prompt: Voldemort won the war and Hermione is given to Male Character. They decide to make some money off her by forcing her to prostitute herself and being her pimp.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Hermione/others, Hermione/Lucius, Hermione/Blaise
Summary: At first, Blaise has no use for her…
Warnings/Content Notes: consent issues, dubcon, forced prostitution, humiliation, exhibitionism, dark fic, coerced consent
Word Count: 2311
Author’s Notes: A special thank you to my beta
maryfic!Author's Notes 2: Title adapted from quote by Winston Churchill:
Churchill: Madam, would you sleep with me for five million pounds?
Socialite: My goodness, Mr. Churchill... Well, I suppose... we would have to discuss terms, of course...
Churchill: Would you sleep with me for five pounds?
Socialite: Mr. Churchill, what kind of woman do you think I am?!
Churchill: Madam, we've already established that. Now we are haggling about the price.
Haggling the Price
“How may I pleasure you?” she asks wetly, unable to keep the tears from her voice.
“On your back, legs spread. Work for it, little whore, make it good for me.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” Her voice wavers with her mortification, shivers with her shame.
“Suck me, slut. Just like last time. Slow and hard - I’m in no rush.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” she pleads fervently, loudly, desperately - knowing now that he might be watching at any time to check the quality of her service.
“Ride me, bitch, like you can’t get enough. Wanna see you come screaming on my cock.”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” she sobs, unable to suppress her sorrow.
“Fuck it all. I’m not paying for fucking mudblood snot. Fucking useless! I want a refund, you hear me, I’m not fucking paying for this!”
***
“How may I pleasure you?” She’s tired, just wants to curl up and sleep.
“A massage, love, with a happy ending, you know the drill.”
***
“How may I …” and she faints, lands with a thud on the floor.
“Oh, ok. You know what, I don’t actually need you awake for this…”
***
“I don’t think you’re trying hard enough, Hermione.” Blaise’s voice is soft, though the menace is clear. “Your numbers are down again this week. What is it about your role and responsibilities here are you not understanding?”
She wants nothing more than to step up and slap him soundly across his smug face. Or, better yet, to shove her wand right up under his chin and blast him beyond repair.
“Of course I am trying,” and even she could hear the exasperation in her voice. “I…surely, Blaise, surely you can see…I can’t do this. I just can’t. There must be some other way, something else you could have me do. I was…you know this, Blaise. I was a bright witch, the brightest…”
“But not bright enough to choose the winning side, eh, Granger?” He sighs and the leather of his chair creaks as he leans back. “I didn’t ask for you, you know. When the Dark Lord was rewarding his faithful, I was holding out for Neville Longbottom. Him, I could have used. But you – wrong temperament, wrong gender, wrong blood – what was I meant to do with you? Those runes branded on your wrists bind your magic. Your so-called ‘brightness’ in that area is now null and void…”
“Please, Blaise, there must be something else…”
He leans forward, shaking his head; rests his elbows on the polished mahogany of his desk top, hands raised in finality. “When you first arrived here, we made a deal, remember? I’m certainly keeping my end of our bargain – your parents are still alive, are they not? But it seems you’re unhappy with keeping your end of the bargain. It’s a shame, really. When I return you to the Dark Lord, telling him that you were unhappy with your placement with me, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if He judges you to be a complete waste of space, and simply AK’s you on the spot. And then, well, you know the score, He’ll have no further use for your parents either. Is it my understanding that this is what you truly want?”
His cruelty is blindingly sharp, and she blinks hard to clear her vision.
“No, that’s not what I want. You know that’s not what I want. Please, Blaise, keep the bargain, keep my parents safe. I’ll…I’ll do anything…”
“Yes, yes, you’ve said that before,” he snaps coldly. He picks up the leather bound appointment book, the one embossed with red and gold, and flicks through the pages. “Yet here we are, barely a month in, and already you’re not meeting my expectations. Your earnings will need to drastically improve if you truly want to cover the cost of my protection of your family. Do you understand?”
‘Yes, Blaise, I understand completely. Of course, I’ll try harder.”
“Good, then. Well, I’m glad we’ve had this little talk, Hermione. It’s good to clarify these things. You need to accept your new role as a working prostitute, and meet your responsibilities to earn money by making your clients happy. It’s that simple.” He taps the appointment book. ‘Today, you have a two o’clock at the Ministry of Magic, and a six o’clock here in the Blue Room. You can see that this is not good enough. After your six o’clock, and every night from now on, you will work the bar downstairs, flaunting your availability and suitably advertising your services. I’m sure we’ll see a drastic increase in your earnings before the week’s out. You may go.”
“I… I just…” She chokes on her helplessness.
“Yes?” There’s so much smugness, pulsing in that one, short word.
“I…if…” But she lowers her head and breathes a faltering sigh. “I’d better go,” she murmurs, “I’ve got an appointment. I need to get ready…”
“Good girl.”
***
Her two o’clock is a straightforward suck and fuck. She sucks him with feigned enthusiasm, and she fakes a breathless orgasm when he fucks her. She collects his galleons, confirms their appointment for next week, and dresses quickly when their hour is up.
The brands on her wrists spark and tingle as she floos back from the Ministry, reinforcing the impossibility of escape. After dropping off her earnings, in a humiliating ritual that Blaise enjoys all too much, she returns to her cell in the basement. She fills her time with a scorching hot shower, some reading, a quick nap, and a light snack. Then she’s on her way to the Blue Room for her six o’clock appointment.
She pauses at the doorway, heart pounding, mind rebelling, wishing beyond hope that she could be saved. But there’s no way out. She forces her trembling hand to open the door, steps into the room on shaky legs, and addresses her waiting client.
“How may I pleasure you?” she asks, and waits in dread for his instructions.
“Oh, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy’s tight-lipped hiss taunts her, “just seeing you finally put in your place, let me assure you, that pleases me already.”
He’s lounging in an oversized armchair, one hand resting on his cane; legs spread wide, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. His long hair is immaculate, blindingly white against the dark of his robes. He hasn’t changed at all, looks exactly as if he’d stepped straight out of one of her nightmares.
“Tell me, my dear, what do you do that would be worthy of my hard-earned galleons? Blaise speaks very highly of you, I must say.”
She shifts nervously on her feet, such small movements given her desire to scream in rage and run wildly from the room, from her life. Yet, even though her heart quails with fear and horror and disgust, there is a small tiny part that is thinking if she’s good, if she pleases him enough, then through his recommendations he may well generate for her lots of new business.
The exquisite torment of her predicament steals her breath away.
“I... I will…”
“Come now, Miss Granger, speak up, I can barely hear you.”
“I could… start by sucking you. Then we could move to the bed and I could -”
“I think you need to think again,” he smirks extravagantly. “Whatever would make you think that I would allow a filthy little mudblood, such as yourself, touch me? Try again, Miss Granger. What is it, exactly, that you’re selling me?”
How can words still hurt so much? After her heart has been broken, by loss of her friends, of the war? After what has been done to her, to her mind, her body? After what she has endured, her branding, her use? How is it possible that Lucius Malfoy’s words still have the power to bring her to tears?
“Let me help you, Hermione,” he leans forward and points to the floor at his feet. With a flourish of his wand, a sybian fucking machine, with a double dildo, appears. “You will disrobe, seat yourself on this, and ride till I tell you to come. You will give me an erotic performance, my dear, for my viewing pleasure. On your knees, at my feet, pleasuring yourself on a muggle-made machine – how appropriate for a mudblood judged unworthy of magic. I understand it is perfectly safe; in fact, I’ve had my house-elf prepare it for you. Begin, Miss Granger. Or would you like me to return to Blaise and arrange for a refund?”
“No,” she gasps loudly. “No. Don’t go to Blaise.” She slides off her slippers, shrugs out of her shift, and steps forward to kneel at his feet. “I’ve not used one of these before, but I believe I can give you your money’s worth.”
It’s a slow slide onto the slippery dildos, well slicked by some poor Malfoy elf. She disconnects from place and person and time and self, and rides an automated machine that vibrates and thrusts and doubles her pleasure; till her calves burn from her bouncing, and her nipples pulse painfully from her pinching; till she pants her need to the sounds of Lucius Malfoy jacking himself. And when he tells her to come, she does, loudly, violently; with his splattered come dripping from her hair.
It’s her first real orgasm since she started her new life as Blaise’s whore-for-hire, and it breaks what is left of her heart.
When dismissed, she gathers her clothes, not even bothering to dress, and makes her way back to her cell so she can stand under the hot spray of her shower and cry.
***
“It’s nice to see such an increase in your numbers, Hermione. Your improved attitude is certainly paying off – indeed, you’ve been quite busy these last few weeks.” He taps her appointment book, looking well pleased.
“Thank you, Blaise,” she murmurs, then deliberately and forcibly squares her shoulders. “Actually, I requested to see you because I wanted to ask something.”
He leans back in his chair, frowning. “Go on…”
“When I first came here, when I first started working, you gave me something - a potion. A potion that helped me to relax, helped me not think too much, helped me feel pleasure, not pain.”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “The Dimittam Potion – a potent little drop, that one. You must understand, when you first arrived, fresh from the Dark Lord, you were so… upset. It was hard, for me, watching you struggle to accept your new place in the world. I wanted to help, in whatever small way I could.”
“It did help, you see, it helped a lot. I remember now just how good it was.”
“It’s quite a unique potion - rare, of course, Dark too, given its addictive ingredients. I took great care with your doses though, great care,” he smiles kindly, raising his eyebrows, prompting her to go on.
“Oh.” She runs a shaking hand through her hair, her mind racing while she tugs curly strands straight, twists them round and round her fingers. Addictive. Dark. Rare. Nothing was ever easy. Nothing. But she couldn’t go on as things were, could only move forward. She’d be careful, discerning, moderate – would never let herself become addicted. Dark? Well, everything was Dark these days. And rare - sure, she knew there’d be a price…
“I want to ask for more,” she blurts out, then pushes on quickly before her courage fails. “I’m working a lot now, Blaise, a lot. It’s hard; working so much - so many clients…men, women…groups. I thought, if I could have the potion again, just for a little while, it would help, wouldn’t it? Help make it better. I could work better…work more.”
“I see,” he steeples his fingers, taps them together. “Of course, I’m happy to help…”
“Thank you, thank you,” her desperation makes her voice husky. “I understand that it’s a risky potion, but I know you’ll monitor it, Blaise, look after me, keep me safe… I just think it will help, you know… really help...”
“… however, the real problem,” he continues, frowning apologetically, “the real problem, is how expensive it is. Very expensive. It was a generous gift to you, those first few doses. I simply wouldn’t be able to provide any more…for free.”
“But I’m earning more money now…”
“… and that covers the safety of your family. Just.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, I really am. Now, if that was all…”
“It’s just… I remember, Blaise, it was a good potion.” She’s ready to beg; she knows he knows. “What can I do? I’d do anything… There must be something…” Please, please, I beg you, please…
“Well, if I think of something, I’ll certainly let you know. Now, I really must ask you to leave – I have a business meeting.” He pauses dramatically, frowns speculatively. “Although…what about…no, it hardly seems fair to ask…”
“Yes. Yes. Ask.” End this pretence, please.
“Your oral technique – I’ve seen a vast improvement in the quality, and the results. I watch, as you know, every now and then, just to check how well you’re doing. And I must say that I’m very impressed with what I see.” He slides his chair back, bites his bottom lip, and palms his dick through his robes. “I’ve never been much interested in a woman cock-sucker before, but how about, just this once, I sample your technique? Then I can have a dig through my cupboard, see if I can find another vial of that potion. What do you think?”
And she’s on her knees between his spread legs before he finishes his question. A vial of the potion, at a tiny sip a time, will probably last a whole week.
Yes! she smiles triumphantly round her mouthful of cock, finally, a battle she’s won.
Fin
