hpkinkfest | Kinkfest FIC: The Task at Hand (Pansy/Hermione, Bellatrix/Hermione)

Title: The Task at Hand
Author:

songquake
Prompt Number: #265, submitted by

redcandle17
Kink Showcased: Fisting
Rating: NC-17!
Pairing(s): Pansy/Hermione, Bellatrix/Hermione
Summary: When Hermione Granger is unable to take her Mistress's fist, her Mistress brings in an unexpected "tutor".
Warnings: DH spoilers (book and film) AND (highlight to read) *Serious D/s, blindfolding, lending of sub, slapping, dubcon, verbal degradation, breathplay, mind games, light bondage, forced orgasm, erotic wand use, Polyjuice. *
Word Count: 4602
Author's Notes: It's rather more…complicated than the prompt was, but I hope you love it anyway,

redcandle17!
Thank-you ever so much to

jakuako, who stepped up when I was begging for help. Dear, your comments and suggestions (including the title!) helped immeasurably.

Hermione knelt, blindfolded, on the floor of the playroom. Pansy had led her, sightless, from their sitting room down the stairs (creaks enhanced, Hermione was sure) to this room that might have been called a "dungeon" had the two women not had experiences with the real thing. She was fairly certain Pansy had decided to 'act out' one of the fantasies she'd coaxed out during a post-orgasmic haze.

The two women made 'dates', and Hermione had enjoyed every one so far. Particularly the ones based on her own darkest fantasies.

And still…still her nipples were peaked in nervousness, her cunt slicked with anxiety.

It's because I know I'm about to have something very special done to me, Hermione told herself, even as the door creaked open and a gait unlike Pansy's clicked across the wooden floor to her.

It was still feminine, though – as was the light perfume and scent of arousal that accompanied it. Hermione breathed deeply, trying to access the scent in her mental catalogue, trying to extend all her senses and intuition outward. She was trying to discern who was with her and what would happen before it happened.

From above, she heard a hissing inhalation.

"Knowing what happens does feel so much like control, doesn't it, little one?" the voice said, so softly that Hermione still could not place it. Shivers ran down her spine.

She took a breath. "Yes, ma'am."

SMACK! The impact of a hand on her right cheek turned her head and made her eyes pop behind the blindfold. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Hermione shook her head; she was a quick study. The hairs on her neck stood up and, improbably, she felt her cunt drip hotly.

"Oh, the ickle baby Mudblood has figured out the rules and the rulemaker, hmm? All the better for playing the game, my dear." A laugh followed.

She knew the voice, had heard the voice taunt her, taunt Harry. It was a voice that should have haunted her nightmares but somehow had not. The laugh… The laugh was sharp as the knife its owner had used to etch words into Hermione's skin.

She took a shaky breath. "You're dead," she said, and expected the slap to her other cheek when it came, harder this time. Hard enough to leave her cheek burning; hard enough to mark her.

Then the hands that had slapped her, that had held her down to carve into her flesh, pushed her shoulders back. Surprised, Hermione fell back, her shoulders hitting the floor even as her knees spread further apart.

"Look at you, perfect pretty whore," Bellatrix Lestrange crooned. "Look at your legs spread so nicely for anyone your darling Mistress chooses to send to fuck you. You want to be a good girl for the Real Witches and Wizards now, don't you?"

"I want to be a good girl for my Mistress, ma'am," Hermione said, her face burning at the old implication that she wasn't a Real Witch. She would be obedient to anyone Pansy sent for her, but not obsequious – especially not dishonestly so. Despite her inability to see, Hermione raised herself on her elbows, trying to regain some composure, some self-control, some dignity.

"Yes," Bellatrix said, the last consonant drawn into a hiss. "And being good for your Mistress means letting her pimp you out as a fucktoy for any Pureblood who would like a piece of that dirty little pussy of yours."

Bellatrix's small hands were pushing hard on Hermione's chest now, pressing her back to the floor behind her. Hermione's thighs, hips, back ached with the contortion. Her breasts jutted out, nipples standing proudly beyond where Bellatrix was compressing them.

Hermione felt warm, slightly-sweet breath on her cheek, next to her ear, the older woman's body warm above her. "You were thinking I was dead, but I am so far from dead, little bird."

Hermione couldn't catch enough of a breath to ask how. "H-" was all she could manage before she needed more air.

Bellatrix sat back, suddenly releasing her captive. The expansion of Hermione's lungs was quick and painful; like a giant bouquet of balloons, they yanked her torso up until she was in a seated position. As soon as she realised what she had done, however, Hermione forced herself to relax, breathing deeply and stretching her shoulders back to the floor.

"It's a common misconception that Death Eaters disdain all things Muggle, did you know that, little bird?" Bellatrix asked, her tone nearly academic. Hermione shook her head, wishing she could see to read the expression in her liege's eyes. She felt the hands return to her chest, forcing her further down. "One of the things we figured out," she continued, releasing Hermione's chest just a little before pressing back down, "was that Muggle resuscitation works against the Killing Curse. Very convenient, that, especially since your lot thought an Avada Kedavara was the end of a duel." She released and then pressed down again in a parody of Muggle CPR before leaning forward. Letting go of one breast, she held Hermione's nose as she sealed their lips together and sucked.

Even behind the blindfold, spots appeared in front of Hermione's eyes. She struggled, trapped both by Bellatrix's body and her own bizarre posture. She had no leverage, no defence. The juices from her cunt continued to drip down her arse crack.

And then Bella let go to take her own breath, allowing Hermione to gasp before she pressed down again and breathed hot air into her.

Hermione's next inhalation whistled. Fuck. She could really kill me here.

"Pity I have to return you," remarked Bellatrix. "You're so pretty, turning blue." She sighed. "But little Parkinson wants to have her toy back relatively undamaged – I can do what I want, she said, as long as I don't ruin you for her own use."

The knowledge of limits somehow took the edge off of Hermione's arousal. I really am Pansy's whore, she mused. The more I'm abused, the hotter it gets me.

Such detachment was short-lived. "Up, Mudblood," Bellatrix commanded, pulling back and standing. She did not deign to reach down and help. "Your little mistress only lent you to me for an hour, and she expects me to have you trained to take her fist by then."

Hermione's gasp could have drained the room, it was so loud.

Fisting had been a fantasy of hers for quite some time, but she'd never managed to take anyone's entire hand, much less Pansy's, which was rather large for a woman of her size. She closed her eyes as she stood, recalling the hands upon her breasts. They're smaller; maybe they'll fit and when Mistress comes back, she'll be able to stretch me the rest of the way.

Hermione staggered as the impact of another slap took her by surprise.

"Too much thinking and not enough listening, little bird," Bellatrix's voice sounded in her ear as she moved around the still woman. Hermione felt the itchy fabric encasing Bellatrix's body scratch down her back as the smaller woman flattened her feet.

With a jerk, Hermione felt her head pulled back by her scalp, following her hair.

"Mm, this is a much easier way for me to get to your ear, don't you think?" Bella didn't wait for an answer as she bit down just behind the organ in question, her teeth tugging at the skin.

Hermione's brain turned off. She moaned.

"Excellent." The lengthened sibilance in the word only served to tighten Hermione's nipples and clit. It was so dangerous.

Hermione found herself being led backward by the hair until her upper thighs bumped something that swung slightly away before coming to rest against them. The sling, she thought with relief. It meant she would have to do relatively little work this afternoon.

"Sit down and spread your legs like the Mudblood whore you are." Bellatrix's voice was a few feet away now, and Hermione found she missed the intimacy of having it in her ear. But she knew she could only submit, and hope her obedience would earn her more whispers, bites, smacks and squeezes.

She reached back, grabbed the chains at the far end of the sling, and hopped up eagerly; in her exuberance, she swung her legs like a little girl.

"Spread your legs," Bellatrix repeated, growling.

The only way to spread them was to raise them up so they would either rest on the chains or on the other side of them. As Hermione's thighs began to pass over the chains, Bellatrix said, "Stop." Using all her muscle control and determination, Hermione did.

Something softer than rope wound around Hermione's thighs, securing each to one of the chains suspending the sling. She moaned, feeling exposed and entirely wanton.

"Look at you, so slick and shining for me," Bellatrix whispered, her words melodious. Almost unconsciously, Hermione tried to tilt her hips up to better present her cunt.

"And you would lie here, putting on a show, opening up for just anyone, wouldn't you, Mudblood slut?"

"Yes – " Hermione gasped, clenching her kegels so as to display her assets.

– SMACK! Hermione's torso jerked up, thighs straining to close, to protect those very assets from another slap.

"You'd been doing so well." Bellatrix's voice sounded disappointed. "But you spoke without leave, and for what – a rhetorical question?" She paused. "You may answer."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Hermione managed to choke out. "I'll do better, I promise." She shuddered as she remembered the sadistic joy in Bellatrix's eyes as she tortured her at Malfoy Manor. Sex games were fun and all, but Hermione didn't much fancy a Crucio to her crotch.

Suddenly businesslike, Bellatrix said, "New rules. You may make as much noise as you like, but only when my fingers are up your twat."

Hermione nodded.

"Good girl. Now let's see how wet and open you are for me already."

She felt two fingers parting her labia before one of them dipped into her hole and ran upwards to her clit. Her breath caught, but she managed to stifle the high-pitched moan that was pushing its way up her mask. She heard a chuckle.

"Like that, do you, little bird?"

As Hermione kept her silence, Bellatrix repeated her action, tracing around and around Hermione's clit before finally, finally, pressing upon it. Hermione felt the chains above her shoulders grow warm and indent her hands as she gripped them, panting hard and thrusting her pussy further toward those tormenting fingers.

The canting of her hips caused the sling to swing away from Bellatrix.

"So eager, aren't you, slut?" Bella said when Hermione's cunt slapped itself against her hand. Hermione felt the sling steady around her. "But, you see, patience, deliberation, submission to my pace is the only way to get you what you so clearly want."

Hermione struggled to catch her breath. As Bellatrix stroked her slick cunt again Hermione shuddered, then steadied her breath.

She felt something entering her core, but it didn't feel like much. Still, "Thank you, ma'am," she whimpered. Another finger, a thumb perhaps (it felt rougher, and as big as her clit, she thought), stroked from the base of her hood to tap at the clitoris barely unsheathed. "Oh," she moaned.

The finger inside her curled up, but barely could reach her G-spot. Despite her earlier experience, she bore down with her hands and thighs and tried to buck into the hand for more contact.

"Aw, does the ickle Mudblood know-it-all want something?"

The voice was mocking, but Hermione had long since learned that pride had no place in this room. "Please, ma'am, please," she begged.

"Hmm, is this what you want?" Bellatrix pushed aside Hermione's hood and ground down on Hermione's clit, causing her to buck.

Her moans were thoroughly inarticulate.

"Perhaps not," Bellatrix mused, withdrawing her hand (hands?) completely.

Hermione drew breath to answer the question, but thought better of it.

You may make as much noise as you like, but only when my fingers are up your twat.

No, she was not permitted to speak now; she would have to wait for Bellatrix's fingers to slide into her again before she could ask to be filled more. Instead, she concentrated on the sounds around her, trying to figure out what would happen next.

What she heard was…slurping — and a softer sound that might have been a tongue popping off the end of a finger as it came to the end of a licking stroke. And a rumble deep in Bellatrix's chest that sounded…oddly familiar, though she was sure she'd never, ever heard Bellatrix make it before.

Hermione was so caught up in cataloguing the sounds that she was caught by surprise when her cunt was impaled on two fingers. "Guh!" she cried, overwhelmed. The fingers reached in and in, finally stroking that spongy bit up behind her pubic bone, and causing her to clench and relax her muscles around them, trying to grasp more.

"Almost a pity you're a dyke," Bellatrix commented. "You could make some bloke very happy with that strong, tight twat of yours." She paused. "Then again, that would increase the risk of your bringing more dirty-blooded children into the world, and we can't have that, can we?" She shoved her fingers in again, twisting as she stabbed at Hermione's G-spot. "If little Parkinson decides to lend you out to wizards, we'll have to do something…get you fixed." As these words left her mouth, Bellatrix simultaneously pulsed the fingers that pressed on Hermione's G-spot and pinched her clit.

Hermione's moan as she came sounded more like a shriek.

As her shaking began to subside, she felt the warmth of the other woman leaning over her. "Just like the slut you are," the voice murmured onto the top of Hermione's chest, "coming at the very idea of being prepared for others' use." Hermione blushed in her debasement. "A perfect pretty fuck-toy."

At that last comment, Hermione's pride overrode her embarrassment, and she arched her back, offering her tautened breasts; her gratitude and pride increased as Bellatrix bit her hard on her left nipple.

She realised that through her orgasm and the comments after she had stopped keeping track of her cunt. "Ma'am, please," she begged, clenching around the fingers again, "how many fingers is that? Three? Four?"

Laughter echoed in the room. "You – You sound like a virgin, little bird!" Bellatrix wheezed merrily, pumping those fingers in and out, in and out, and circling Hermione's clit some more. "It's two! Though I suppose you could take more now."

"What?" Hermione gasped in disbelief, only to find her cunt empty and fingers groping around its rim to gather more juices. She heard more light squelching.

Then there was pressure at her opening again.

"Sweet little pussy, open up like a good girl," Bellatrix fairly purred, working her fingers around the edge of Hermione's hole, playing around the area just inside of her for a bit.

"Fuck!" Hermione cried, "Fuck me!"

Bellatrix cackled and began to pump her fingers in and out again.

Hermione was amazed at how…not difficult it was to take three fingers. Yes, they took up more space, but it felt more even, more like the smoothness of Pansy's dildo than like two fingers side-by-side.

If I can relax just a bit more, I could take another finger, she thought. She concentrated on clenching and releasing her Kegels, hoping to allow the muscles to relax and open more.

"Fuck, Mudblood, stop that!" Bellatrix growled. "You'll break my fucking fingers, bitch, and then where will you be?"

Probably on the end of Pansy's Cruciatus, thought Hermione. "I – I'm sorry, ma'am," she gasped, willing herself to stop the rhythmic clenching she'd engaged. "Please don't stop."

Bellatrix huffed, "I won't; I told you I was going to train you up for your Little Mistress. You're going to take my fist whether you like it or not." Hermione's mind swam. "Here," Bellatrix continued, "if you can't think of anything but your satisfaction when I'm fucking you with my hand, I'm going to make you work harder."

Hermione felt fingers at her mouth and parted her lips to accept them.

"I want you to give my fingers a blowjob worthy of Merlin's cock," Bellatrix ordered, and Hermione complied eagerly despite her relative lack of experience with cocks. She licked the fingertips rapidly, like she would a clit, before running her tongue up the fingers, finally sucking the three fingers as far into her mouth as she could.

Bellatrix moaned at the sensations, and began to fuck Hermione's mouth with the same rhythm she was using to fuck her cunt.

Hermione's eyes watered; her nose burnt. She was nothing but holes, and had a fleeting wish for her arse to be filled as well. She moaned helplessly around the fingers brushing past her tongue toward her throat.

"I wonder why you aren't coming again, Mudblood, hm?" Bellatrix's menace might have been mitigated by its breathlessness, but Hermione was truly breathless, and her whole world had narrowed to her cunt, her mouth, and the voice that glided past her ears. She heard Bellatrix take a sharp breath in as she stuck her tongue at the juncture between first and second finger and let it massage the spot for a moment.

"Touch yourself. I want to watch your fingers fuck your clit until you come around my fingers like the Mudblood whore you are."

Hermione's whimper was almost questioning; Bellatrix pulled her fingers out of her mouth in order to give Hermione a wet slap across the face. "Frig yourself, bitch," she hissed, and Hermione, realising her hands had never been restrained, drew her right hand down from its lodging on the sling's chain to her dripping pussy, tweaking a nipple on the way down.

She jerked when her fingers brushed against her clit.

"That's right," Bellatrix said. "You'll come all over my hand. Mudblood sluts can't get enough, can they?"

Hermione shook her head, unhearing. She knew the responses her tormentor required and she knew how to give them. Thinking, having an opinion, and even having a self were no longer necessary. She was a vessel to be filled, and in that, she found fulfilment.

Bellatrix withdrew her fingers from Hermione's mouth. Hermione whined.

The older woman chuckled. "Look at you, holes all begging to be filled. Fortunately, they're not in charge." She paused. "Accio lube."

Hermione felt the cool gel along her labia. Which were starting to burn, stretched as they were around Bellatrix's knuckles. The sensations were overwhelming, but not overwhelming enough. She frigged herself harder, and began to shake.

Her second orgasm, beginning at the heat in her cunt and spreading like a hungry fire through her skin and muscles, caused her entire body to contract. It was nerves and sinew and pulsing blood, a machine without a mind.

"Careful, little bird, or I'll have to move you to a bench in order to strap you down." Hermione felt the fuzz of Bellatrix's curls against her thighs and realised they had likely nearly squeezed the woman's head. She reminded herself not to be so careless.

"Good girl," Bellatrix purred, sounding almost proud. She twisted her hand around, pressing on Hermione's walls again, pushing against them until Hermione was sure that bone would have to shift in order to open her further.

"I – I can't anymore," she sobbed, her first verbal objection since the scene had begun.

Bellatrix's voice turned cold. "You can and you will."

"There's not – there's not room," she gasped, still clenching and releasing the walls around Bellatrix's hand, trying in vain to open further.

"Listen," Bellatrix hissed. "Muggles push babies through this space. You are built for bodies larger than my hand. Open up, Mudblood."

Strapped down, wanting desperately do be a good girl, to be able to do what Bellatrix wanted, what her Mistress (and when was the last time she'd thought of Pansy?) wanted, Hermione let her thighs flop as far open as the restraints would allow, let her head hang back, let her whole body go limp in surrender.

"Take a deep breath," came the order, and Hermione breathed.

As the fourth finger pushed in with the three that had been pumping in and out, Hermione shrieked. If she thought she had been stretched impossibly before, she was certain of it now. The hand inside her stilled, giving her a moment to regain herself. She shuddered around the intrusion.

Suddenly, everything became clear.

Hermione knew herself to be a vessel, to be a submissive, to be of use for one thing only: pleasing her Mistress and whomever her Mistress would lend her to. She felt as though the haze of her ego had been fully stripped from her, leaving her pure, untainted, pliable. Pride exploded in her chest, her cranium, and her cunt. She could do anything she was told. She continued to breathe deeply, beatific in her submission.

Hermione kept breathing, but the hand on her clit stilled.

"I did not tell you to stop."

"Too – sensitive, ma'am! I'm sore!"

"Hm. And yet, I require you to have another orgasm," Bellatrix mused. "Whatever shall we do?" She tapped on Hermione's clit, eliciting a jerk with every impact.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Hermione began to move her fingers once more, but they were not moving fast enough, it seemed.

Something hard and pointy, yet not sharp, tapped her fingers. "Move your hand," Bellatrix ordered.

Hermione moved it. The object which had tapped her fingers touched her clit. It felt an awful lot like…

"Your wand, ma'am?" she whimpered.

Bellatrix did not answer; rather, she resumed the slight rock of four fingers in and out of Hermione's pussy. The wand tip pushed between the hood of Hermione's clit and its top side.

Hermione's sigh grew louder, longer, and higher in pitch as the rocking intensified. That sigh became a shriek when Bellatrix incanted.

It was almost operatic.

Hermione's clit and vagina directed her hips; neither could decide whether it wanted more or less. Hermione's mind, her will, was long given over to the desires of these areas of flesh. She let her hips cant forward and back, seeking more and then less.

As her mind blanked fully once more, she felt her cunt contract hard, squeezing Bellatrix's hand in a grip so tight that Hermione normally might have wondered whether the bones were in danger. Instead, her head thrashed back and forth into the sides of the sling; her hips finally decided that forward was the right answer…

Bellatrix folded her thumb into the pocket of her hand and pushed the whole thing in as Hermione's cunt relaxed from its orgasm. She moaned, herself, and brought the wand away.

"Fuck, you're open."

Hermione's eyes opened in wonder. Her head continued to shake back and forth slowly as she rode the final waves of her orgasm. "I am?" she breathed, her voice shuddering as she tried to suppress a laugh.

Hermione felt pressure on her G-spot, and knew it was pushing her clit back up. The pressure pulsed.

"Do you feel that?" Bellatrix asked.

Hermione nodded.

"That's my thumb, little bird. My whole hand is up your cunt." Hermione felt the hand inside her move, the thumb moving away from the spongy area, the whole hand shortening and widening.

Into a fist. Finally.

She didn't know why her head seemed to have no top, why she felt utter joy, utter pride at being tied to a sling in Pansy Parkinson's basement, being fisted by Bellatrix Lestrange. But it was possibly the most beautiful moment Hermione had ever experienced. She smiled, her face nearly hurting from it, giggles bubbling up from her cunt, her belly, her soul. She relished the sensation of being so entirely filled, of the balled hand rotating first clockwise, then anti-clockwise. Her entire being was suffused with the warmth of utter contentment.

Hermione Granger would be content to just lie like this forever, impaled on this fist, or any other fist her Mistress thought fit to send to her.

This was a good thing, really, as the fist inside her seemed, impossibly, to grow.

Hermione keened again. The arm attached to the hand inside her seemed less steady, too, for a moment. And bigger. And the angle was changing?

"Wh-what?" she stuttered.

"I'm inside you, my love. My whole hand."

It wasn't a surprise, entirely. After all, Bellatrix's story had seemed a little far-fetched. But subspace isn't always the most logical of places. Hermione began to cry. Hearing Pansy's voice in the room overwhelmed her.

"Shh, baby girl. I've got you." Hermione felt the warmth of her lover bending over her, kissing first one breast and then the other as the hand in her cunt began to rock again. "Take off your mask, love."

Reaching up, Hermione pulled the blindfold off her eyes. She blinked at the light in the dim room; she'd grown accustomed to the darkness she'd stared into for the past hour and change.

"Good girl," Pansy murmured, looking Hermione in the eyes before crouching a bit to kiss the insides of Hermione's knees. "You were so hot," she said as she stood again, "submitting to Bella just because she was the person who showed up in our playroom. You're such a good, obedient slut for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," Hermione gasped, watching Pansy reach up and suck her own thumb. It glistened when it came out of her mouth.

Hermione closed her eyes in contentment as Pansy dug four fingers in her pubic hairline and began to dance her thumb around the clit below. Before long, she came for a fourth time, thrashing even harder. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..." she chanted, her voice high and broken.

When she came down, it was to Pansy stroking her side lightly.

"Are you back with me, baby?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you so much."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now's the hard part."

"Now?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Yes, baby girl. I'm going to straighten out my hand a little, and then I need you to push me out."

Hermione nodded, and felt Pansy move her hand so that her fingertips were pushing against her cervix. She cried out at the change.

"Okay, now push."

Hermione pushed. She felt like her passage was being stretched impossibly. Fuck, it was tight. She felt almost like she was tearing, it burnt so.

Then she was empty. And sore. But mostly empty. She felt Pansy's hands – one cool and dry, the other hot and sticky – rest on her inner thighs, still spread obscenely. The thumbs – one cool, one hot – spread her labia once more. And Pansy's hot, wet, familiar tongue ran gently along her hole, and then up to her clit, soothing all that burnt there.

More hot tears ran down her cheeks. Hermione had never felt so cherished.

Soon she felt the straps around her legs loosen and Pansy's arms wrapped around her.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Pansy murmured into her ear.

Concentrating, Hermione was able to speak. "Good, Mistress. And c-cold," she added, realising her teeth were chattering.

"Can you wrap your legs and arms around me?" Pansy asked, and Hermione nodded as she did so. Pansy carried her back to the pile of squashy cushions in a nearby corner and laid her down. She Summoned a duvet from a few feet away as the two of them cuddled.

"Rest, baby girl. I've got you now."

Hermione made an agreeable noise and buried her face in her lover's bosom.

Mods, may I please have tags for bl/hg and for forced orgasm?
ETA: Thanks!

Kinkfest FIC: The Task at Hand (Pansy/Hermione, Bellatrix/Hermione)

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