The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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8-7-09 F


Hugs to all my reviewers. I'm enjoying your comments and truly appreciate the time you spend giving me feedback. Thank you!!

Some answers to last chapter's comments:


Liagiba84 – Not coherent, hunh? I have an extra drool rag if you need one.

jw – Just think – you could differentiate between Lucius and Ron in the dark by touch alone. Unfortunately, Lucius has been without sex for quite a while and was looking forward to his wedding night with high expectations. To discover Hermione was so small was crushing to him and she felt his temper. At least she wasn’t cowed by him like Narcissa would have been. I hope you like this next chapter, but maybe not. They aren’t exactly lovebirds yet.

BeaBibliophile – I detect ambivalence from you about Lucius’ technique on his wedding night. In truth, there really wasn’t much of it. He was too anxious to get started and being balked of his objective in such a way was a shock to him. His temper took a nosedive. Hermione on the other hand had little or no experience of intense sex coming into her wedding night. The sensations were overwhelmingly erotic to her untried body, but she rose to the occasion (or maybe that was Lucius). She shows great promise of ultimately matching Lucius’ ideal in a bed partner.

Scary Bear Hair - Hermione is beginning to learn about sex and the ways it makes her feel. Her curious nature is perfect for trying out her new impulses on Lucius’ willing body. Thank you for the lovely compliments, Scary. I’m honored to have them come from you.

HarryGinny4eva – You want a Lucius sent to you? You can pay shipping, but I’ll do the handling LOL.

Snapes_Goddess – I admit I have more fun with alliteration than I should and ‘titillating tool’ is on a par with a bad pun, you groan, but grin. Hermione isn’t finished scoring Lucius’ skin, but she’s still convinced he’s a one-dimensional Death Eater alum. She’s young and idealistic. Real life will have its effect – for both of them. You’re right that her heart is not engaged and neither is his. And yes, they are both very stubborn.

VoraciousReader – I hope your RL is better now; I’m sorry to hear it was nasty for awhile. Yes, Lucius warned Hermione, but she often thinks she knows everything. This time it wasn’t so. I’ve read other stories where Ron’s appendage hung to his knees. I decided to lower his average LOL.

Pittwitch – Lucius had an enlargement right along with Hermione’s increased knowledge base. I agree, I would never turn off the lights and miss the view. Glad you liked the lemons!

Rini – I’m laughing – a tiny, naked, pine-scented Lucius car freshener. Head banging can’t be good for your studies. But your procrastination is good for me – yay! Lucius made you all tingly? Yeah, me, too.

T Stevenson - For all Lucius is a little mellowed, he’s basically always going to be more predator than pussycat. He hadn’t been with anyone for awhile so Hermione’s massaging hands were wreaking hell on his stamina. Lucius’ reputation is part of the plot. More later. He did not play Narcissa false, except for any of Voldemort’s commands. Hermione has a major flaw in her insatiable curiosity and need to know everything. This time she learned more than she wanted. I don’t think that is going to stop her from reacting against Lucius, though. Yeah, Lucius got the ‘short end of the stick’ that night. She almost strangled his poor member. Lucius is handing out bath towels if you need one from your hosing off…

Jesse – I’d sing “Happy 100th” to you, but that would be punishment, not a prize. Instead the chapter will have to stand as your gift. I’m very glad you liked it. Morning after coming up. Hermione’s first – aborted- partner was Ron. Hmm, maybe I didn’t overtly say that. Apologies. I’m only on chapter one of my next story so I have a ways to go. Theme is under wraps.

Opheliaxx – Ooh, I’m happy to have earned a ‘fave’ story from you. Thanks! The humor always creeps in, even in the midst of hot and heavy sex. Well, sometimes that’s the best kind. And I think Hermione would agree about the Chihuahua part.

Rainie – You’re right – the “I’m sorry” was for his painful bedding of her. He might have taken a little more time, but she’d been pretty mean to him all week. Still, his conscience bothered him that he’d hurt his wife. Malfoys are all about keeping family safe so it didn’t sit well.

Femme Bono – I’m laughing at your reading of Lucius’ wonky wand being a euphemism for a middle-aged wizard’s willie. I didn’t mean it to be so. I just wanted him not to have it all his own way. But your interpretation is even better (not that I could do that to poor Lucius; it would give him terrible performance anxiety). Snigger.

blue artemis – Lucius has the erotic expertise gathered from his bachelor days before Narcissa, his reluctant duties as a Death Eater, and as a lonely single after his divorce. He and Narcissa had quite a decent sex life, too, albeit she was a little too submissive for his tastes. I’m glad you like the smut ‘cause it’s scattered throughout the story.

Linstock – I didn’t mean to be hard on lurkers. It’s really curiosity, wondering who all the readers are. I’m proud to know I send some into hyperventilation! I am lucky that you choose to add a review. Hugs. Ooh, I do like the Snape Narcissa pairing, too. They clicked for me. I think I see your blush from the last chapter LOL. Both the numbing ointment and the Malfoy library have their parts to play.

Mrsfloyd – Thank you; I am happy you like this story so far. Hermione is going to learn a whole new world of sex at Lucius’ hands…and mouth and… Plot will emerge in a while.

lemonade8 – I couldn’t really crush Hermione like Petruchio did to Kate. For me it is enough to have them fighting a war with words. Hermione is a little warrior after all.

dark_samira – I see I’ve tongue-tied you to the max, hunh? LOL

aliciana – I am happy to accept the ‘incredibly maturely written’ comment as a lovely compliment. Thank you!

Anon – I wouldn’t be surprised if Snape and Lucius hadn’t collaborated on a subtle scent that ratchets up one’s libido. Before his marriage, Snape might have worn it to those dark Muggle nightclubs. I always thought Snape must have had a profitable potions business on the side. Yes, Lucius is even cute as a… an ogre? Mini-troll?

Citten – I appreciate all your detailed comments on Lucius’ and Hermione’s belated wedding night. It wasn’t the best wedding night, but perhaps promising for their future, huh? They’ve got a ways to go first.

lilbitbord - My son was screaming in the background, too, but he was remonstrating with his fellow online players on the Halo video game LOL. I hope your little guy is okay.

Lilashannah – Don’t worry – Lucius will be naked again later. Severus is twined throughout the story, but it’s primarily a Lumione.

abbeysmum - There’s no fear that Lucius and Hermione will suddenly become sweethearts fawning all over each other. Bickering will definitely continue; only the amplitude will change as they get to know one another better.

alecto – I think sex and Lucius in the same chapter would make anyone’s day. Glad it made yours.


Slight warning - a bit of minor kink coming up...well, it's minor to me.


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Chapter Ten

Green Legs and...Wham!

Three hours later Lucius was rudely awakened by a flurry of sharp stings on his uncovered buttocks. Drugged with satiation from his first sex in a long, long time he didn’t come awake all at once, and it gave him a few brief seconds of reprieve to understand that he was under attack by someone who had no real strength in their whacks. Yes, the blows hurt, and yes, he wasn’t going to allow it to go on for very long, but one quick glance from gray, slitted eyes told him that he was just getting a volatile payback by his unhappy wife for his unavoidable initiation of her into her wifely duties.

He chuckled to himself – she was using her wand to hit him when he had a drawer full of better implements in his room. It also was apparent that she was silently crying – that brought the newly married wizard up short. His little witch wasn’t enjoying the kinky exercise the way he was.

If she were smacking his bum for mutual erotic pleasure, it would have been perfect. His cock was already as hard as a petrificus totalis spell from the strikes. But she was distressed; he didn’t want that. Someday, when she learned that an edge of pain gave great dividends in sex, he would introduce it to her slowly and if she liked it maybe she would do this for him. For tonight he wanted to comfort her. She had provided intense satisfaction for him and he had given her pleasure, too, but he knew she was frightened; she’d lost control of her own body to him in two massive orgasmic releases that she had never experienced before. Discovering his power over her physically was probably freaking her out, fierce little creature that she was. Lucius took solace from the fact that she could have Crucio’d him as he slept. Instead she’d chosen to inflict only minor pain on a place that could withstand her anger. There was some hope.

“Wake up, you great lump!” she cried, wiping away tears. “Wake up and get out. I want you to leave.”

Lucius turned very slowly so he didn’t spook her and sat up, gently taking her wand from her shaking hand and drawing her into his arms. “Shhh, sprite, shh,” he rocked her much as he had the first night she had come to his home. The effect was soothing and familiar and after very little resistance, Hermione abruptly burrowed further into his arms, hiccupping, then collapsing against him. “It hurts…there, Lucius. You hurt me. You hurt me,” she whispered, her face in his chest.

“Shh,” he crooned in a soft, velvety voice, “I know, sprite, I know. I’m sorry it hurts.” They sat quietly for some minutes as Hermione calmed down and finally emitted a gusty sigh. Taking that as a signal, Lucius said, “I have some numbing cream. Shall I get it?” At her nod, Lucius moved with tender deliberation off the bed and crossed their suites into his bathroom, returning with the cream. When she reached for it, he offered, “I’ll apply it for you if you like.” His smile had a soupçon of puckish intent.

Hermione was tired and sore and upset and didn’t want this despoiler anywhere near her privates, but she was also naked and hesitant to get out of the bed to walk nude to her bathroom door, nor did she want to apply the cream to herself in front of him.

Her dilemma was obvious to Lucius who waited, perching on the foot of the bed for her decision, but slyly not offering to fetch her a robe. Surprisingly, she lay down and said, “Do it under the covers.” Then she closed her eyes.

“Hermione,” Lucius explained kindly, “the application needs to be pinpoint. You do not want this cream slathered all over your nether region, believe me.”

“Why not?” she asked plaintively. “It hurts all over.”

“No, it doesn’t. It just feels that way, but it hurts only in one small place. Let me fix it for you. I can see to do the job and you can’t. Allow me to make better what I strained with my size…please?” Lucius gave her an appealing, compassionate look and she frowned in confusion.

“What will happen if I get it all over?” A sliver of curious Hermione peeped out at the wizard and his eyes crinkled with regretful humor.

“You won’t be able to feel anything down there for a few hours and you’ll essentially be incontinent because you won’t have any feeling in your…erm, eliminatory exits.” Now Lucius pinkened.

“You mean I won’t be able to feel myself pee or…or… eww, anything?” She pondered that unwelcome news for a moment, then threw back the covers. “You do it. And don’t mess it up,” she ordered, turning on her side, away from her husband with her knees bent toward her chest in a small ball.

His little witch’s sang froid was returning and Lucius ruefully realized her short spate of needing him was at an end. He covered his little finger with a tissue and put some cream on it and went around to the other side of the bed to face her. Gently he pried one small feminine knee up, finding the slightly reddened opening that was causing Hermione’s pain. “Don’t move,” he admonished and quickly applied the cream to the precise spot, rubbing it on the stretched circle so it wouldn’t smear elsewhere. “There. Does that feel better?” Lucius put the cap back on the cream and laid it on the nightstand, then sat on the side of the bed.

His avuncular attentions were at odds with the fierce erection sprouting from his lap, but Hermione seemed oblivious. Lucius looked at her peaked, tear-stained face. Well, well - no, she wasn’t oblivious; the little mischief-maker was staring at his snake like it was the author of all her ills, but her prurient side was present, too.

Unfortunately, he didn’t want that numbing cream touching his cock either, so he sighed and said, “Move over, I want to go back to sleep,” Lucius pressed on her knees and the little witch scooted backward allowing him to spread out beside her on the mattress. “Sleep now,” he said quietly, and Hermione sighed and was dead asleep in seconds, wrung out from the unaccustomed emotions.

~~~~~~~

In the event, Lucius forgot all about Hermione’s sharp fingernails until it was once again too late. Just before dawn, Lucius woke her up with the delicate delving of his fingers spelunking her now barely sore, moist cave, totally ignoring her whiny protests, which turned quickly into encouraging moans as he once again found her hidden treasure trove of nerves bundled for their mutual pleasure. She was tossed over her orgasmic cliff quickly and then mounted for a second pummeling ride that ended in exquisite rapture for both, but additional butt scratches for him.

When he knew for certain Hermione was deeply asleep, Lucius crept from the bed and retrieved the numbing ointment to tend to his now-burning rear in her bathroom mirror. Those butt scratches and welts felt almost as bad as a solid spanking and he knew whereof he spoke - he had not always been the one wielding the palm prints. His tiny wife never woke when he delicately applied some more of the ointment to her stretched channel, but her contented sigh in her sleep signaled her body’s thanks for the relief.

That morning Hermione thankfully returned to her own research work, quietly exiting her bedroom while Lucius was still sound asleep, doing her best not to ogle his nude form sprawled on her bed. She didn’t see Lucius again until the evening meal, which she mumbled through in shy confusion. Sharing the dinner table with the handsome, self-possessed wizard, knowing what he had done to her was incredibly embarrassing, not to mention what she had been seduced into doing to him, rubbing his butt like it was Aladdin’s lamp hoping for a genie to appear.

She quietly sniggered into her dinner napkin – a genie had certainly appeared, wearing a crimson cap, and it had thrown off a whole lot more than smoke. She hadn’t had much chance to touch him there before he had taken over and pounded her body into gratified repletion – twice - but she was now interested in what else her new marriage bed could offer. Not that she was going to mention that little detail to her husband.

His murmured corrections on table etiquette barely made a dent as she self-consciously looked anywhere but at him. The meal was punctuated by Hermione’s constant squirmy adjustments as she tried to find a way to sit that didn’t make her nether region ache. She hadn’t dared to add more cream herself and she didn’t want to ask Lucius again.

Her spouse was smart enough not to mention her fidgeting, but he enjoyed her discomfiture. If he hadn’t applied the numbing ointment to them both, she’d have been in even more pain; with his bloody butt furrows and dark pink stripes, he was fighting the urge to fidget, too, so his sympathy was minimal.



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The following days were uneven in quality as Lucius allowed both Hermione’s body and her shyness to recover from her sexual initiation. Lucius spent a great deal of time on his financial affairs, growing touchier as the following week wore on, both from his investment problems and his thwarted desire to have more sex. She hadn’t been in bed when he’d finally awakened late the next morning after their belated wedding night and her defection after their first night together unaccountably hurt.

Hermione retreated to her sitting room for a large part of each day to avoid the embarrassment of socializing with the man she had been groping so uninhibitedly. Dinners morphed from Hermione’s initial mortified mime imitation to the more normal battleground where a tradition-bound, formal wizard and an awkward witch began fighting again over everything from drips on the gravy boat to the right way to fold a napkin in one’s lap. Somehow, arguing was easier to do than beginning any real relationship and both embraced it.

Lucius picked at the numerous shortcomings of Hermione’s middle class upbringing, trying to steer her into his more status-conscious way of life and his standards of superiority, while in retaliation, Hermione deliberately stepped on as many of Lucius’ Pureblood toes as possible with her precisely aimed acts of gaucherie at the dining table and her unbridled tongue.

She had a positive genius for identifying and slicing Lucius’ cherished traditions and his heritage to itty, bitty shreds, reminiscing fondly about his political disasters, gloating over his financial reverses and most of all, puncturing his ego. If he wasn’t under fire for his old-fashioned uptight dress code, he was defending his treatment of his elves or fuming at his wife’s unsubtle digs at the miniscule laugh lines by his eyes.

What he had to laugh about in his new marriage was a mystery to him what with the constant bombardment of her sharp tongue whenever he made an effort to help ease her way into his stratum of society through his stodgy instruction.

~~~~~

Two weeks into their marriage and one week after his invasion of her bedroom naked, Lucius finally reached the end of his patience. He had been waiting for both their bodies and their hot tempers to heal, but his rampant libido now overrode any care for Hermione’s sore entrance or feelings. She hadn’t been deserving of his care anyway with her wicked tongue and cruel aspersions on his laugh lines.

His temper was starting to fray around the edges, sitting with her at meals and dithering whether to throw her onto her back amid the mashed potatoes or to cast a muting spell on her. He considered that doing both had tempting possibilities. His multiple, growled warnings to ‘be still’ when he’d reached the end of his tolerance reined her in for shorter and shorter periods of silence until she hardly let up at all. When she labeled him a Pureblood throwback to the Dark Ages, with an emphasis on ‘dark’, he had had enough. More drastic measures were called for. Lucius made some plans.

~~~~

That evening an elf delivered a strange summons to Hermione saying she had to go to Lucius’ bedroom door in one hour and handed Hermione a mid-sized box, then disappeared. She shook the box and heard a muffled thump, then placed it on the bed’s counterpane. Curious, she opened the lid and pushed aside the tissue paper obscuring the contents.

Hermione dropped the lid and stepped back with a whispered, “No.” Her voice gained in volume and she shouted, “NO!!” Hermione swiped the box with her arm sending it flying across the room. The contents spilled out and lay on the floor mutely telling her what was in store for her that evening. Lucius wasn’t getting mad at her week’s vituperation, he was getting even.

Three things had fallen out onto the floor. All were dark green in color, and all were in her size: a silky, see-through shortie robe and belt that would come only to the tops of her thighs, and a tiny lace thong, both of which he had promised he wanted in her wardrobe. But worst of all was a leather collar with small rings attached to the outer side. My Gods, he hadn’t been fooling about his plans for her wardrobe. The thin robe wouldn’t keep a single secret Hermione owned, while the thong wasn’t much better. But what worried her terribly was the collar. What on earth was that for?

Hermione belatedly noticed the rolled piece of parchment that must have been in the box with the green items. She picked it up knowing she wasn’t going to like what was written on it.

Dear wife,

I understand from your behavior this past week that you prefer our relationship to be adversarial rather than congenial. Therefore, from now on I will revert to my normal behavior and treat you as I would have treated any other chance-met woman for sex. Wear the items in the box and come to my door at nine. If you do not, I will escalate and believe me, you do not want that.

L.

The ‘L’ was in a large, sloping, heavy script that intimidated her just by its thick, black snakey curves. What did all that mean? He would have treated any other woman the same? Would he have made them wear a collar? Had Narcissa worn a collar? Was it why she divorced him? Hermione shivered in her warm, cozy room, the green pieces vengefully making their master’s will known as they lay strewn on the carpet.

Hermione paced her room, back and forth, until it was a mere ten minutes before she had to appear at her husband’s door wearing the hateful green garments defiling her bedroom floor. She had severely underestimated her husband’s behavior, relegating him to ineffectual because he had been so pompously courteous and formal in the face of her finest efforts at scurrilous commentary.

Those offensive items on the floor weren’t formal. They weren’t even normal. They were nothing short of vulgar and bizarre and Hermione began to be afraid of the man she realized she should have feared from the outset.

Now scared for her well-being, Hermione tried to calm down and decide if she should flout her husband’s command or play along. She approached the peculiar trio and lifted up the floaty robe first. She could easily see her hand through the thin, slinky material. She threw it and the thong on the bed. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt just to try them on.

Shuddering with what she told herself was fear, Hermione slipped out of her own clothing, ran a quick, thorough cleaning spell over herself, picked up the little thong before she could change her mind and stepped into it. A perfect fit, if a good fit meant something that barely covered her pudendum and slid between her butt cheeks causing a strange sensation down the middle of her privates.

Hermione felt embarrassed and strangely decadent at the same time. She quickly donned the little robe, trying to cover up what couldn’t be covered. Her wand she tucked into the band of her thong, the robe belt being too slippery. There wasn’t any other place for her to wear her wand and she wasn’t going into Lucius’ bedroom unarmed if he was angry with her.

Last, she approached the circle of green leather lying malevolently on the floor. Bending down, she threaded a finger through one of the metal circles and raised it to look more closely at the horrible object, which was about the width of her thumb. Dare she refuse to wear this and hope wearing the other two parts would be enough?

As she pondered the extent of her bravado, the clock on the desk chimed the hour and Hermione squeaked in alarm, panicked at the time. She quickly unbuckled the band, slipped it around her throat and rebuckled the leather. She felt the leather catch magically and realized she probably couldn’t get it off herself, but she was now late. Running for her door, she skittered across her sitting room, ran through his and knocked on the door to his bedroom.

Before she had time to retreat in terror, the door swung open.

“You are one minute late,” her husband said.

Hermione barely heard him – she was staring at a stranger. Where was the elegant, well-dressed man she had always known? Where was the naked one? This man whose height always made her feel like a garden gnome, was dressed almost as bizarrely as she. Hermione looked down and saw his feet were bare and somehow that comforted her where the rest of his outfit brought out cold goose bumps on her skin.

He was wearing thin leggings of dark green leather slung low on his hips and molded to those long, masculine legs she had massaged, but there the similarities ended. Those tightly molded leather leggings, designed to leave little to the imagination, signaled the exact proportions of his member at rest and the soft sac below. This was what he wore for other women? Lucius certainly wasn’t wasting any Galleons on underwear. Neither was he looking forward to her presence in his bedroom if his slumbering sex was any indication.

As he turned to allow Hermione entrance to his bedroom, the back of him came into view displaying those beautifully curved, masculine buttocks she remembered so fondly that matched the intriguingly large, if flaccid bulges of the front. That part she didn’t remember quite as fondly.

Hermione forgot about her own scanty attire as she cataloged the male attributes in that green leather. She didn’t know whether to flee or find out what exactly all that green leather was a symbol for, but Lucius’ strange apparel didn’t end there.

Twin, ten-centimeter long, green leather wristguards wrapped his wrists and part of his forearms, just like the black ones he had worn before, but these had small rings attached. He had two sets of wristguards? He wasn’t wearing any type of shirt at all.

Hermione tossed her husband a sullen pout and entered his bedroom. On top of all the other emotions roiling in her, she was disgusted to know that the damned thong wasn’t sopping up any of her sudden reaction to that virile male body. She clutched her useless robe to her chest trying to minimize the view of her breasts, but Lucius hadn’t seemed interested in her outfit, anyway. Why had he made her wear the stupid gear if he wasn’t responsive to its effect? She glumly concluded she wasn’t even attractive to him in this outré collection of oddities he’d given her to wear.

That capped Hermione’s gloomy mood and she stood disconsolately waiting for whatever Lucius had in mind for the evening. Well, who cares! she decided. She hadn’t wanted his regard anyway. All he really wanted was a Gryffindor heroine’s financial entree into the Ministry profits that were eluding him, a bed warmer, and babies. That freaked her out enough without wanting to explore any more intimate venues with the tall, blond sorcerer. She shuddered at the future she had been thrust into – a Malfoy child calling her mother. In a thousand years she could never have come up with that scenario for her life.

As Lucius moved around her into the room, Hermione belatedly saw what she had missed before. It had been obscured under the curtain of his hair and she hadn’t been looking at his face in any case. Lucius was wearing the same type of collar as hers.

A spark of curiosity lightened her spirit as she perked up a bit. Curiosity was her guiding light and besetting sin and it wasn’t any different that night as she stood in the bedroom of the man who was her husband and who would soon be reacquainting himself with her, inside and out.

Lucius drew in a contented breath. Oh, how good it felt to be wearing his play clothes again, not that there was much to them. And with a witch who made him feel perfectly happy to work her over. She wasn’t interested in him, took every opportunity to make him feel undesirable and ancient and hadn’t once expressed any gratitude for all the things she had been given as his wife. Her future was set and it was time for her to quit sulking. If she continued pouting he was going to give her something to pout about. Tonight she would be paying something down on her overdue account.

To give her some credit she hadn’t been at all greedy, except with the Malfoy library tomes he had owned literally forever and which hadn’t cost him a Knut to purchase for her. But give her time, he thought. She would come to the realization that all his lovely money was now at her disposal and her tune would change. She would just be making a small advance payment tonight for her slander and her future hand in his pocket. Lucius grinned inside, careful to keep his face neutral for the morose little witch. Perhaps she’d have her hand on a bit more than his wallet this evening. She had touched him voluntarily once before and he was hoping she would repeat her success.

He watched her venture timidly into his bedroom, as well she should, he gloated. If she had any but the vaguest inkling of his plans she’d be slamming out of his room posthaste. Poor naïve little Gryffindor up against a Slytherin master. At least she had given some homage to his body – he didn’t think there was a square centimeter of it she’d missed in her perusal. Except possibly his face.

It had been troublesome trying to keep his own eyes from the delights of what her robe and thong were auspiciously failing to hide and it was definitely a good thing he had done a glamour on the front of his leggings to appear flaccid. It was far from reality and Lucius inwardly winced, both in pain and irritation. He didn’t like having such a strong, stiff effort trying to break its way out of the front of his binding green leather because of her. The damned thing was getting strangled in his groin. Had he gained a little weight since he had worn these pants before? Impossible. So it must be the little witch doing it to him.

“Tonight,” he began, drawing his wife’s attention belatedly to his face, “we will entertain each other in bed, and I fully intend to make it so, however, first I wish to address your lack of respect for me as your husband.”

Lucius wanted to proceed carefully in order to keep the control in his hands. It wouldn’t do at all with this witch to show even a modicum of interest in her physical attributes and she really did have a lovely shape. He wished she would quit clutching her robe so tightly so he could see her breasts. Ah, well, all in good time.

“Perhaps in the Muggle households wives routinely denigrate their husbands for fun,” his features and stance sent a shiver of fear lancing down Hermione’s spine; he was so severe. The angelic smile he’d gifted her with the week before was definitely missing tonight. “That behavior will not be tolerated here.” Lucius pinned her with his icy eyes and gave her his best Big, Bad Death Eater impression. They could have had a good time with this, but tonight it had to be about balancing the scales of power between them – she couldn’t flout his authority and show disrespect with impunity.

“I have decided on a punishment for your demeaning behavior toward me all week which I will administer before we move on to our union.” He reached for her wand and slipped it out from beneath the band of her thong before she could get over her shock at his announcement.

Hermione heard that oily, supercilious voice he used when he was dissatisfied with her and she snapped out of her funk in a hurry, “Punishment? You’re not allowed to administer any punishment. I’m your wife, not your house elf.” She muttered, “although at least they don’t have to sleep with you.”

Lucius gazed frigidly at his fuming mate, “Another malicious barb, madam? Perhaps you should remain silent before your punishment escalates beyond what you can stand. Or you may in truth find yourself standing for the next few days.” He stood over her, letting her feel his greater strength and height and pointed toward a cozy nook at the side of his bedroom, “Lie over the arm of my reading chair facedown with your forehead on the cushion. Place your hands at the small of your back.”

Hermione looked over at the comfortable overstuffed chair and was at a loss. She hadn’t ever entertained any thought of Lucius enforcing any corporeal punishment. She had been sniping at him continually, angry with his formal remoteness and disinterest if she were honest, while being angry at herself for caring one way or the other. She had enjoyed baiting him while he stoically weathered her parade of disparaging comments with nothing more than sharp looks and pursed lips and those hard-won “be stills”. She thought he hadn’t truly cared at all.

Now she understood she had pushed him over his invisible edge of courtesy and pride. She was scared spitless, but oddly rather proud of herself for getting him to react to her even if it meant he was going to get even with her. Was that better than the cold courtesy and lack of attention she’d been subjected to for the last week? How was he going to hurt her? Maybe it would only be some sort of humiliation. He couldn’t be doing what it looked like…

It soon proved to be more than a bit of humiliation as Hermione slowly shuffled to the comfy reading chair in the corner and bent over the padded arm. She placed her forehead on the cushion leaving her face off the material so she could breathe. She could see Lucius moving toward her from the corner of her eye.

“Your hands at the small of your back, Hermione,” he growled, his lower tones scaring her more than the smooth, remote voice she disliked. “I won’t repeat my instructions again.” Lucius walked to the chair and waited until her slim hands settled at the small of her back, then he quickly loosened and removed her robe’s belt, wrapped it around both her wrists and attached an end of it up to the collar at the back of her neck and the other at the back of her thong effectively limiting her ability to move her hands anywhere. It was partially for her protection so she didn’t put her hands in the way of her punishment. But also partially to give Lucius free access for his business.

“What are you going to do, Lucius? I have a right to know that. If you hurt me I’m going straight to the Ministry.” Hermione’s voice was a little muffled by the cushion so her adamant rebuttal was a little washed out.

“And tell them what? That you have been cruel and petty, giving me the rough side of your tongue day after day, never saying thank you for anything, behaving as though you’re living with an unregenerate ogre whom you avoid at all costs? Please, when we are finished tonight, let me give you the parchment and an owl and you may write whatever your heart desires.”

Hermione sniffed at the wizard’s unflattering description of what had been to her a miserable week of feeling lonesome and out of place - as though she were a particularly unpleasant piece of flotsam that had floated in on some backed up sewage. He was complaining about her snide remarks when he hadn’t made her feel welcome at all beyond sporting his upscale manners that kept her apart even more – he was acting high society to her Muggleborn trash.

The worst were her vague feelings of loss whenever he left her alone. That made her almost hate herself, but she couldn’t stem the tiny downswing of her mood each time he quit a room. She wanted it to be her loneliness speaking – any other reason made her terribly depressed and her situation was already distressing enough.

His constant corrections on etiquette made her feel she was barely tolerated. Her defense at her hurt feelings had been to hurt him in return, but she hadn’t thought he’d been touched at all. She still didn’t think anything but his pride had been affected. Now he was bullying her for hitting out with her tongue. After their initial night of sex, she had felt like some Knockturn Alley tramp for all the attention he had given her since. She had felt used and discarded, waiting miserably until the next time he wanted a piece of Mudblood tail.

“The Ministry will only inform you that I have the right to chastise my wife in any way I choose. In most wizarding households that isn’t necessary. Unfortunately, with you, it is.”

Lucius stood off to her side and behind her, nearly deranged with the lovely picture of submission she made – totally deceptive, of course. She had effectively bludgeoned him with her words all week. He pinched a small piece of the slippery robe and flipped it up over her hands, leaving her bare, thong-split bottom unveiled for his use.

Hermione felt the swish of silky material move up and over her hands and she began to straighten up. Immediately a strong hand pushed her back into position and held her there. “For this initial disciplinary action, I will go lightly and only give you twenty strokes. If you fight or get up, two more strikes will be added each time. Vituperation receives the same. When I am finished I expect you to apologize to me for your poor behavior.”

Before Hermione could answer her face was pushed into the cushion by the first of Lucius’ penalizing smacks. CRACK! The spanking commenced with measured, forceful, painful swats on the fast-reddening globes of the little witch’s derriere. Lucius counted the strokes aloud so Hermione would know where she was in her beating. As he counted he let each hit sink in for a couple of seconds for the pain to bloom before sending the next strike onto her bum.

At the first swat, Hermione was so outraged she attempted to stand up again and heard her husband intone, “Two extra,” before pushing her back into the cushion and sending another stroke onto her vulnerable skin. She screamed invective, she called him all the names she knew would most inflame him, she tried twisting on the chair arm, but he held her still and didn’t miss a single measured smack, only intoning ‘two more’ several times.

After he got to sixteen Hermione crumpled and started crying. It was all too much, his punishing her for being trapped into a scary, unwanted marriage with only an unending future of embarrassed social inequity and his whey-faced brats to look forward to – he expected her to be all sweetness and light and happily try to awkwardly fit into a social stratum that she basically despised and thought unnatural.

She hated him, his snobby world, and his posh attitude. This latest excess was only the icing on the cake of her ire. He thought he had the right to exact physical punishment whenever he felt slighted? What kind of marriage was that? Did she have the right to punish him for making her feel worthless and barely human in this rarified mausoleum he called a home?

Lucius laid on with a strong hand, never stopping until he reached the thirty-eight spanks his wife had finally earned with her obstreperous attitude. It wasn’t how he had envisioned introducing her to one of his favored brands of sex play, but she had been infuriating him for the entire week and he had to have some of his own back to feel like he was master in his own house.

Her verbal whittling of his manhood degree by degree plus her marked lack of respect for his place as her husband and his superior status as a Pureblood had slowly built his temper until it was either spank her or whip her and he knew with his current emotional maelstrom he could damage her with a whip. She wouldn’t agree but she was lucky to get off with a spanking.

Hermione was quietly sobbing by the time he landed his last smack, which was as hard as the first. He looked down at his hand, ruefully acknowledging it probably hurt as much as her butt. He was out of practice and his palm was red and throbbing. He should have used his hairbrush, but he had been lured by her pretty porcelain butt cheeks into using his bare hand instead. Stupid and horny.

Now he had the delightful duty of bedding his wife. She was going to try to claw him to death, but it had to be done. He had promised it would happen tonight. Lucius needed to try to win her with sexual attraction or they would never get past this miserable start to their marriage. He wanted them to try for something good and lasting together, but she had already shown he couldn’t win her favor with courtesy or guidance in her new position. All he had left was his charisma. Lucius shook his head – his marriage was doomed.

tbc...

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Dr. Seuss must be turning over in his grave. (Beg pardon, but I couldn't resist the 'adapted' title for this chapter. It popped into my head and I couldn't get rid of it. Now we all can suffer together.) 8-)


Don’t forget to check out the pics for this chapter at:

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/47688.html

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