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hpkinkfestTitle: Doll
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
captainraychill
My own prompt: Draco like dolls.
Kink Showcased: Attraction to dolls, sex with living dolls
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Summary: “I’d adored my doll at first sight because, though she appeared to be pure, she was really a creature of sex. Her lips were plump and painted to appear wet. Her eyes were corrupt beneath her lush lashes. Her steady, sober gaze told me that she knew her only purpose was to be used by me and that she had accepted this.”
Content Notes/Warnings: Het sex including a little anal, a form of bondage and Dom/sub, choking. Also sexual thoughts and reactions in underage characters (age 11, 14 and 15) told in flashback; no graphic sex acts involving minors.
Total Word Count: Around 13,000
Author's Notes: This story is accompanied by art, also called “Doll” that will be posted soon on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_kinkfest. I had no beta. I know that’s naughty, but SPaG is a friend of mine. Thank you, Mods, for helping me out and giving me an extra day! Inspiration for Draco’s dolls was taken from the Korean ball-jointed dolls at www.souldoll.com.
Continued from Part One
DOLL
Chapter Five:
Scarlet Angel
Over the next seven months, Draco and I only missed two appointments. Once, I cancelled to attend my grandmother’s funeral. My friends hadn’t understood why Draco had only sent flowers. They knew we were seeing each other. They knew I spent every Friday night and most of every Saturday at the manor.
“He could have shown up for this,” Ron had grumbled.
“We’re not like that,” I’d said, avoiding Harry’s gaze.
Once, Draco had cancelled without explanation. The Daily Prophet reported the next day that Lucius Malfoy had been killed by another prisoner in Azkaban. When I went to the manor to talk to Draco about it, his elf turned me away at the door. I’d wondered if that was the end of our arrangement, but when I’d gone to Livia’s that Friday, she’d been ready for me.
Draco and I have never spoken of his father’s murder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every Friday, after work, I Floo into the doll shop and walk to my private dressing room where I take off my clothes.
“Good evening, dear,” Livia says as she strolls in and hands me a phial of the blood red potion.
“Good evening, Livia. How’s your hip?”
As the doll maker chats about her mild pains, I tip back my head and drink the almond-flavored potion. Within seconds, my bushy hair starts to straighten and grow as sleek as a sheet of glass. This adds inches to it, the long strands ending near the deepest inward curve of my spine.
Livia inspects me. I have no modesty with her anymore. When she asks me to bend over and spread apart my arse cheeks, I obey politely and without thought, as if she’d asked me to pass the sugar for her tea. As she stretches me, very slightly, I press back. I can’t help it. I know she can see my back arching and hear my low sound of pleasure. I never apologize, and she never mentions it. When she’s satisfied, she removes her gloved fingers, performs a Cleansing spell and continues with her work.
Seven months ago, all the hair on my body was magically removed, except for that on top of my head and my eyebrows. My freckles and moles were vanished. My nipples were slightly lightened, and my asshole, bleached, which I found ridiculous. Every week, I am Scourgified, powdered, perfumed, flavored and painted until I am a smooth, white cherry, blushing pink near my stem, just for him.
After Livia puts my hair up in fat rollers, she reveals the outfit for this week.
“Interesting,” I say. “And gorgeous.” It’s always gorgeous. I don’t know how she does it, time and again.
As she hands me the knickers, she says, “He wants to start seeing you Tuesday nights, too. I’ll have to hire extra help again.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
“Perhaps he will tonight.”
If he does, I’ll refuse. I won’t meet him more than once a week. I do have a job and a life. And, in truth, I cannot let my heart become more entangled than it already is. But I don’t tell Livia this. For all our friendly talk, I know where her loyalties lie.
When I’m ready, she hands me the other potion, the dangerous one. The phial is filled with minty green liquid that will glow in the dark, like phosphorous, when it’s time for me to swallow it. We Apparate to my room in the manor. Too much care has been taken with my appearance to send me through a sooty fireplace. This happens every Friday night at exactly eight o’clock, when the wards are dropped for thirty seconds, a secret known only to the three of us.
There is an open rosewood box, as large as a narrow bed, in the center of the room. I use a step ladder to climb inside it where I lie down on white silk. I see Livia above me. She arranges me carefully – my legs, my dress, my hair.
“Thank you,” I say. “Be careful of your hip going down the ladder.”
She squeezes my hand, the one that holds the potion, and then covers me with thin layers of white tulle. I feel like I’m staring up through steady snowfall.
“See you next week, dear, if not sooner,” she says as she closes the box lid on its hinges.
I’m in total darkness. This moment used to make me frantic. The first time I was in the box, I almost hyperventilated. The second time was better, but I had to recite Arithmancy tables in order to calm myself. Gradually, I became comfortable, my greatest annoyance now, the occasional itch I can’t scratch. I lose track of time as I wait, my mind drifting through erotic thoughts of what’s to come. My breathing and heartbeat are loud in the silence.
It seems like only a minute has passed before the bottle in my hand glows green. I uncork it and lift my head slightly to purse my lips around it. Draco brews it every week, and if he makes the tiniest mistake, we could both die. I drink it all. It tastes sweet, like mint and chocolate. I tuck the empty phial into the lining of the box and make sure the tulle is still in place before saying the word that activates the potion.
I have ten seconds to prepare myself. I pose my hands precisely. I make sure the angle of my feet is correct. I assume a solemn, calm expression, my eyes open and staring straight ahead. This look and pose have become as natural to me as breathing.
The potion begins to change me. The chill begins in my heart and then seeps through my entire body, except my womb and my cunt, which are pleasantly warm for a brief moment as the potion does its special work there. When I am completely filled with cold, I try to blink, but I can’t. The effort makes me feel heavy and weary. I try to make a sound, just moan deep in my chest, but I’m as quiet as the grave.
He likes me still and silent.
I still can’t help the panic that strikes me every week. I am truly trapped, defenseless inside my frozen body. Draco could open this box and slit my throat, like his father’s throat was slit in Azkaban. But if he did, the moment my heart stopped pumping blood onto the white satin, the Unbreakable Vow would kill him. Draco is only twenty years old and head of the Malfoy family. He’s rich, handsome and selfish. He suffers no taint from the war. His future is limitless. I stake my life on his sense of self-preservation.
I calm myself by listening to my heartbeat. It continues to drum, fast and strong, although my breathing is shallow and barely noticeable. The potion is clever. It immobilizes and silences me, but my mind and nerves are unchanged. I can think and feel. I will feel the lightest touch of Draco’s fingers against my skin.
I’ve never asked him how he developed and perfected the green potion. I’m afraid of his answers, certain they would require me to leave him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
At half past eight, my patience is at an end. She’ll be ready now. I finish my Firewhiskey in one breath and stride out of my study. I can’t wait to see her. A week is far too long to be parted.
Madame is gone when I enter Hermione’s room. It is plain and dark, except for the glow of candles in the crystal chandelier. The box is in the center of the room, tied with a large, white silk ribbon. All the dolls I’ve ever received from the doll maker have come in a box like this. A part of me knows it’s absurd to continue this tradition now. But it still excites me, the anticipation and surprise. I’m breathless, my hands trembling as I untie the ribbon. I open the box lid on its hinge, gently lift away the layers of white tulle and see her face again.
She is perfect. Mine.
Her dark, serene eyes gaze up at the chandelier. They are luminous, reflecting candlelight. Her brown hair falls in glossy, sculpted curls over her shoulders. Her lips, almost always so pink, so innocent, are painted red tonight to match the brilliant shade of her dress. The erotic color on her mouth makes my heart beat faster. I touch her cool cheek.
“Hermione,” I whisper tenderly. “I missed you.”
I’ll never tell her how much. I don’t feel right when she’s gone. The moment I see her, I am filled with a happiness and relief that, together, feel like peace. It is exhilarating and maddening to have discovered the one I want to be with all the time.
I draw my wand and levitate her out of the box. She floats above me, a scarlet angel haloed by crystal and candlelight. The red dress is long and fitted. Her delicate hands emerge from tight sleeves, her nails coated with a red lacquer that captivates me, just like her painted lips. I see the wink of rubies on her red heels and a single, ruby button on the high neck of her gown. Although the dress is exquisite, Madame’s creations are usually more ornate than this. I flick my wand and slowly spin Hermione around.
I am already hard but what I see makes my cock ache. I move my wand again and Hermione’s long hair is lifted and placed over one shoulder, revealing the back of the dress to me. From the nape of her neck and all along the lovely curve of her body is a line of flashing, red fire. Hundreds of tiny ruby buttons, waiting to be undone.
I transfigure the rosewood box into a replica of my bed and float her onto it, laying her on her stomach. She looks broken now, her elbows and wrists at awkward angles. Her face is crushed against the sheets. I slip off my shoes, pocket my wand and climb into bed to kneel beside her. I arrange her so that she is graceful again, her cheek resting on a pillow and her curls swept prettily to one side. The potion she drinks leaves her body supple and accepting of my guidance.
I circle the top ruby button with my finger and then twist it loose from its hole, revealing a tiny bit of pale skin. I do this again and again, each time with the concentration of a surgeon, until the red dress is peeling away to reveal the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, the sway of her back with its willowy dip and rise. She isn’t wearing a bra. For a moment, I think she isn’t wearing any knickers either. But then I see them, little scraps of silk and lace the exact color of her skin. They are as sheer as a bride’s veil. I can see every curve and shadow of her underneath them. My breathing grows labored in the silent room.
My desire to touch her is overwhelming. I want to rip her clothes off, to rend fine lace and scatter rubies. I control myself with a deep breath before continuing, with care, to divide her dress. I reveal the backs of her bare legs, the shadows behind her knees, her elegant ankles. When I unbutton the last button, I look up her body. I am at her feet, and I am done waiting.
I stroke one of her red shoes, gripping its long heel as I lean down to kiss her ankle. I nibble the shape of her bone through her cool skin and then lick a path up her calf. When I reach the delicate valley behind her knee, I nuzzle it. She smells wonderful here at her pulse point, feminine and sweet. I love every piece of her but sometimes imagine her with proper joints at her knees and elbows. I could break the bones and restructure them before healing her to achieve the right look. But this is just an idle thought. The Vow won’t allow it. I kiss higher, up the soft back of her thigh until I reach the crease between her leg and bottom.
I run my thumbs along the edge of her knickers, pressing under the fragile lace. One fingernail rips a hole, and I slowly tear the knickers apart and discard the ruined lace. I grab her bare arse with both hands and, with a low sound, lean forward and smell her. Her scent makes me dizzy. I kiss the enticing top of her cleft and pull her round cheeks apart. I slide my tongue down between them until it lightly touches the tight rosette of her hole. As I lick her and press inside her to taste her sweet flavor, she is perfectly still, but I can’t help but move, helplessly grinding my erection into the soft mattress. It isn’t enough. An urgent need for more rises up inside me.
I sit up abruptly and roll her over. She lands in another broken pose, looking as if she’s fallen from a balcony. One arm is flung out clumsily. Her neck is bent at an extreme angle. Her eyes stare blankly into a dark corner of the room. I don’t bother to arrange her this time. I only push aside the skirt of her red dress, which is twisted around her.
I pull her legs apart and gaze down at her beautiful, pink cunt. I know she’s wet for me, inside. I lean close and smell her again. Sweet with a sharp touch of earth. As I exhale, my breath shaky, my fingers stroke her sex. Just the outside. The lips are smooth and cool. Every part of her is a temptation to me. But, God, this part... I push two long fingers inside her and feel lavish heat surround them. With a groan, I stroke the wetness out of her and smear it over her silk cunt lips and lap it up. I slide my tongue inside her, tasting lemon and sugar. As I eat her, I take her hand and place it on the back of my head, holding it there so it won’t fall back onto the bed, lax as a slit wrist.
“Honey, you taste so good,” I whisper against her clit, teasing it with suckling kisses. “Do you want to know how good you taste?”
I pull out my wand again and slice apart the front of her dress. I slide up her body, pushing fabric aside, placing frantic kisses on her naked breasts, her hard, pale nipples. My hand grips her lustrous hair, and I kiss her lips. The chaste touch sends my senses reeling. It fills me with joy and desperation. I use my fingers to open her lips and stroke my tongue against hers. Her mouth is cool outside but hot and wet inside. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t make a sound as I feed her the taste of her cunt.
“Do you want to touch me, Hermione?” I murmur. “Do you want to taste me, baby? Don’t be shy.”
I take my clothes off with hurried, clumsy movements. I don’t care about grace as I toss them to the floor. I just need her to touch me. Need her so much. Her head has fallen to the side again, and the long, white length of her neck looks as fragile and lovely as a swan’s.
I kneel before her, naked, so that she can see my body. She gazes at my cock with her placid eyes. I stare down at it, too. It is thick and painfully hard. I grip it firmly and stroke it with a groan, wild arousal spreading through me like hot smoke. I am burning, under my skin, in the fibers of my muscles, in my aching balls. In the vise of breathtaking friction where my hand pumps my cock.
“Feel what you do to me,” I whisper.
I take one of her small hands and place it against my chest, over my racing heartbeat. Her fingertips feel cold against my hot skin as I guide her. She touches my nipple, my trembling stomach. She moves lower and grazes my stiff cock. My hips snap forward, obeying a primitive instinct to fuck, and I moan. I wrap her cool fingers around my cock, one by one, the red nails wanton against my pink skin. My hand curls over hers. I move with steady pressure, showing her how to pleasure me.
“Harder, baby” I breathe roughly.
I press her fingers tighter around me and thrust more forcefully into her grip. A jolt of intense desire shoots through me. Every part of my body is tense, my balls tight, my arse clenched and quivering. A drop of sweat runs slowly down my back. If she were able to slide her finger into me now, I would come, shouting. I need more. I know she wants to give me more, my sweet girl. With a shameful whimper, I pull away from her hand and lift her roughly by the shoulders.
I position her so that her head is supported by a thick pillow. I arrange her limbs and the angle of her chin. I stroke her tumbled hair off her face, knowing that, later, I’ll be too overwrought to do the proper things. I straddle her chest, my legs spread wide. Her velvet soft breasts brush against my balls and the curve of my arse, and a little wave of bliss rolls through my body. I stroke my cock as I look down at her face.
She gazes up at me solemnly, such a beauty. Her eyes are luminous bronze in light, deepest brown as my shadow falls over her. I open her mouth wide with my fingers, stroking her pink tongue and sculpting an obscene circle with her red lips. I position myself and gently arch my hips. I can’t feel her breath, but I feel a sultry heat on my sensitive skin as I place the very tip of my cock into her mouth. I make a sharp, hissing sound as I close my eyes and let my head fall back. It feels so unspeakably good.
I force my eyes open and look down at her, taking her head between my hands. My breath sounds ragged, like a beast hiding in the shadow of the room. My thighs tremble as I slowly push my cock into her mouth. She has such a tiny mouth. I fill it up, and I’m not even halfway in. But it is still devastating, this scorching, wet heat all around me. We gaze steadfastly at each other. She knows that giving me pleasure is what she was made for. Even though she looks innocent, my darling, her quiet desires are as dark as mine. I move, sliding in and out of her mouth at a measured pace, groaning at the luxurious feeling of my cock slipping over her hot tongue.
“Do you like it when I fuck your mouth? Do you like how I taste?” I ask, gripping her hair. I shove harder inside her, and she takes as much as she can. I am entranced by how her red lips look like a whore’s around my cock. By her sweet face. Her delicate blush.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Want my cock inside your sweet, little cunt, baby girl? Tell me you do, baby. Please tell me I can fuck you. Please... God, please let me.”
My vulgar whispers fragment into pleas. I thrust into her mouth faster, begging, gasping, the whole world dimming around this bright fire of intense sensation. My control unravels. I can’t wait another second. I can’t... Oh, God.
With a fierce cry, I pull my cock out of her mouth and move quickly down her body. Not caring that her mouth is still wide open. Not caring how awkward her legs look when I shove them apart. There is only one thing I need for everything to be perfect and blissful and right. I put the tip of my wet cock against her cunt, pressing the head into her with torturous slowness. I feel an agonizing heat. I feel the barrier.
I will be her first one. Her only one.
With ruthless force, I shove my cock deep inside her, shredding the proof of her virginity like fine lace.
Chapter Six:
Possession
It hurts when he breaks my hymen, but the burn has an exquisite edge. I’ve never grown accustomed to it. Every week, the potion knits me a new virginity to give Draco the pleasure of taking it. It makes me wet, too. He slides in and out almost ferociously. I want to run my hands down his sleek back. I want to wrap my legs around his hips and meet his hard, relentless thrusts. I want to writhe and scream and shudder around his cock. I need to do these things. I am desperate for them.
But my body is encased in iron. I can’t move a muscle. The only functions the potion allows are those essential to life – shallow breathing, heartbeat, blood flow. But no blush rises to my skin. My body is held in rigid control.
I can’t come. I can’t come until Draco releases me.
“Feel what you do to me,” he says.
I feel more than his heart beating and his hot skin and his hard cock. My nerves are alive with sensation, and I feel every, little thing he does to me.
At first, the pleasure is manageable, as his fingers patiently unbutton my dress. The light touch of his hands and lips, so warm against my chilled skin, sends radiant pleasure through me. I pretend I am just trapped on my stomach, not trapped inside my body. I let my other senses expand to be receptive. I listen to his harsh breathing and try to smell him, the cologne that intoxicates me, his arousal. He kisses up the back of my thigh, and I feel a small ache begin to throb inside me.
When he licks down the crevice of my arse, desire batters under my skin. The small ache grows. There are sighs and moans inside me, but I can’t make a sound. I want to press back against him like I did with Livia, but I can’t move. Not when he wiggles his tongue into my asshole, sending luxurious heat through the inside of my body. And not when he turns me over and sucks my clit.
“Honey, you taste so good...”
The potion is not only clever, it is cruel. Its bondage complete and devious. My muscles can’t contract to give me an orgasm. But somehow tension still coils inside me, intensified by my stillness and silence, by denial. I never realized what release the faintest whimper could provide until all my power was taken away.
When he places my hand on the back of his skull and holds it there as he eats me... If I could have, I would have sobbed. To be able to touch him is so comforting. His hair is soft under my palm, like feathers. But I can’t run my fingers through it. This is how it always is. I struggle between small reliefs and growing frustration. It feels like promises made and broken.
He kisses me, his tongue flavored with the taste of my sweetened cunt. But I can’t kiss him back. I can see him now, gaze at the blur of his eyelids and pale eyelashes so near my face. But then he moves away and my head falls to the side, limp and heavy. I am left, as I so often am, to stare at the sheets and rely on my other senses.
With a thrill, I heard the rough slide of his zipper. My heart beats faster as I try to anticipate his next touch, searching out any rise in temperature near my skin. When he is suddenly before me, naked and beautiful, it is a surprise. His cock is right in my line of vision, long and thick and hard. He lets me touch it. He wraps my fingers around it. “Harder, baby,” he whispers, showing me how to please him. He likes to teach me, his innocent girl. His body is shaking. This is the only power I have, how much he desires me, how I can shatter his control.
He hasn’t lost himself yet, but he will soon. He knows this as he carefully arranges my body in the way he likes it before straddling my breasts. He tips up my chin, and for one glorious second, I can see his face clearly above me. So handsome. Sharp cheekbones and penetrating eyes. Then he moves his head and blocks the candlelight of the chandelier, creating a halo behind his white-blond hair and shadowing his face. I only see the gleam of his gray eyes now, his pale skin ghostly in the dark. I can tell by the rhythmic movement of his shoulder that he’s stroking his cock. He stops to open my mouth wide, creating what I imagined was a perfect ring.
Oh, yes...
I feel heat near my lips as he moves his cock closer. I can smell it - the salty, animal scent of male arousal. I want to stroke out my tongue, to lick him and suck him in deep, to split open his thighs with my fingernails. I want to give him the blow of his life. Instead, I just lay there with my mouth frozen open, like a cheap Muggle sex doll. He moves his hips, and I feel his balls caress my breasts. Softness brushes my lips as he slips the tip of his cock into my mouth. It rests, heavy, against my tongue. If I could have, I would have groaned with satisfaction.
Draco does make a sound, a sort of hiss. His head falls back, and I can see him again, in the flickering, gold candlelight. I see the masculine curve of his exposed throat, his mouth open in ecstasy, his eyes shut tight. Suddenly, he gasps and opens his eyes wide, looking down at me. He takes my head between his hands and pushes his cock deeper into my mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. Though he is half in shadow again, I can see his expression, a severity near obsession. He fills up my little mouth and starts pumping in and out of it, his cock sliding over my tongue. I feel like I might choke.
“Do you like it when I fuck your mouth? Do you like how I taste?” His hands move into my hair, gripping it hard, making the roots sting.
The ache in me, that had grown almost unbearable, finally cracks open and spreads inside me. The pain and heat that pulse through me now, it is like the pain and heat that radiate from an infected wound. As Draco’s control slips and he pounds into my mouth, I remember his aunt’s Crucio. That had been worse than this, of course. The pain of the Unforgiveable is pure and shocking, unbearable. But his potion, it tortures in more subtle ways. The longing and frustration, they become a twisting agony. My mind, of which I am so proud, is deconstructed into that of a simple beast. I can hardly form the primal thoughts that consume me.
Please fuck me. Please let me come.
“Want my cock inside your sweet, little cunt, baby girl? Tell me you do, baby. Please tell me I can fuck you.”
He begs me, pleads with me, as if I can refuse him. As if I can even answer. And then he is crying out and moving over me. My head falls back, a lock of hair covering my eyes, which stare up at the ceiling now. My mouth is still wide open. He throws my legs apart and slowly pushes his cock inside me, until it nudges the little web created by his potion. Without taking another breath, he snaps his hips forward, tearing through my false innocence and burying himself to the hilt.
He starts to move inside me immediately, pounding mercilessly. I can’t see him, but I can hear the slap of his skin against mine, his panting breaths. I feel an intense sweep of pleasure made brighter by pain every time his cock slams into me. He moves me to the hard rhythm of his strokes. My breasts bounce up and down. My arms flop uselessly against the sheets.
My silent entreaties are reduced to one word now. The kind of simple, raw, soul-deep litany that a mother prays to save the life of her baby.
Please, please, please...
My mind chants silently, every time Draco plunges into me.
His fucking grows wilder, his thrusts erratic. He’s breathing like a war horse now. I feel his sweat against our skin, glossing our stomachs and thighs. His body is jerking. I hear desperate sounds rising out of him, and I know he is close. He comes with a roar, surging so deeply into my body that he lifts my bottom up. My legs flop up and apart, in a grotesque parody of a lover’s lovely, grasping limbs. I fell his hot cum shoot inside me.
I imagine his head thrown back again, his magnificent throat, his mouth open, his eyes closed. His back would be arched, making a long, beautiful line of his body, golden light shining on his stomach and his chest. I wish I could see it all. This suspended moment, when for just one second, his body is frozen as rapture floods it.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I am filled with excruciating yearning.
Please, please, please, please, please... That word is all I am.
He groans, and I can feel his body being wracked by powerful shudders as bliss and relief flow through his muscles. He curses as he falls over me, barely lifted on one arm, his forehead on the pillow. His cock, now limp and wet, slips out of me and nestles into the narrow space between my cunt and one thigh. His hand lazily moves the hair out of eyes and closes my mouth. Normally, he would roll over then. He might even go pour a drink, while I lay here, tortured with longing. Sometimes, rarely, he doesn’t let me come at all. But tonight, he does something he’s never done before.
He rises up on his elbows above me, just out of sight, and wraps his hands firmly around my throat.
His fingers squeeze tight. Too tight. I can’t breathe. I think of black leather belts and white silk ribbons and I’m truly filled, for the first time in years, with the same sinister excitement I felt the night of the Yule Ball. I can’t fight. I can’t move or call for help. No one would rescue me even if I could. I stare up at the ceiling, helpless.
What’s he doing? The Vow... He’ll die, too.
Blackness is sucking away the edges of my vision. Thirty-nine seconds. I can only hold my breath for thirty-nine seconds in a swimming pool.
What have I done?
Draco moves slightly so that I can see his face above me. He gazes at me with mild curiosity, as if I’m some kind of strange animal he’s never seen before. It’s the way he looked at me when I detected the charm hiding his secret closet so many months ago. The hair falling over his brow is gold in the candlelight, his face sharply shadowed and as impassive as a painted angel’s. He’s not the man he was a moment ago. His control is back. His eyes are impenetrable.
“Granger,” he whispers.
The word releases me.
I feel a cracking sensation all over my body, as if a layer of dried mud is being peeled away from it. All the frantic sensations crashing inside me surge outward, burning the chill off my skin in a second. I twitch a finger. I blink. And then, in a shimmering rush, my body is mine again. I’m trembling and weeping. My muscles clench and shudder. I lose all control. I arch up against Draco, wrapping my legs around his hips. As his soft cock slips between my cunt lips, barely grazing my clit, the muscles deep inside my womb erupt with hot, violent contractions. My hands reach up wildly, grabbing onto Draco’s hard shoulders. I make a gurgling sound.
I can’t scream. He’s still choking me.
My vision bleaches from black to brightest white as I come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I loosen my grip on Granger’s throat when her eyes roll back in her head and her eyelids flutter shut. She is coming harder than she ever has before. I untangle myself from her and roll away, resting on one elbow as I watch her slender body twist and arch and writhe. One of her hands claws the air like it’s grasping for something. Her other hand finds her breast and squeezes it hard, so hard I see a little tear of blood run down her white skin. When her instincts tell her she can, she takes a great, shuddering breath and exhales it on a sob. Her climax goes on forever, shaking her, shaking the bed, perfuming the whole room with her delicious fragrance. I find it fascinating that she looked almost exactly like this when Aunt Bellatrix tortured her. When Granger finally collapses, all her strength is gone. She is unconscious.
I don’t usually want to fuck her so soon after the first time. But the sight of her orgasm made me hard. I push her over onto her stomach. She’s limp, and I smile at the thought of that. I lift her hips slightly and spread her legs. A murmured spell lubricates my hand. I stroke my cock until it’s shiny and then stare down at her. Her cunt is a mess, all wet and swollen, but her asshole... It’s tiny and pink and perfect. I hold her hips as I slide into its tight, agonizing grip. She pushes back against me with a moan. But she isn’t really awake. She’s dreaming. I release her hips and grab two, thick handfuls of her hair, wrapping them around my hands. I pull hard, using the glossy lengths as reins, as I begin to pound into her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of our time together on the weekends is spent pleasantly. We eat and drink wine. We play chess and other games. We fuck the way he likes and then, sometimes, the way I like. About half the time, Livia will make a house call to dress me again. In the end, it’s all his decision.
But I know this time together is an idyll. I know it can’t last.
I’m only here because of her.
Even if Draco wanted me beyond this game of ours, I couldn’t be with him. He isn’t a good man. He isn’t kind. He still believes, with all his heart, in the superiority of blood purity. I suspect he regrets becoming a Death Eater only because Voldemort was mad, not because his ideals were evil. I glance at the faded mark that twists up Draco’s left forearm and then glance away.
I think my heart will break when I can’t have this anymore, when I have to search for something new to fulfill me. I want to find everything I need in one person, but I don’t know if I can.
When we do part, Draco will find another girl to satisfy his desires. Livia will help him. The girl will surely be younger than me. Perhaps prettier. With large eyes, a small mouth and flawless skin. But it takes more than possessing a certain beauty to be exactly what he wants. There is bravery in true submission, and I am brave. I will make it so good for him that I’ll ruin him for all others. I don’t want him to be happy with them. My envious heart demands it.
“Stop thinking so hard, Granger,” Draco says. “You’ll give yourself a wrinkle.”
I have just sucked his cock, and we are lying in his bed, our bare feet intertwined. I am reading a book. I blink and smile at him before returning to my chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wish there was a way we could be together forever. No one else will ever match her. I know this. But I can’t marry a Mudblood. My father had his throat slashed in a salt-soaked prison for his beliefs. He taught me well. And Granger is still virtuous despite her proclivities. Virtuous, proud and jealous. She would never commit adultery. She would never submit to being my mistress. She would never share me with another.
And then there is the inevitable matter of Time... Polyjuice could give us a few more years, if she would agree to it. But she won’t. She wants to have children. I see her dark eyes glow tenderly when she speaks of them. I want children, too. Pure children.
If I could change one thing in the world, I wouldn’t bring my father back. I wouldn’t erase my Dark Mark. I wouldn’t have my enemies destroyed. I would simply change her blood.
It’s a wasteful thought. Rationally, I know there’s no future for us.
But in quiet times like this, when I’m warm and my body shimmers softly with bliss, when I have beautifully defiled her and her delicate throat wears a necklace of my bruises, my heart seizes with longing.
And I think, quite irrationally, that perhaps there is a way. That perhaps, with magic, I could find a way to keep Hermione with me always.
“Stop thinking, Draco,” Granger says. “You’ll give yourself a wrinkle.” She puts down her book and leans forward to stroke the worry on my brow.
I turn toward her, gently touch her bare knee and whisper, “Hermione.”
Very soon, the last drops of my potion in her blood will respond to the word.
She lies down, obedient, in the position I like. Her eyes only turn from mine at the very last second, becoming blank and beautiful.
Magic takes away her power to move or speak, gives me complete control, makes her my sweet and supple beauty again, my most beloved possession...
My doll.
THE END
Author’s Notes:
Malacissofors:
The spell that transfigured a leather belt into a ribbon in Chapter Two was invented for this story. Malacisso is Latin for “to render soft or supple, to soften, make pliable” (from latinlexicon.org.)
I also like the definition of supple for this story’s purposes for various reasons.
Supple:
1. Bending readily without breaking or becoming deformed; pliant; flexible: a supple bough.
2. Characterized by ease in bending; limber; lithe: supple movements.
3. Characterized by ease, responsiveness, and adaptability in mental action.
4. Compliant or yielding.
5. Obsequious; servile.
(from dictionary.com)
Author:
captainraychillMy own prompt: Draco like dolls.
Kink Showcased: Attraction to dolls, sex with living dolls
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Summary: “I’d adored my doll at first sight because, though she appeared to be pure, she was really a creature of sex. Her lips were plump and painted to appear wet. Her eyes were corrupt beneath her lush lashes. Her steady, sober gaze told me that she knew her only purpose was to be used by me and that she had accepted this.”
Content Notes/Warnings: Het sex including a little anal, a form of bondage and Dom/sub, choking. Also sexual thoughts and reactions in underage characters (age 11, 14 and 15) told in flashback; no graphic sex acts involving minors.
Total Word Count: Around 13,000
Author's Notes: This story is accompanied by art, also called “Doll” that will be posted soon on
hp_kinkfest. I had no beta. I know that’s naughty, but SPaG is a friend of mine. Thank you, Mods, for helping me out and giving me an extra day! Inspiration for Draco’s dolls was taken from the Korean ball-jointed dolls at www.souldoll.com.Continued from Part One
DOLL
Chapter Five:
Scarlet Angel
Over the next seven months, Draco and I only missed two appointments. Once, I cancelled to attend my grandmother’s funeral. My friends hadn’t understood why Draco had only sent flowers. They knew we were seeing each other. They knew I spent every Friday night and most of every Saturday at the manor.
“He could have shown up for this,” Ron had grumbled.
“We’re not like that,” I’d said, avoiding Harry’s gaze.
Once, Draco had cancelled without explanation. The Daily Prophet reported the next day that Lucius Malfoy had been killed by another prisoner in Azkaban. When I went to the manor to talk to Draco about it, his elf turned me away at the door. I’d wondered if that was the end of our arrangement, but when I’d gone to Livia’s that Friday, she’d been ready for me.
Draco and I have never spoken of his father’s murder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every Friday, after work, I Floo into the doll shop and walk to my private dressing room where I take off my clothes.
“Good evening, dear,” Livia says as she strolls in and hands me a phial of the blood red potion.
“Good evening, Livia. How’s your hip?”
As the doll maker chats about her mild pains, I tip back my head and drink the almond-flavored potion. Within seconds, my bushy hair starts to straighten and grow as sleek as a sheet of glass. This adds inches to it, the long strands ending near the deepest inward curve of my spine.
Livia inspects me. I have no modesty with her anymore. When she asks me to bend over and spread apart my arse cheeks, I obey politely and without thought, as if she’d asked me to pass the sugar for her tea. As she stretches me, very slightly, I press back. I can’t help it. I know she can see my back arching and hear my low sound of pleasure. I never apologize, and she never mentions it. When she’s satisfied, she removes her gloved fingers, performs a Cleansing spell and continues with her work.
Seven months ago, all the hair on my body was magically removed, except for that on top of my head and my eyebrows. My freckles and moles were vanished. My nipples were slightly lightened, and my asshole, bleached, which I found ridiculous. Every week, I am Scourgified, powdered, perfumed, flavored and painted until I am a smooth, white cherry, blushing pink near my stem, just for him.
After Livia puts my hair up in fat rollers, she reveals the outfit for this week.
“Interesting,” I say. “And gorgeous.” It’s always gorgeous. I don’t know how she does it, time and again.
As she hands me the knickers, she says, “He wants to start seeing you Tuesday nights, too. I’ll have to hire extra help again.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
“Perhaps he will tonight.”
If he does, I’ll refuse. I won’t meet him more than once a week. I do have a job and a life. And, in truth, I cannot let my heart become more entangled than it already is. But I don’t tell Livia this. For all our friendly talk, I know where her loyalties lie.
When I’m ready, she hands me the other potion, the dangerous one. The phial is filled with minty green liquid that will glow in the dark, like phosphorous, when it’s time for me to swallow it. We Apparate to my room in the manor. Too much care has been taken with my appearance to send me through a sooty fireplace. This happens every Friday night at exactly eight o’clock, when the wards are dropped for thirty seconds, a secret known only to the three of us.
There is an open rosewood box, as large as a narrow bed, in the center of the room. I use a step ladder to climb inside it where I lie down on white silk. I see Livia above me. She arranges me carefully – my legs, my dress, my hair.
“Thank you,” I say. “Be careful of your hip going down the ladder.”
She squeezes my hand, the one that holds the potion, and then covers me with thin layers of white tulle. I feel like I’m staring up through steady snowfall.
“See you next week, dear, if not sooner,” she says as she closes the box lid on its hinges.
I’m in total darkness. This moment used to make me frantic. The first time I was in the box, I almost hyperventilated. The second time was better, but I had to recite Arithmancy tables in order to calm myself. Gradually, I became comfortable, my greatest annoyance now, the occasional itch I can’t scratch. I lose track of time as I wait, my mind drifting through erotic thoughts of what’s to come. My breathing and heartbeat are loud in the silence.
It seems like only a minute has passed before the bottle in my hand glows green. I uncork it and lift my head slightly to purse my lips around it. Draco brews it every week, and if he makes the tiniest mistake, we could both die. I drink it all. It tastes sweet, like mint and chocolate. I tuck the empty phial into the lining of the box and make sure the tulle is still in place before saying the word that activates the potion.
I have ten seconds to prepare myself. I pose my hands precisely. I make sure the angle of my feet is correct. I assume a solemn, calm expression, my eyes open and staring straight ahead. This look and pose have become as natural to me as breathing.
The potion begins to change me. The chill begins in my heart and then seeps through my entire body, except my womb and my cunt, which are pleasantly warm for a brief moment as the potion does its special work there. When I am completely filled with cold, I try to blink, but I can’t. The effort makes me feel heavy and weary. I try to make a sound, just moan deep in my chest, but I’m as quiet as the grave.
He likes me still and silent.
I still can’t help the panic that strikes me every week. I am truly trapped, defenseless inside my frozen body. Draco could open this box and slit my throat, like his father’s throat was slit in Azkaban. But if he did, the moment my heart stopped pumping blood onto the white satin, the Unbreakable Vow would kill him. Draco is only twenty years old and head of the Malfoy family. He’s rich, handsome and selfish. He suffers no taint from the war. His future is limitless. I stake my life on his sense of self-preservation.
I calm myself by listening to my heartbeat. It continues to drum, fast and strong, although my breathing is shallow and barely noticeable. The potion is clever. It immobilizes and silences me, but my mind and nerves are unchanged. I can think and feel. I will feel the lightest touch of Draco’s fingers against my skin.
I’ve never asked him how he developed and perfected the green potion. I’m afraid of his answers, certain they would require me to leave him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
At half past eight, my patience is at an end. She’ll be ready now. I finish my Firewhiskey in one breath and stride out of my study. I can’t wait to see her. A week is far too long to be parted.
Madame is gone when I enter Hermione’s room. It is plain and dark, except for the glow of candles in the crystal chandelier. The box is in the center of the room, tied with a large, white silk ribbon. All the dolls I’ve ever received from the doll maker have come in a box like this. A part of me knows it’s absurd to continue this tradition now. But it still excites me, the anticipation and surprise. I’m breathless, my hands trembling as I untie the ribbon. I open the box lid on its hinge, gently lift away the layers of white tulle and see her face again.
She is perfect. Mine.
Her dark, serene eyes gaze up at the chandelier. They are luminous, reflecting candlelight. Her brown hair falls in glossy, sculpted curls over her shoulders. Her lips, almost always so pink, so innocent, are painted red tonight to match the brilliant shade of her dress. The erotic color on her mouth makes my heart beat faster. I touch her cool cheek.
“Hermione,” I whisper tenderly. “I missed you.”
I’ll never tell her how much. I don’t feel right when she’s gone. The moment I see her, I am filled with a happiness and relief that, together, feel like peace. It is exhilarating and maddening to have discovered the one I want to be with all the time.
I draw my wand and levitate her out of the box. She floats above me, a scarlet angel haloed by crystal and candlelight. The red dress is long and fitted. Her delicate hands emerge from tight sleeves, her nails coated with a red lacquer that captivates me, just like her painted lips. I see the wink of rubies on her red heels and a single, ruby button on the high neck of her gown. Although the dress is exquisite, Madame’s creations are usually more ornate than this. I flick my wand and slowly spin Hermione around.
I am already hard but what I see makes my cock ache. I move my wand again and Hermione’s long hair is lifted and placed over one shoulder, revealing the back of the dress to me. From the nape of her neck and all along the lovely curve of her body is a line of flashing, red fire. Hundreds of tiny ruby buttons, waiting to be undone.
I transfigure the rosewood box into a replica of my bed and float her onto it, laying her on her stomach. She looks broken now, her elbows and wrists at awkward angles. Her face is crushed against the sheets. I slip off my shoes, pocket my wand and climb into bed to kneel beside her. I arrange her so that she is graceful again, her cheek resting on a pillow and her curls swept prettily to one side. The potion she drinks leaves her body supple and accepting of my guidance.
I circle the top ruby button with my finger and then twist it loose from its hole, revealing a tiny bit of pale skin. I do this again and again, each time with the concentration of a surgeon, until the red dress is peeling away to reveal the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, the sway of her back with its willowy dip and rise. She isn’t wearing a bra. For a moment, I think she isn’t wearing any knickers either. But then I see them, little scraps of silk and lace the exact color of her skin. They are as sheer as a bride’s veil. I can see every curve and shadow of her underneath them. My breathing grows labored in the silent room.
My desire to touch her is overwhelming. I want to rip her clothes off, to rend fine lace and scatter rubies. I control myself with a deep breath before continuing, with care, to divide her dress. I reveal the backs of her bare legs, the shadows behind her knees, her elegant ankles. When I unbutton the last button, I look up her body. I am at her feet, and I am done waiting.
I stroke one of her red shoes, gripping its long heel as I lean down to kiss her ankle. I nibble the shape of her bone through her cool skin and then lick a path up her calf. When I reach the delicate valley behind her knee, I nuzzle it. She smells wonderful here at her pulse point, feminine and sweet. I love every piece of her but sometimes imagine her with proper joints at her knees and elbows. I could break the bones and restructure them before healing her to achieve the right look. But this is just an idle thought. The Vow won’t allow it. I kiss higher, up the soft back of her thigh until I reach the crease between her leg and bottom.
I run my thumbs along the edge of her knickers, pressing under the fragile lace. One fingernail rips a hole, and I slowly tear the knickers apart and discard the ruined lace. I grab her bare arse with both hands and, with a low sound, lean forward and smell her. Her scent makes me dizzy. I kiss the enticing top of her cleft and pull her round cheeks apart. I slide my tongue down between them until it lightly touches the tight rosette of her hole. As I lick her and press inside her to taste her sweet flavor, she is perfectly still, but I can’t help but move, helplessly grinding my erection into the soft mattress. It isn’t enough. An urgent need for more rises up inside me.
I sit up abruptly and roll her over. She lands in another broken pose, looking as if she’s fallen from a balcony. One arm is flung out clumsily. Her neck is bent at an extreme angle. Her eyes stare blankly into a dark corner of the room. I don’t bother to arrange her this time. I only push aside the skirt of her red dress, which is twisted around her.
I pull her legs apart and gaze down at her beautiful, pink cunt. I know she’s wet for me, inside. I lean close and smell her again. Sweet with a sharp touch of earth. As I exhale, my breath shaky, my fingers stroke her sex. Just the outside. The lips are smooth and cool. Every part of her is a temptation to me. But, God, this part... I push two long fingers inside her and feel lavish heat surround them. With a groan, I stroke the wetness out of her and smear it over her silk cunt lips and lap it up. I slide my tongue inside her, tasting lemon and sugar. As I eat her, I take her hand and place it on the back of my head, holding it there so it won’t fall back onto the bed, lax as a slit wrist.
“Honey, you taste so good,” I whisper against her clit, teasing it with suckling kisses. “Do you want to know how good you taste?”
I pull out my wand again and slice apart the front of her dress. I slide up her body, pushing fabric aside, placing frantic kisses on her naked breasts, her hard, pale nipples. My hand grips her lustrous hair, and I kiss her lips. The chaste touch sends my senses reeling. It fills me with joy and desperation. I use my fingers to open her lips and stroke my tongue against hers. Her mouth is cool outside but hot and wet inside. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t make a sound as I feed her the taste of her cunt.
“Do you want to touch me, Hermione?” I murmur. “Do you want to taste me, baby? Don’t be shy.”
I take my clothes off with hurried, clumsy movements. I don’t care about grace as I toss them to the floor. I just need her to touch me. Need her so much. Her head has fallen to the side again, and the long, white length of her neck looks as fragile and lovely as a swan’s.
I kneel before her, naked, so that she can see my body. She gazes at my cock with her placid eyes. I stare down at it, too. It is thick and painfully hard. I grip it firmly and stroke it with a groan, wild arousal spreading through me like hot smoke. I am burning, under my skin, in the fibers of my muscles, in my aching balls. In the vise of breathtaking friction where my hand pumps my cock.
“Feel what you do to me,” I whisper.
I take one of her small hands and place it against my chest, over my racing heartbeat. Her fingertips feel cold against my hot skin as I guide her. She touches my nipple, my trembling stomach. She moves lower and grazes my stiff cock. My hips snap forward, obeying a primitive instinct to fuck, and I moan. I wrap her cool fingers around my cock, one by one, the red nails wanton against my pink skin. My hand curls over hers. I move with steady pressure, showing her how to pleasure me.
“Harder, baby” I breathe roughly.
I press her fingers tighter around me and thrust more forcefully into her grip. A jolt of intense desire shoots through me. Every part of my body is tense, my balls tight, my arse clenched and quivering. A drop of sweat runs slowly down my back. If she were able to slide her finger into me now, I would come, shouting. I need more. I know she wants to give me more, my sweet girl. With a shameful whimper, I pull away from her hand and lift her roughly by the shoulders.
I position her so that her head is supported by a thick pillow. I arrange her limbs and the angle of her chin. I stroke her tumbled hair off her face, knowing that, later, I’ll be too overwrought to do the proper things. I straddle her chest, my legs spread wide. Her velvet soft breasts brush against my balls and the curve of my arse, and a little wave of bliss rolls through my body. I stroke my cock as I look down at her face.
She gazes up at me solemnly, such a beauty. Her eyes are luminous bronze in light, deepest brown as my shadow falls over her. I open her mouth wide with my fingers, stroking her pink tongue and sculpting an obscene circle with her red lips. I position myself and gently arch my hips. I can’t feel her breath, but I feel a sultry heat on my sensitive skin as I place the very tip of my cock into her mouth. I make a sharp, hissing sound as I close my eyes and let my head fall back. It feels so unspeakably good.
I force my eyes open and look down at her, taking her head between my hands. My breath sounds ragged, like a beast hiding in the shadow of the room. My thighs tremble as I slowly push my cock into her mouth. She has such a tiny mouth. I fill it up, and I’m not even halfway in. But it is still devastating, this scorching, wet heat all around me. We gaze steadfastly at each other. She knows that giving me pleasure is what she was made for. Even though she looks innocent, my darling, her quiet desires are as dark as mine. I move, sliding in and out of her mouth at a measured pace, groaning at the luxurious feeling of my cock slipping over her hot tongue.
“Do you like it when I fuck your mouth? Do you like how I taste?” I ask, gripping her hair. I shove harder inside her, and she takes as much as she can. I am entranced by how her red lips look like a whore’s around my cock. By her sweet face. Her delicate blush.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Want my cock inside your sweet, little cunt, baby girl? Tell me you do, baby. Please tell me I can fuck you. Please... God, please let me.”
My vulgar whispers fragment into pleas. I thrust into her mouth faster, begging, gasping, the whole world dimming around this bright fire of intense sensation. My control unravels. I can’t wait another second. I can’t... Oh, God.
With a fierce cry, I pull my cock out of her mouth and move quickly down her body. Not caring that her mouth is still wide open. Not caring how awkward her legs look when I shove them apart. There is only one thing I need for everything to be perfect and blissful and right. I put the tip of my wet cock against her cunt, pressing the head into her with torturous slowness. I feel an agonizing heat. I feel the barrier.
I will be her first one. Her only one.
With ruthless force, I shove my cock deep inside her, shredding the proof of her virginity like fine lace.
Chapter Six:
Possession
It hurts when he breaks my hymen, but the burn has an exquisite edge. I’ve never grown accustomed to it. Every week, the potion knits me a new virginity to give Draco the pleasure of taking it. It makes me wet, too. He slides in and out almost ferociously. I want to run my hands down his sleek back. I want to wrap my legs around his hips and meet his hard, relentless thrusts. I want to writhe and scream and shudder around his cock. I need to do these things. I am desperate for them.
But my body is encased in iron. I can’t move a muscle. The only functions the potion allows are those essential to life – shallow breathing, heartbeat, blood flow. But no blush rises to my skin. My body is held in rigid control.
I can’t come. I can’t come until Draco releases me.
“Feel what you do to me,” he says.
I feel more than his heart beating and his hot skin and his hard cock. My nerves are alive with sensation, and I feel every, little thing he does to me.
At first, the pleasure is manageable, as his fingers patiently unbutton my dress. The light touch of his hands and lips, so warm against my chilled skin, sends radiant pleasure through me. I pretend I am just trapped on my stomach, not trapped inside my body. I let my other senses expand to be receptive. I listen to his harsh breathing and try to smell him, the cologne that intoxicates me, his arousal. He kisses up the back of my thigh, and I feel a small ache begin to throb inside me.
When he licks down the crevice of my arse, desire batters under my skin. The small ache grows. There are sighs and moans inside me, but I can’t make a sound. I want to press back against him like I did with Livia, but I can’t move. Not when he wiggles his tongue into my asshole, sending luxurious heat through the inside of my body. And not when he turns me over and sucks my clit.
“Honey, you taste so good...”
The potion is not only clever, it is cruel. Its bondage complete and devious. My muscles can’t contract to give me an orgasm. But somehow tension still coils inside me, intensified by my stillness and silence, by denial. I never realized what release the faintest whimper could provide until all my power was taken away.
When he places my hand on the back of his skull and holds it there as he eats me... If I could have, I would have sobbed. To be able to touch him is so comforting. His hair is soft under my palm, like feathers. But I can’t run my fingers through it. This is how it always is. I struggle between small reliefs and growing frustration. It feels like promises made and broken.
He kisses me, his tongue flavored with the taste of my sweetened cunt. But I can’t kiss him back. I can see him now, gaze at the blur of his eyelids and pale eyelashes so near my face. But then he moves away and my head falls to the side, limp and heavy. I am left, as I so often am, to stare at the sheets and rely on my other senses.
With a thrill, I heard the rough slide of his zipper. My heart beats faster as I try to anticipate his next touch, searching out any rise in temperature near my skin. When he is suddenly before me, naked and beautiful, it is a surprise. His cock is right in my line of vision, long and thick and hard. He lets me touch it. He wraps my fingers around it. “Harder, baby,” he whispers, showing me how to please him. He likes to teach me, his innocent girl. His body is shaking. This is the only power I have, how much he desires me, how I can shatter his control.
He hasn’t lost himself yet, but he will soon. He knows this as he carefully arranges my body in the way he likes it before straddling my breasts. He tips up my chin, and for one glorious second, I can see his face clearly above me. So handsome. Sharp cheekbones and penetrating eyes. Then he moves his head and blocks the candlelight of the chandelier, creating a halo behind his white-blond hair and shadowing his face. I only see the gleam of his gray eyes now, his pale skin ghostly in the dark. I can tell by the rhythmic movement of his shoulder that he’s stroking his cock. He stops to open my mouth wide, creating what I imagined was a perfect ring.
Oh, yes...
I feel heat near my lips as he moves his cock closer. I can smell it - the salty, animal scent of male arousal. I want to stroke out my tongue, to lick him and suck him in deep, to split open his thighs with my fingernails. I want to give him the blow of his life. Instead, I just lay there with my mouth frozen open, like a cheap Muggle sex doll. He moves his hips, and I feel his balls caress my breasts. Softness brushes my lips as he slips the tip of his cock into my mouth. It rests, heavy, against my tongue. If I could have, I would have groaned with satisfaction.
Draco does make a sound, a sort of hiss. His head falls back, and I can see him again, in the flickering, gold candlelight. I see the masculine curve of his exposed throat, his mouth open in ecstasy, his eyes shut tight. Suddenly, he gasps and opens his eyes wide, looking down at me. He takes my head between his hands and pushes his cock deeper into my mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. Though he is half in shadow again, I can see his expression, a severity near obsession. He fills up my little mouth and starts pumping in and out of it, his cock sliding over my tongue. I feel like I might choke.
“Do you like it when I fuck your mouth? Do you like how I taste?” His hands move into my hair, gripping it hard, making the roots sting.
The ache in me, that had grown almost unbearable, finally cracks open and spreads inside me. The pain and heat that pulse through me now, it is like the pain and heat that radiate from an infected wound. As Draco’s control slips and he pounds into my mouth, I remember his aunt’s Crucio. That had been worse than this, of course. The pain of the Unforgiveable is pure and shocking, unbearable. But his potion, it tortures in more subtle ways. The longing and frustration, they become a twisting agony. My mind, of which I am so proud, is deconstructed into that of a simple beast. I can hardly form the primal thoughts that consume me.
Please fuck me. Please let me come.
“Want my cock inside your sweet, little cunt, baby girl? Tell me you do, baby. Please tell me I can fuck you.”
He begs me, pleads with me, as if I can refuse him. As if I can even answer. And then he is crying out and moving over me. My head falls back, a lock of hair covering my eyes, which stare up at the ceiling now. My mouth is still wide open. He throws my legs apart and slowly pushes his cock inside me, until it nudges the little web created by his potion. Without taking another breath, he snaps his hips forward, tearing through my false innocence and burying himself to the hilt.
He starts to move inside me immediately, pounding mercilessly. I can’t see him, but I can hear the slap of his skin against mine, his panting breaths. I feel an intense sweep of pleasure made brighter by pain every time his cock slams into me. He moves me to the hard rhythm of his strokes. My breasts bounce up and down. My arms flop uselessly against the sheets.
My silent entreaties are reduced to one word now. The kind of simple, raw, soul-deep litany that a mother prays to save the life of her baby.
Please, please, please...
My mind chants silently, every time Draco plunges into me.
His fucking grows wilder, his thrusts erratic. He’s breathing like a war horse now. I feel his sweat against our skin, glossing our stomachs and thighs. His body is jerking. I hear desperate sounds rising out of him, and I know he is close. He comes with a roar, surging so deeply into my body that he lifts my bottom up. My legs flop up and apart, in a grotesque parody of a lover’s lovely, grasping limbs. I fell his hot cum shoot inside me.
I imagine his head thrown back again, his magnificent throat, his mouth open, his eyes closed. His back would be arched, making a long, beautiful line of his body, golden light shining on his stomach and his chest. I wish I could see it all. This suspended moment, when for just one second, his body is frozen as rapture floods it.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I am filled with excruciating yearning.
Please, please, please, please, please... That word is all I am.
He groans, and I can feel his body being wracked by powerful shudders as bliss and relief flow through his muscles. He curses as he falls over me, barely lifted on one arm, his forehead on the pillow. His cock, now limp and wet, slips out of me and nestles into the narrow space between my cunt and one thigh. His hand lazily moves the hair out of eyes and closes my mouth. Normally, he would roll over then. He might even go pour a drink, while I lay here, tortured with longing. Sometimes, rarely, he doesn’t let me come at all. But tonight, he does something he’s never done before.
He rises up on his elbows above me, just out of sight, and wraps his hands firmly around my throat.
His fingers squeeze tight. Too tight. I can’t breathe. I think of black leather belts and white silk ribbons and I’m truly filled, for the first time in years, with the same sinister excitement I felt the night of the Yule Ball. I can’t fight. I can’t move or call for help. No one would rescue me even if I could. I stare up at the ceiling, helpless.
What’s he doing? The Vow... He’ll die, too.
Blackness is sucking away the edges of my vision. Thirty-nine seconds. I can only hold my breath for thirty-nine seconds in a swimming pool.
What have I done?
Draco moves slightly so that I can see his face above me. He gazes at me with mild curiosity, as if I’m some kind of strange animal he’s never seen before. It’s the way he looked at me when I detected the charm hiding his secret closet so many months ago. The hair falling over his brow is gold in the candlelight, his face sharply shadowed and as impassive as a painted angel’s. He’s not the man he was a moment ago. His control is back. His eyes are impenetrable.
“Granger,” he whispers.
The word releases me.
I feel a cracking sensation all over my body, as if a layer of dried mud is being peeled away from it. All the frantic sensations crashing inside me surge outward, burning the chill off my skin in a second. I twitch a finger. I blink. And then, in a shimmering rush, my body is mine again. I’m trembling and weeping. My muscles clench and shudder. I lose all control. I arch up against Draco, wrapping my legs around his hips. As his soft cock slips between my cunt lips, barely grazing my clit, the muscles deep inside my womb erupt with hot, violent contractions. My hands reach up wildly, grabbing onto Draco’s hard shoulders. I make a gurgling sound.
I can’t scream. He’s still choking me.
My vision bleaches from black to brightest white as I come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I loosen my grip on Granger’s throat when her eyes roll back in her head and her eyelids flutter shut. She is coming harder than she ever has before. I untangle myself from her and roll away, resting on one elbow as I watch her slender body twist and arch and writhe. One of her hands claws the air like it’s grasping for something. Her other hand finds her breast and squeezes it hard, so hard I see a little tear of blood run down her white skin. When her instincts tell her she can, she takes a great, shuddering breath and exhales it on a sob. Her climax goes on forever, shaking her, shaking the bed, perfuming the whole room with her delicious fragrance. I find it fascinating that she looked almost exactly like this when Aunt Bellatrix tortured her. When Granger finally collapses, all her strength is gone. She is unconscious.
I don’t usually want to fuck her so soon after the first time. But the sight of her orgasm made me hard. I push her over onto her stomach. She’s limp, and I smile at the thought of that. I lift her hips slightly and spread her legs. A murmured spell lubricates my hand. I stroke my cock until it’s shiny and then stare down at her. Her cunt is a mess, all wet and swollen, but her asshole... It’s tiny and pink and perfect. I hold her hips as I slide into its tight, agonizing grip. She pushes back against me with a moan. But she isn’t really awake. She’s dreaming. I release her hips and grab two, thick handfuls of her hair, wrapping them around my hands. I pull hard, using the glossy lengths as reins, as I begin to pound into her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of our time together on the weekends is spent pleasantly. We eat and drink wine. We play chess and other games. We fuck the way he likes and then, sometimes, the way I like. About half the time, Livia will make a house call to dress me again. In the end, it’s all his decision.
But I know this time together is an idyll. I know it can’t last.
I’m only here because of her.
Even if Draco wanted me beyond this game of ours, I couldn’t be with him. He isn’t a good man. He isn’t kind. He still believes, with all his heart, in the superiority of blood purity. I suspect he regrets becoming a Death Eater only because Voldemort was mad, not because his ideals were evil. I glance at the faded mark that twists up Draco’s left forearm and then glance away.
I think my heart will break when I can’t have this anymore, when I have to search for something new to fulfill me. I want to find everything I need in one person, but I don’t know if I can.
When we do part, Draco will find another girl to satisfy his desires. Livia will help him. The girl will surely be younger than me. Perhaps prettier. With large eyes, a small mouth and flawless skin. But it takes more than possessing a certain beauty to be exactly what he wants. There is bravery in true submission, and I am brave. I will make it so good for him that I’ll ruin him for all others. I don’t want him to be happy with them. My envious heart demands it.
“Stop thinking so hard, Granger,” Draco says. “You’ll give yourself a wrinkle.”
I have just sucked his cock, and we are lying in his bed, our bare feet intertwined. I am reading a book. I blink and smile at him before returning to my chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wish there was a way we could be together forever. No one else will ever match her. I know this. But I can’t marry a Mudblood. My father had his throat slashed in a salt-soaked prison for his beliefs. He taught me well. And Granger is still virtuous despite her proclivities. Virtuous, proud and jealous. She would never commit adultery. She would never submit to being my mistress. She would never share me with another.
And then there is the inevitable matter of Time... Polyjuice could give us a few more years, if she would agree to it. But she won’t. She wants to have children. I see her dark eyes glow tenderly when she speaks of them. I want children, too. Pure children.
If I could change one thing in the world, I wouldn’t bring my father back. I wouldn’t erase my Dark Mark. I wouldn’t have my enemies destroyed. I would simply change her blood.
It’s a wasteful thought. Rationally, I know there’s no future for us.
But in quiet times like this, when I’m warm and my body shimmers softly with bliss, when I have beautifully defiled her and her delicate throat wears a necklace of my bruises, my heart seizes with longing.
And I think, quite irrationally, that perhaps there is a way. That perhaps, with magic, I could find a way to keep Hermione with me always.
“Stop thinking, Draco,” Granger says. “You’ll give yourself a wrinkle.” She puts down her book and leans forward to stroke the worry on my brow.
I turn toward her, gently touch her bare knee and whisper, “Hermione.”
Very soon, the last drops of my potion in her blood will respond to the word.
She lies down, obedient, in the position I like. Her eyes only turn from mine at the very last second, becoming blank and beautiful.
Magic takes away her power to move or speak, gives me complete control, makes her my sweet and supple beauty again, my most beloved possession...
My doll.
THE END
Author’s Notes:
Malacissofors:
The spell that transfigured a leather belt into a ribbon in Chapter Two was invented for this story. Malacisso is Latin for “to render soft or supple, to soften, make pliable” (from latinlexicon.org.)
I also like the definition of supple for this story’s purposes for various reasons.
Supple:
1. Bending readily without breaking or becoming deformed; pliant; flexible: a supple bough.
2. Characterized by ease in bending; limber; lithe: supple movements.
3. Characterized by ease, responsiveness, and adaptability in mental action.
4. Compliant or yielding.
5. Obsequious; servile.
(from dictionary.com)
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Date: 2012-01-30 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 12:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-30 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 03:39 am (UTC)That was the most beautifully written, wholly disturbing story I have ever read in this fandom. I don't even know what to say but holy fuck.
You win.
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Date: 2012-01-31 12:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-30 03:44 am (UTC)I also love all the things supple can be. Bending, movement, ease, yielding and servile. Hermione is all these things for him and it just makes this story work.
I don't normally read this pairing, it normally doesn't work for me but I was very intrigued by the mention of a doll. I enjoyed this very much, very well-crafted.
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Date: 2012-01-31 12:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-30 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 06:44 am (UTC)And I think, quite irrationally, that perhaps there is a way. That perhaps, with magic, I could find a way to keep Hermione with me always.
This line gave me the chills. Draco cannot go back from this obsession. He has wanting this for over a decade and is finally living his fantasy and there is no way he'll give up that control. I see him figuring out a way to make the potion last and keep her forever, regardless of when he marries.
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Date: 2012-01-31 12:40 am (UTC)You picked out the line. That's the line for me in the story, too. I am normally all for happily ever afters, but I don't think it could ever happen here. She should run. I thought she was smarter than that.
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Date: 2012-01-30 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 12:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-30 09:21 am (UTC)OMG.
This may be the most disturbing thing I've ever read. It should not be this arousing.
And I think, quite irrationally, that perhaps there is a way. That perhaps, with magic, I could find a way to keep Hermione with me always.
Chills, man. CHILLS.
Considering that I usually despise both Draco/Hermione and creepy!fic, this was... dlfkhjleifhj. Unf.
I seriously don't know what to say.
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Date: 2012-01-31 12:53 am (UTC)As with bunney's comment above - this makes me disturbingly proud. Thank you!
I'm glad to hear you liked this when you normally wouldn't because of the pairing/genre.
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Date: 2012-01-30 12:50 pm (UTC)I like that you managed to create something like affection between them, but that you didn't twist their characters. Draco isn't magically prejudice-free and Hermione isn't suddenly in love with Pureblood traditions.
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Date: 2012-01-31 01:04 am (UTC)Regarding character, my husband laughs at the heroic, often good/redeemed Draco that fandom has collectively created, who is nothing like the rotten, cowardly little git JKR created. Husband doesn't understand why we would write about a character but change him so radically. Duh, because he's freakin' hot (at least in fandom!)
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Date: 2012-01-30 02:02 pm (UTC)The fact that if Draco would change one thing, it would be Hermione's blood...this broke my heart. It's so creepy, and so tragic.
I <3 this in about a million different ways. You're awesome.
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Date: 2012-01-31 01:14 am (UTC)I liked the line about changing Hermione's blood, too. There is just no hope for these two.
Now that I'm done writing this long-ass B, I need to go read some Kinkfest fiction, including yours.
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Date: 2012-01-30 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-30 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 01:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-31 07:04 am (UTC)I have to honestly say that I have never been so compelled to know the ending of a story before. I literally couldn't put this one down until I got to the very last word. This twisted, touching story moved me in so many ways. Perhaps most obvious was that it showcased a bunch of fetishes that, quite honestly, both creeped me, as well as educated me.
Primarily, I'd never have consider a Sex-Doll fetish scenario for Draco... and yet, you make it fit. His upbringing under Lucius' thumb as canon describes could lend itself towards unhealthy fascinations in puberty and adulthood (i.e. the entitled, snobbish attitudes, the proclivity for maliciousness and viciousness, the concept of marrying only a "pure" woman, etc.). Draco's obsession with purity/virginity and perfection in his partner are clearly unrealistic expectations. His aggressive dominance is a symptom of his frustration over recognizing that truth. Hence the reason he is attracted to 'taboo' or 'fringe' behaviour (choking, humiliating his partner, rough sex).
Hermione's desire to be subjugated was difficult for me to reason, honestly. I'm still not sure I fully understand her reasons for wanting to be hurt and humiliated. What event in her childhood framed her for such a shift, so that by the time she was 14-15 at the Yule Ball, she was into craving a little darkness with her sex? I feel like I missed something there. Perhaps I just need to re-read the story again to peg it.
As for the overall plot, I have to admit I longed for an HEA all the way through, even though I knew such a thing would be impossible given the way you'd written these two characters. At their core, you made the both of them twin pessimists/fatalists. They were so very hopeless. What I mean is, neither of them believes true love is in the cards for them, although both of them seem to wish for it with all their might - with each other. Their resignation to that fact saddened me to the point where I actually teared up there at the end.
It's funny, but in retrospect, you succeeded in getting me to empathize with D & Hr's personal longings. I absorbed the characters' desperation for a happier ending between them, and made it my own. Clever, author. Very clever.
Overall, beautifully written, poignant, and quite a mind- and heart-bender. I am simply awed by your talent, dearest author. I'm putting this one in my favourites and giving you one really big "10". WELL DONE. *applaudes*
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Date: 2012-01-31 02:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-01-31 08:33 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-01-31 08:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 12:04 am (UTC)You da winner, gurL. This was so fantastic and chilling and I felt like I was watching a movie because it was just so descriptive. I love all the in-action and how constricting the stillness was. I am reminded that I am alive. OMG, I loved loved LOVED part one. I enjoyed it more only because of all the secrecy and how it further fetishized Draco's obsession with Dolls.
And ugh, Hermione. She was to die for. When she was toying with Draco during the Yule Ball, I was like "why didn't I do shit like that when I was younger?" I love how she acquiesced and how she kept the collar/collar.
Eesh. I want to say more, but know that you've opened my mind. :D
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Date: 2012-02-01 12:29 am (UTC)Thank you so much for your nice comments - I'm happy you liked it. Also glad you liked Part 1 - the not so kinky part. That's always a good sign for a story. :)
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Date: 2012-02-01 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-03 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-04 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-05 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-05 03:33 pm (UTC)I found the story in itself very well written, and I thought it had something different, something that I hadn't seen or felt before. I became really engrossed in it, wanting to see how their arrangement played out. The potions were an interesting touch.
I already find china dolls rather disturbing, and I don't think I will side-eye them any less because of this;)
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Date: 2012-02-06 02:41 am (UTC)Thank you so much for such a great comment! I am flattered. The potion was a lot of fun to think through, deciding what elements of other HP magic to use and how the it would effect Hermione inwardly and outwardly, the trigger words. I'm glad you liked it.
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Date: 2012-02-09 07:12 pm (UTC)I love the strength of Draco's needs, how much a part of him they are, and how Hermione is drawn to that. But he's still who he is and can't be anyone else, and Hermione knows that. I like how slowly you let their relationship build, the negotiation so much a part of the act itself -- more powerful than marriage, indeed! This is such a great melding of the realities of power exchange and the new possibilities opened up by a magical world. I fully believe this is how some wizards would do kink.
I want to find everything I need in one person, but I don’t know if I can.
Oh, Hermione, you can! This line really hit me hard, because it's so true to the worries that we kinky folk often have -- will I ever find someone I can *be* with as well as play with?
Amazing work. Thanks for this.
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Date: 2012-02-10 02:59 am (UTC)I like your comments about power exchange and negotiation. All those scenes came out of Hermione's need to protect herself with the Vow, and at some point, I thought about cutting them. Happy I didn't now.
I also like that the story moved you, in respect to finding a person you can *be* with as well as play with. While reading through Kinkfest fics, I am most drawn to the kink stories that are also true love stories, where fulfillment of "strange" desires leads to complete acceptance and belonging and love. Evidence to the contrary, I'm a sucker for happily ever afters.
Thanks again. :)
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Date: 2012-02-11 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-11 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-14 05:24 am (UTC)Also, the line that got me was the last five words here:
"As I eat her, I take her hand and place it on the back of my head, holding it there so it won’t fall back onto the bed, lax as a slit wrist."
A perfect miniturization of the death, violence and passivity that pervades the story.
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Date: 2012-03-14 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-14 06:15 pm (UTC)By the way, the switching point of views make for a brilliant progression into despair and bliss (blissful despair?).
This story made me think a lot, but also down right vowed me as far as pretty goes. Just. Ugh. The aesthetics are killing me. Dolls don't do much for me, but fabrics, colors and staging do. I am completely enthralled with your pristine visuals and unrelenting sense-assaults.
Considering the dark tone that consistently shades the story, I'm quite happy with how unresolved you left things. The hopelessness didn't feel like a result but more like a unwavering constant of their dynamic.
Fabulous story-telling!
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Date: 2012-09-15 03:38 am (UTC)I also like the Unbreakable Vow. Hermione thinks she's protected by it. I wonder if she really is.
Thank you for reading!