The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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11-20-09 F

You all know with this much anger, anxiety, and estrangement escalating between two very powerful characters, there must be a climax (yeah, okay, that kind, too, but you know what I mean). You’ve all climbed Shrew Mountain with me; please enjoy the view (of Viking Lucius) and I promise we will be descending into much calmer, happier territory soon. Keep that in mind as you read the next couple of chapters of transition.

Envision what a marriage could be between two strong souls who have finally learned to get along better - think steamy sex, humor, and good-natured brangling. And, of course, more Snape. Lucius and Hermione find harmony, but they’re still intelligent, strong-willed individuals. No submissives in that marriage. Ah, and even more HP characters will show up to help with the plan. (Also, be sure you’re familiar with and okay with the content codes posted in the summary for this story - slight warning for solo sex this chapter.)


Answer to your comments -


jw - LOL I could see Lucius dancing, too. I wish I had a DVD of it. The best I could do is the photoshop of Lucius for this chapter. Lucius has a wide streak of flamboyance, this time tinged with anger. It’s nearly impossible for Hermione to hate the gentle Narcissa, but jealousy is a powerful force and needs an outlet somewhere.

Insolence – Ask me for a refund after Chapter 24, if you’re still dissatisfied about the lack of spanking. If I ever suggested Snape in women’s get-up, I’d better move to the Antarctic. I think Hermione offered information on her (boring) life to Narcissa to atone for making that snide comment to her about using her looks to get what she wants. And I think we all like to imagine our two Death Eaters as being hung like hippogriffs, oui? Cinderella’s ugly sisters was a good one, I admit, heh, heh. Ooooh, so easy to describe Lucius moving, his flashing, icy eyes tracking Hermione’s rapid heartbeat as his hips undulated, the red triangle at his pelvis barely containing… huh? Where was I? Sheesh, I hope I didn’t disrupt your heartbeat again… Danger is my middle name – I can handle becoming your favorite author…I think.

word wench – I’m very happy you are enjoying this and, of course, more wicked things will happen. I love writing wicked behavior!

blue artemis – Hang in there, Blue; I hope I start to prove you wrong in this next chapter, but for sure in three chapters. I have to move on to the plan sometime. Can’t let these two crazy kids sway me from the plot forever. I need them working together at Hogwarts.

Anon – I suspect you’re in for, hmmmm, two or three more chapters of exhaustion and transition, then on to the plan. For readers coming to this story after it is complete, the chapters will all be read more swiftly and tedium won’t set in like it has for you. I tried to stay with the Taming of the Shrew theme, while livening it up with sex (which was not in the original – I think it would have been rather tricky for Shakespeare to do with his all-male cast), but it IS moving toward the plan very soon.

BeaBibliophile – Oh, I’d sink anywhere Lucius wanted me, Bea, no questions asked. No, I didn’t envision Snape with a fat belly, just the sagging one you describe. However, while you were busy writing, I introduced him to a laser surgeon who tucked that tummy right up for him. Evelyn will be so surprised. Actually many men still don’t have sagging bellies in middle age. (Oh, c’mon, LaBib, give up - Bea is never going to fix Snape’s tummy, not even if you sic Rickman on her for mishandling his character’s body.) I, on the other hand, have tastefully dressed MY Snape in his beloved black with just a touch of costume in that earring. Don’t you think Severus would sunbathe nude with his wife, especially is he was going to get some? It’s a logistically sound idea. As for Hermione, I’m going to deal with her to your satisfaction, I hope. Let me know in a couple of chapters if she hasn’t straightened up and I’ll slap her upside the head for you. Kudos on the alliteration – ‘steamy scenes of scandalous screwing in seedy speakeasies’. Mighty fine wordsmithing.

sirsevchick - Things will move now. We have come to a watershed (like everyone couldn’t see that coming…) and soon the plan will take center stage. We’ll have a few more HP characters to help carry the load, also. I am pleased you liked Lucius dancing; I hope you like his pic as a Viking!

Pittwitch – What did you do to burn your fingers, touch Lucius? He is smokin’ hot, isn’t he. LOL

lemonade8 – Well, for better or for worse, Lucius and Hermione need to find balance in their relationship. Some readers are for Hermione, some are for Lucius. It will be a challenge to dodge the brickbats of whoever disapproves of this next chapter. At least it won’t be boring – I hope. And in atonement, I do hope the pic of Viking Lucius softens the resulting tempest.

Serin Blackmoon – Yeah, I do think Lucius will open up. A lot. Hermione will reciprocate and we can move on to the plan. Hogwarts is coming up and they need to have some kind of détente. Tell me if you still want to tie Lucius up and beat some sense into him after this next chapter. That idea may need re-thinking. (Unless you use his favorite riding crop, LOL.)

angeles – Oooh, cloned Lucius. I can totally go for that. Yum.

Aleysiasnape – Poor Lucius – his age is rather a sore point with him in comparison to Hermione’s youth. And she hasn’t been nice about it, either.

Aliciana – Smut police? Do they get to read smut? I’m applying. The Muggle nightclub can go wherever you would like it. May I suggest you give your builder earplugs so you can moan in peace? Read on for what happens upstairs at the nightclub. I hope you like Lucius’ Viking pic on my LiveJournal. And don’t forget the earplugs!

Scary Bear Hair – I agree those funnel cakes add a dress size for every helping. Hermione’s nastyisms are in direct ratio to her intelligence, ergo she can really let fly with zingers. I like your comparison – Narcissa leery of Lucius and Hermione leery of Snape. Narcissa and Lucius care about each other, but not at all as lovers. They’ve known each other basically all their lives. They’ve kept a strong friendship now that the mismatched marriage is over. Hermione is definitely fighting her attraction to Lucius LOL. And now - the balcony awaits, my dear.

T Stevenson – Ch 21 – Hermione tried to drown her worries and insecurities in the wine, while baiting Lucius. But no go. Yes, the little lecherette is coming right along with those spanking forays. I guess she was so concerned that she was going to be shown the door that she read that into Lucius’ freeing her from the estate. Lucius is a little envious of Snape on several counts, oddly enough. Seeing Hermione have ANY interest in Snape wouldn’t sit well. Ch 22 – Lucius does want to try with Hermione, but his familiarity with Muggles is minimal and he can’t separate her bad behavior from Muggle behavior. His giving her the benefit of the doubt will come to an end. (Then we can all work on that plan that’s been percolating in the background LOL.) There are so many roles those two could play with dress-up. Sigh. Viking pic coming up. Hubby and I had a lovely time visiting our son. Ch 23 – Aren’t we lucky that Death Eaters tend to be generously ‘outfitted’? Hermione has run her length. You’ve condensed the contretemps beautifully, as though you wrote this next chapter. You’re absolutely right that there are no happy campers in that club. As Ralph Cramden said, “To the moon, Alice. To the moon!”

kelsey - Hello and welcome! I am so happy you’re enjoying the story. It’s nice you haven’t taken sides – you want to bash them both upside the head equally. That’s a promising start for you to enjoy the next chapter LOL. I update every Friday night and I have a pic or two on my LiveJournal to go along with each chapter. The web site will be given at the bottom of the chapter each time.

Rini – Hi, Rini! Happy to hear from you. Exams are important and work pays the bills. Lucius will be waiting for when you have a moment free. I’d pay to see Lucius dance, too. I hope you like the Viking pic to go with his dancing. Thank you for taking the time to review with your tight schedule. Much appreciated!

Ready?


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Chapter Twenty-Four


An Overdue Reckoning


Set back from the balcony’s railing were numerous glass-enclosed rooms, some of which were lit and some in darkness. Lucius chose one of the ones without light and ushered Hermione inside. Instantly the light turned on by itself and Hermione looked up in surprise. Was Lucius using magic in this Muggle place?

“The light comes up by itself – until we don’t need it any more,” Lucius murmured, his voice dark with promise. He closed the glass door and the entire glass wall became opaque so no one could see in and they couldn’t see out. The lock snicked and Hermione saw Lucius’ hand come away from the door. So he had locked them in or he had locked others out. Hermione wasn’t sure, but she was in a private space with the man who had just nearly had sex with her on the dance floor; she didn’t much care at the moment if he was caging her or protecting her as long as he took off those trousers of his with that bulging, beckoning red triangle. Now, or sooner if possible.

“I’ve decided to try a little experiment of my own,” Lucius murmured, his voice a low, velvet growl as he walked once slowly all the way around the little witch, batting her devil’s tail as he passed her backside. As he came around to her front again his smile was… unsettling.

“You asked if Snape had effectively erased all my erotic history with my ex-wife with his brand of sex,” Lucius recited her words back to her. “Shall we see what you think after I’ve demonstrated some of those experiences on you? Would you forget?”

Lucius languidly pulled a tiny, formless lump from under his jerkin and enlarged it until Hermione could see that they were a pair of gloves. Thin, black leather gloves. The oddest frisson ran through her that those gloves didn’t bode anything good for her.

On the surface Lucius’ intent to experiment sounded like heaven to Hermione, but the vibes coming from him weren’t entirely loverlike. There was an undertone of something darker laced through the definitely erotic offer her mate was making. Hermione stood very still as Lucius continued to walk languidly around her small body, now trailing a single, gloved finger around her neck as he went.

The finger slipped lower and lower with each silent perambulation he made around her until he reached her cleavage. His intoxicating, masculine costume and sultry scent, along with his undoubted arousal, were making her lightheaded with lust, but a tiny part of her knew very well where her evening was headed. Those leather gloves portended more than merely a fashion statement. She was almost beyond caring if she could just have all that leather-enhanced masculinity owning her at the end.

His smooth, cultured voice intruded on her thoughts, startling her, “You will take off everything except your knickers and kneel on the carpet with your hands at the small of your back, palms up.”

Hermione glanced at the glass wall, seeing the opacity and heaving a sigh of relief. Her husband wasn’t into voyeurism, then. Hermione quickly slipped out of her costume laying it on the wide divan in the rear of the room. The tiny thong knickers Lucius liked were becoming almost her normal attire around him, except when she wasn’t wearing even that. She smiled to herself, hoping he would spank her again as part of his demonstration.

Hermione idly looked around the room as she disrobed. Besides the divan, which had one end higher for leaning against and the rest flat like a bed, the only other item in the room was a well-stocked bar and a small door at the back.

Lucius saw her looking at the door and murmured, “Loo,” before crossing his arms sultan-style and displaying the thick, gold-banded biceps she wanted to cling to as he rode her. Those thin, leather gloves, showcased against his tawny, muscled chest, suddenly jarred, their onyx color sending a chill whispering along her spine. She was so used to his tattoo now, she barely registered it on his forearm - the small bit peeking above his single gold wristguard, which she knew he’d worn to hide it. But for some reason, tonight, knowing it was there added a grim note to their duet.

The little red devil, now denuded of her costume, knelt on the soft carpet and placed her hands behind her at the small of her back, palms up as he directed.

“Shoulders back – show your breasts to me,” he commanded and Hermione nearly melted on the spot, the combination of thrill and chill making her eager to obey. He didn’t want her as a person, but oooh, he could make her body sing.

She arched her back and shoulders, proudly showing off two of the better assets of her body, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You enjoy this, then?” he asked, “You enjoy submitting to your master?” Lucius walked behind her so she couldn’t see him and she twisted, trying to keep him in view.

“Eyes forward,” he barked. “Tonight you are the slave of Lucius, the mighty barbarian Viking. Any slightest fault will be punished severely. This is your only warning. I do not coddle slaves. Answer me, lowly one.”

“Um, yes, master?” she guessed, hoping this barbarian Viking liked to fuck his slaves after a brisk, erotic spanking; her core was already clenching in visceral anticipation.

“You will lie on your back on the carpet and spread your legs wide apart. You will try your hardest to please me and if you do, I may please you in return…if I wish it,” Lucius said negligently and a come-hither smile trembled on his lips but never made it to his icy eyes. The fleeting smile was soon replaced by a heavy frown, “What do you wait for – you prefer to court punishment for disobedience?”

Hermione grew a little alarmed over the threat of punishment with those cold, kohled eyes on her, but she obediently turned and gracefully lay back onto the carpet, spreading her legs wide and giving Lucius an unimpeded view of the lacy crotch of her thong. Her plump breasts flattened and spread on her petite ribcage, causing Lucius’ pupils to flare with male, predatory interest.

He stood there for a moment, his silver eyes heavy-lidded with anticipation before demanding, “Twist the front of your thong to one side so you are completely displayed to me, but leave the material on.”

Hermione inhaled breathlessly at his bewitching command and did as he asked. The lacy elastic cut into the side of her at the top of her thigh, but the miniscule pain only added to the spell he wove. All her private property was now on display as she spread her legs widely on the carpet.

Silence descended on the duo as Hermione felt the cool air against her wet core, bringing home to her that she was naked and vulnerable to this tall, blond barbarian Viking of hers. Belatedly she remembered that he wasn’t entirely happy with her. That word ‘punishment’ took on a more ominous note. Hermione glanced again at the black gloves concealing his hands.

Lucius stepped forward just between her out-flung ankles, demanding, “First spread your outer feminine folds wide apart that I may view all of your slave’s body. Then, use your fingers to spread that woman’s moisture I see and play with yourself. Make yourself come for me while I watch. I want to see your fingers slip inside that tight, wet pussy for more of that cream glistening on your thighs.” Lucius’ icy eyes bored into her shocked ones. “Now, slave! Spread your nether lips apart so I may see what you do.” Lucius’ voice had turned hard and curt; this was a barbarian, indeed; all warmth and tenderness disappeared as though a candle had winked out.

Hermione was yanked out of her erotic stupor. A dull flush colored her cheeks - she’d never been more embarrassed, not even when she’d hung from the ceiling as Lucius used his tongue on her the first time. She hadn’t ever shared her autoerotic pleasures with anyone watching before and she didn’t want to start now. She had thought he was going to pleasure her, not her own fingers.

“Lucius, I’m not comfortable with this,” she implored, but the stone cold face above her was implacable. His only movement was to put his black-leather hands near his belt buckle and grab one end of the leather.

“So you do wish the punishment for disobedience,” he shrugged. “Very well. Get up and bend over the high end of the divan. Put your face into the divan seat. You’ve earned five stripes for disobedience and another fifteen for your heartless, caustic comments downstairs.” When Hermione didn’t immediately jump up, he said, “Do it now or you’ll have another ten added. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

Too late the little witch saw the anger her husband was no longer bothering to hide – a man who had been pushed past his limit tonight. She wasn’t going to get a spanking; he was going to use his belt. Shivering, she rose and stood, defiant. Her husband was over a head taller than she was and this time his fierce anger wasn’t making her feel triumphant at driving his temper over the edge.

She blinked at the appalling difference - this wasn’t her formal, reticent husband, this was the Premier Death Eater she’d heedlessly disinterred from his buried past. Her heart gave a great thump at what she’d exhumed with her exploiting of what she’d seen as his weakness. Too late she realized she’d miscalculated disastrously as the sheer dark power now emanating from her husband in jarring waves rose and engulfed her.

Mesmerized in spite of herself by the towering barbarian warrior in front of her, she backed up and slowly shuffled over to the end of the divan, draping herself over it with her bum in the air. Leaning down into the divan seat, she covered her face with her hands, hoping desperately her acquiescence would be enough to re-entomb this frightening stranger. It was no longer a mystery why so many magic folk had given way to Lucius Malfoy. The danger was palpable, even as the man’s dark aura remained grotesquely seductive.

In a low, distant voice she’d never heard before, Lucius unleashed his pent up rage, “You’ve been goading me mercilessly, pushing and pushing until I resort to spanking you when I reach the end of my patience. But you never appreciate the patience itself. It’s become a game to you. I know you’ve come to like the spanking, and in other circumstances, your expanded sexual satisfaction could have been good for both of us, but you don’t see it as mutual fun. I’m still not a person in your eyes, I am only a cruel sport for you to win. You don’t see me as a man, a husband. You’ve fragmented me until I’m merely a collection of pieces for your sexual pleasure: a tongue, lips, my hand, a hard cock. Tonight that ends.

“You’ve been full of nasty comments from the day we wed, always aiming to make me unhappy when all I’ve done is try to lessen the unpleasant overtones of our situation and prepare you for the Pureblood society you must learn to live in with me. I accept responsibility for your coerced marriage; my heritage was, and still is, at great risk, but I also offered everything I have to you as my wife. If my lessons grated on your sensitive feelings, I apologize for that. Draco will tell you I am not the most patient of teachers, but my intention was to help you. However, tonight you have carried your enmity beyond striking back at me. That I will not allow. It is bad enough when you slash my pride to ribbons at home, but downstairs you belittled me in front of my friends and caused them great discomfort with your cutting words and poor behavior. It’s time I got back my manhood which you’ve so unkindly mutilated with your waspish tongue.”

Hermione knew she’d been mean to him. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from blaming him for the whole contract mess even though she understood that he had several reasons that were cogent to him if not to her. But the worst was her intense jealousy of Lucius’ ex-wife – their ease with each other, their matching beauty and innate grace and elegance. She belatedly realized the titillating spankings she invited had been a way to force Lucius to focus on her, rather like a small child who misbehaves to gain attention; she’d exulted whenever she successfully made him lose his temper. The exquisite sensory pulses from the flat of his hand on her bum had been an erotic plus.

To discover Narcissa had visited Lucius without her knowing, and that the blonde woman was the type of deferential, ultra-feminine wife Hermione could never be, had been the lit match to the tinder of her temper. She had gone after him with her only weapon – her blistering tongue. Seeing he was sensitive about her imagined interest in Snape, she had heartlessly used it.

Her jealousy drove her mental, less from the emotion itself, but what that meant. She cared about him; how could she care about such a man? Why did Malfoys always get everything? She’d thought she could be immune, but she wasn’t. Hermione trembled at the crackling of the dark magic pouring from him, invading her every pore, as the force of his blinding fury escalated. What had she done?

“If you attempt to block the swing of my belt or jump up away from the divan, I’ll add a stripe for each trespass.” Lucius pulled his belt off and wrapped the buckle end around his gloved hand twice, then doubled the belt into a loop. Even in his anger, he was glad his belt was a wide one - it would cause less pain than a thinner one would, while still doing the job. Under his golden wristguard his tattoo woke and howled with satisfaction at being freed to surge with cruel pleasure once more. It had been too many years since it had been allowed to hunt, to hurt.

Hermione began to weep. “I’m sorry, Lucius. I’m sorry. I… I know I was out of line, but I’m frightened. Please. You’re frightening me,” she cried.

Lucius’ quiet, deadly voice cut in over her entreaties, “You are always so willing to see the worst in me, but never the best. Nothing that even qualifies as good. You already hate me, so I have nothing more to lose and some dignity to regain,” he answered. The light chased across his golden armband as he raised his leather-clad hand high; only a quiet whish through the air warned her as the first stroke fell.

CRACK! The sound of the belt on Hermione’s unprotected buttocks split the quiet of the room followed by a high, feminine wail of grief. A second swish and another stripe bloomed on Hermione’s all but naked rear. The two strikes were making themselves felt, but it was her sorrow at her behavior that was making her sob in helpless misery. The belt was painful and she knew Lucius fought her tongue with corporal punishment when she went too far. It was what he’d been taught in his upbringing and she had encouraged his spankings deliberately, refusing any other gestures of tenderness or rapport. She’d been completely pig-headed about building any other kind of bridge between them. Sadly, she acknowledged she had been horribly in the wrong downstairs. Hermione tensed for the next blow, shuddering with her scattered emotions.

Abruptly, the dark, whirling magic undulating obscenely through the room ceased, shut off as though controlled by a spigot. Only the faint echo of the music downstairs was left to reverberate in the private space as a sudden hush descended on the two combatants.

After a minute or two, Hermione realized the waves of dark magic had ebbed. Lucius wasn’t adding any more of the punishment he had promised and the little witch’s fear escalated rather than abated.

Nothing else was heard for many minutes in the private room beyond the steady beat of the muted music from the nightclub. The hush in the discreet, upstairs, reserved space highlighted the unbearably tense atmosphere between a husband and wife who had come to a sad crossroads in their marriage; both people were utterly still, contemplating where their marriage was headed now.

Lucius’ assertion that she hated him shocked Hermione, tearing open all the conflicting emotions that had beset her from the moment she had awakened in his bed, seeing those ugly pajamas he’d worn. Their first kiss with him lying on top of her had confused her so much she had erected a high mental fence against his scary effect on her. That protective fence fell with a vengeance when the third belt blow failed to land on her butt, but she was now very much afraid even the belt would not have restored his tattered ego. With the somber silence permeating the room and the disappearance of the dark magic, Hermione chanced a swift peek at her husband and understood that the frightening Death Eater had subsided again, but in his place was a man finally beaten down to sad indifference.

A disconsolate barbarian Viking stood with his leather belt trailing limply from his hand, his gaze unfocused and his face carved in lines of misery and defeat. He wasn’t looking at her. His utter stillness was eerie, juxtaposed with the gyrating, pounding enthusiasms on the dance floor below. It was as though he wasn’t there with her, but was far away in some other unpleasant place – alone. Too late she remembered her embarrassing lesson at the dinner party with the Snapes – her husband would tolerate no public displays of abuse, toward him or his friends. He had said as much in the tub with her.

Hermione drew in a jittering breath; she had never been so frightened in her life, but the fear wasn’t from the two belt stripes on her rear. It was from their cessation and the stuttering dread that she had thrown away her marriage. Narcissa had been right. Why hadn’t she listened to the other woman instead of being so blindly jealous of the blonde witch’s… everything?

There couldn’t be two rulers in her marriage and Hermione was realizing she didn’t need to be the one in charge - she just wanted him to care. If he truly cared for her, that would be power enough, but he would never come to care for her if she continued to fight against him. She’d had it all backwards. Through her tears she hoped that they could start again, that somehow she could assuage his wounded ego, but she despaired now of regaining his regard. That thought made her cry again, harder.

She didn’t know how she could want him when he was snobby and crabby and persnickety and… and… almost old, but she did. So much. Because he had also been kind and generous and had a mind like, well, like hers. That alone was incredibly seductive.

And she hated to acknowledge it consciously, but the man was bloody gorgeous, with some sort of magnetic spell woven just for her. She had shamefully wanted him after that first kiss in his bed. Despising herself for her weakness, she had attacked him, who, aside from his admittedly self-interested agenda, had only treated her with his old-fashioned, stiff courtesy until her vitriol and obstinacy had gained those spankings. Now she had ruined everything. She would rather have absorbed the fierce sting of her husband’s justice on her bum than his listless apathy.

Lucius stood apathetically, waiting for Hermione to move, the thin black glove leather stretching over his fists as they rested on his hips, the belt still wrapped around one hand and trailing limply down his thigh. The perverted throbbing of his tattoo had quietened to a faint twinge, then was gone, but Lucius didn’t care about the ghostly remains of dark magic still flowing in his veins. It was easily controlled, always had been, much to the Dark Lord’s displeasure. Another commonality for him and Snape, neither of whom had ever been mastered by their Dark Marks. Tonight in his rage he had let it free for those few ghastly moments, but he had been punished instead of her. Dark magic never solved anything - shouldn’t he know that by now? He was shamed by his momentary lapse into petty vengeance.

He had no idea what she would do. Would she come up swinging? Would that scathing vocabulary of hers slice him up all over again? Or would she now ignore him completely? All the anger and embarrassment and thwarted sexual desire her behavior had provoked in him downstairs had suddenly melted away into shame and indifference. It just hurt too much to care. She had never learned to respect anything about him; she’d never even seen him as just a man. She had won her victory – and her freedom.

He had already been disheartened and resigned to a miserable existence with a very clever witch who obviously found him unbearable, but what was the use of trying any more with her? He should let her go and suffer another divorce. His pride was in tatters anyway, his ego continually flattened by her cunning and creative invective, aimed unerringly at soft spots only she had been able to find.

Rage and humiliation had swamped him when Narcissa’s sad eyes and Severus’ barely contained fury had focused on him to do something about his wife. His wife. Hermione had found the perfect way to gut him through his only true friends. He was mercifully numb now.

He and Snape would have to find another way. They would never let him be Headmaster with two divorces to his credit, especially with Hermione gone. His family’s wealth was now in grave danger if he and Snape couldn’t trace what was happening to the Purebloods in time to stop it before his financial stability eroded past fixing.

“Lucius?” Hermione ventured, peeking through wet fingers at her unnaturally quiet wizard, wishing she had some of her worst comments back and wondering what she could do to retrieve what she had destroyed. She could see his form enough to note the hint of dejection in his slumped shoulders and the resignation dragging down the fine features of his face. His outward stance was that of a conqueror, but Hermione was now very much afraid that he had no more desire to conquer one small witch with a too-smart mouth.

She wanted to find a way to please him and that should have surprised her. The attempt at whipping should have made her angrier than a bee at a honey festival, but it hadn’t; instead a sense of calm pervaded her soul. She had finally plumbed all the unpleasant depths of her husband and even the fierce Death Eater she had just met hid only a man, not a monster. Just a human being like her. Hermione’s sudden, overwhelming need to please this remote man was sending shock waves through her system, making her privates pulse with an agonizing desire for her husband. She needed to be connected to him physically, to know he still wanted her as his wife.

Hermione peeked at Lucius again and moaned. Oh, no! That was the worst – he wasn’t even aroused any more. He would never want her now. She had finally driven him away. As she cowered, hanging over the end of the divan, a desperate idea came to her, which she instantly acted on. What did she have to lose, except some more of the dignity that she had stolen from him and which now she hoped to return in some measure to the waiting man.

Slowly Hermione stood up and turned to face Lucius, who was now observing his wife with little interest. His icy, kohl-rimmed eyes were glaciers of indifference and Hermione’s purpose stumbled for just a heartbeat. Then she took a deep breath and knelt in front of him with her hands behind her, palms out as she had before. “Lucius, my Barbarian Sovereign, may I now please you as you commanded me?”

Lucius took a step back he was so shocked. The belt dropped from a nerveless hand and lay unnoticed on the carpet. He stared hard at the little witch who had caused his temper to flare times untold; it had reached bonfire proportions tonight, fueled by her obvious interest in Snape before finally going numb with despair.

What was her game now? If he said ‘yes’ would she laugh in his face and tell him to visit Tartarus? He wasn’t really in the mood for sex any more. He was tired and dispirited and feeling a thousand years old next to her youthful defiance.

“I don’t appreciate your mocking me, Hermione. Put on your clothes and we’ll go home. I need some time away from you.” He yanked at his gloves, peeling each one off, then flinging the leather pieces heedlessly onto the rug between them, mute symbols of his failed marriage and his failure as her husband.

“Please, master Viking, please,” she implored, her heart in her throat, making her voice husky. “Let me retrieve myself in your eyes. I was willing to submit to your punishment without demur and I only ask to please you now. I do not mock you.” Hermione’s brown eyes welled up with tears again as her attempt at putting right her numerous mistakes was rejected.

This must be how he’s felt every time I rejected him. Hermione closed her eyes and bent forward until her forehead was on the carpet, trying desperately to show him she was in earnest, that she was apologizing. “Forgive me for my poor attitude,” she whispered brokenly. “I would like to begin again if you will take pity on me.”

“And what would you do?” he queried without much interest, even the two ruddy stripes on her bum giving him no gratification. “We both know you have no master. Calling me that does not make it so.”



“Not entirely true,” she said, sitting upright again. “I have a master if I acknowledge I have one – and I do accept you are master in our home. Allow me to play the role you have assigned me tonight. Please?” In further answer, she lay backwards down on the carpet as she had been commanded to do before, hissing as her abused bum came in contact with the plush fibers. Her discomfiture caused a slight, crooked smile to thaw a bit of the wizard’s wintry expression and that small reaction encouraged Hermione to continue.

She carefully pulled her thong into exactly the same position it had been in before and spread her legs wide apart. The burning on her backside was exacerbated by the scraping of the rug fibers, but bearable; to the abject little witch, the outcome of these moments was desperately more important than a little rug burn on her tush.

Lucius was at a loss. He had wanted to make something lasting from this marriage, but she fought him at every turn, convinced he was some sort of ogre, merely playing with her. She wouldn’t believe he was sincere even if that old fart, Dumbledore, came back from the dead and vouched for him.

Lucius despaired of ever getting through that he was committed only to her and although they hadn’t started out well, he belonged only to his wife. But he had fouled that up as well, just by having a beautiful ex-wife and smiling at a barmaid – he didn’t even remember what she looked like. Nothing he did was right. In their brief time as man and wife, he had learned to be chary of her anger and her cruel, insubordinate mouth, but when she used Severus as a tool to attack Narcissa, who had no defenses against such venom, he saw red.

Hermione’s inexplicable outburst, displaying her hatred for him, had deeply embarrassed him in front of his friend and his ex-wife. Hermione made him look and feel the failure in all ways. She’d roused the part of him that had been a feared Death Eater for a few horrific moments, but that, too, had faded in the face of the dismal hopelessness of ever reaching past his wife’s defenses.

He looked down at her, a remote expression dimming his beautiful, pale gray eyes, letting her know he wasn’t ready to jump back into this erotic game he’d devised merely for her punishment. All it had done was break their marriage further. He didn’t know what to do with her. What did she want? She wasn’t happy with his money or his status or even his looks. She’d been given access to his large library, but even that hadn’t softened her. He had nothing more of value to offer and he was tired, so tired of trying.

In spite of himself, looking down at the petite witch on the carpet, Lucius felt a vague stirring of his libido, but he ruthlessly crushed the sensation until he could be certain she wasn’t playing him for a fool. She was many years younger than he, but every bit as strong-willed. His mouth twisted wryly as he understood she had more or less just given him permission to be master in their home. But she had use the phrase ‘our home’ and that gave him a scintilla of hope. Nevertheless, the little witch would have to do much more to convince him of her sincerity; he had been burned too much.

Hermione threw her pride in the dustbin and reached down to touch herself, pressing open her soft, pink petals under her tidy, brown fleece and gently began to flick and circle her clit before sliding one digit down, down and into her sheath to retrieve a finger coated with dewy moisture that gave away her desire.

Now Lucius hissed, his trouser front starting to twitch at the lascivious, manual sex play his wife was offering for his delectation. He blinked once and his chin came up in defense. He required much more than that. A soupçon of his previous arrogance began to show in his visage and Hermione took courage from his increasing attention.

She went to work, playing with her folds, using both hands to pull her nether region apart, then dipping her fingers to lavish her privates with the honey she was bringing out of her honey pot. Before long she was moaning with the autoerotic touches she gave herself, even more turned on by knowing Lucius’ gorgeous gray eyes were now glued to her performance. It wasn’t particularly a performance any more, so much as Hermione having a good time by herself.

She darted one hand up to her breasts and tweaked her nipples one after the other, plucking and twisting while her other hand kept both Lucius and her entertained below. When she came out of her self-induced fog enough to remember, she glanced quickly to see if she had elicited any kind of reaction from her frosty mate and was so relieved to see the massive bulge again she almost started crying, but caught herself. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t happy to do this for him.

Lucius saw her quick peek at his erection and thought about what he wanted from her. She was probably willing to accept him inside her, but did he want to do that tonight? She was winding him up to a fever pitch and physically he was ready. Mentally, he wasn’t so sure.

The virile, blond Viking was physically enraptured by her little immorality play there on the carpet; that wasn’t at all the problem. But she had hurt him. She’d done most of it on purpose, carving her initials into his hide with her razor tongue, and it surprised him that she had been so successful where he’d been mostly immune to the nasty comments and insinuations of so many others in his life. Envious Pureblood wizards, disappointed Pureblood women, people he’d bested in business, social climbers he’d snubbed – none of them had found any chinks in his ego’s armor. But she had. From the first day.

Lucius’ wandering musing was yanked back to the room as Hermione began keening with her imminent climax. She was rocking now and using both hands, one petting her mons and clit, the other spelunking her core; abruptly she fell headlong, shrieking, into a monumental meltdown, increased because of her audience. Hermione went rigid as she kept up the strumming, arching rigidly up, her heels digging into the carpet. Her bold, shameless cries acted like an aphrodisiac to the wizard standing above her.

Lucius threw his pride into the dustbin to rest happily with Hermione’s and knelt down between her legs, yanking the red triangle from the front of his leggings and hurriedly pulling out his pulsing, crimson erection. He checked briefly to see his angle of trajectory, held Hermione’s hands away from her property and drilled her in one mighty thrust, burying himself to the hilt. When her thong threatened to guillotine his shaft he ripped the tiny lacewear off her.

Hermione had been so taken up with her climax she hadn’t been quite aware that Lucius had decided to join her until she was subjected to a rock-hard cock crammed so far up inside that she was sure it had slam-dunked her heart, because it was thumping madly. She gasped, feeling as though she was being stretched wider than the entire English Channel when she only had a Chunnel, but pure joy suffused the relieved witch as she felt the familiar weight of her mate settle on her.

Lucius managed to get four good, solid thrusts into her chasm before she skyrocketed again. The clutching of her inner muscles milking his distended organ put paid to his stamina and he gave a low bellow and emptied all of his seed supply for the next six months into her, the involuntary, hard pulsing of his penis going on and on. He’d never felt so wrung out in his life – mentally, emotionally, and now physically. He was sure he must be hollow from his groin on up to his feebly operating brain, if there was any gray matter left. Had his sac turned inside out? It felt like it.

Hermione ignored the urgent throbbing of her whipped bum that Lucius had ground more deeply into the carpet, adding a deeper layer of rug burn to the two, criss-crossed welts. That wasn’t important. What was important was him, only him, right where she needed him to be, pressing her into the carpet. The little witch wrapped her shaking arms around Lucius’ neck and held on as tightly as she could with her total lack of energy. She didn’t want him to leave her. When she felt him slump down on her with even more of his weight, she gave a sigh of contentment and buried her face in his neck, falling asleep immediately.

Lucius felt the small witch’s embrace and her snuggling into him and a flare of hope lit his gloomy world before he, too, dropped dead asleep, free for the moment of the mingled stress, anguish, and desire that he always felt with her.

It was two hours before either of the lovers woke again. Lucius groggily removed his heavy body from atop his wife, checking to see if she was still breathing and was relieved to find she was fine. He stood up and re-secured his now-stained leggings with his belt, tucked his red cloth triangle over his spent organ and picked up his gloves, which he shrank and placed back in his jerkin.

“Damn – our capes!” Lucius stood a minute, reeling a little and trying to think. Then he Apparated to the shadowed, back end of the checkstand, Accio’d their capes and whisked back into the upstairs room. Hermione still slept, wantonly akimbo on her back. Lucius carefully draped her cape over the petite woman’s sleeping form, hurriedly put on his own cape and checked the room for any other paraphernalia, gathering and shrinking everything, including her costume. A tiny, broken thong went reverently into his cape pocket.

After carefully unlocking the door, he lifted his sleeping wife in his arms and Disapparated them both home, straight from where they stood. He didn’t at all care if anyone wondered how the couple in the reserved, luxury glass room had left. He would talk to Severus later. Snape had his own agenda, anyway. His reserved room had been three doors away from theirs.

tbc...


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I would appreciate your reviews - I think.

Don’t forget this chapter’s pics on my LiveJournal - I tried to match the description of Lucius' costume in Chapter 22.

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/54175.html

Remember to double click three times to see Viking Lucius up close!


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