Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

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Updated 7-13-08


My sincere thanks for all the wonderful reviews you have sent my way. I hope this next chapter quenches your thirst for lemonade.


Some responses to comments you made:


sisterae - I think for any thinking woman of the period, the interminable teas must have been stultifying. Unless one was fascinated by the horrors of childbirth or the latest fashions. Hermione certainly had no interest in sharing Lucius’ abilities in bed with other women. It probably would only have alienated her from them more when they discovered what all their own husbands were NOT doing. LOL

Utopia - What's to stop her transfiguring the bloomers into Frenchies? Concerning transfiguring bloomers - see the very end of Chapter Fifteen. Hermione can’t seem to get the elastic right with her magic. She can’t make herself modern knickers.

You could probably get your genetics idea published in a journal for genetics. They might be interested in your ideas. It would be a break from the normal research and be fun for all the geneticists, plus a feather in your cap. I’ll bet the geneticists read Harry Potter, too.

Pureblood interest in breeding is a no-brainer, of course. They devote their entire lives to maintaining their exclusiveness.

onduril – To my Delightful Delurker who is now a Ravishing Reviewer - Keep your theories about ‘Uncle’ Malfoy and the 30-year-old newspaper article and see if you’re right, further on. [wink]

Jesse - Oh my gosh, torn between lemon and plot? How about lemon first, then plot? That should relax you for trying to unravel the mystery.

pittwitch - Disenfranchisement? That sounds serious. Did I say something weird? Help.

Malfoysplaymate – I’m laughing; you think lemons should be in every chapter? So does Lucius. And Hermione is beginning to agree. I do have to give them a little rest here and there so I can advance my plot. It won’t be solved from their mattress.

Gryffindor_Slytherin – Thank you for the compliment! We’ll hear more about Squibs, I’m sure.

Rini – When my internet is down, I have withdrawal symptoms. Glad you’re back. Hermione is starting to understand her husband better. Finally. I believe you are correct that Lucius didn’t notice the female admiration in the Ministry. It’s so commonplace to him that he doesn’t see it any more, unless he’s ‘hunting’. And he was probably busy frowning at the men looking at Hermione. Yeah, Lucius may feel unsure of Hermione, but more due to his politics than his person.

See the end of Chapter Fifteen for why Hermione doesn’t just make her own knickers; Hermione can’t transfigure elastic correctly.

Re your thoughts on Regency young ladies: In the Regency stories I’ve read (and that’s a LOT) the young married women were often wed to much older men and once they’d provided THE HEIR, quite a few played musical beds. As long as they were discreet it wasn’t frowned upon. Those women were the playgrounds for the rakes of the times. I did assume that the young women accosting Lucius were married and I should have said so. Women married at 18-20 in those days and thus were actually much younger than Hermione at 30. You are absolutely correct that the young ladies wouldn’t have been let out on their own if they were single. These were young, bored, society matrons only interested in a dalliance, not a long-term relationship. Does that explain the situation better?

Lucius knows about a quarter of the names circled are Squibs. The rest he’s not sure of, but will investigate.

Heidi191976 – Thank you. More story coming up.

Lady Miya – Your theories are very inventive Lady M. You have an impressively inquiring mind. As for the lemon, it’s being served now.

Clare1984 – Lucius agrees with you that missionary sex isn’t the only spice in life. I hope you feel this lemon is juicy enough. Read on!

tambrathegreat - Hermione is investigating, but her ‘assignments’ are very boring to her. Being the wealthy Mrs. Malfoy is a total drag. The Squibs are looking quite interesting, aren’t they? If women had their way, poor Lucius’ butt would be a mass of bites. LOL

Muffy – Ah, a mystery buff. Do you have a favorite author or book? This particular mystery will take a while to unwind.

Citten – My latest LiveJournal has a few pics of where I went for the 4th of July. See my profile here on AFF for the URL. More fun coming up!

helensgirl – I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story and I adore that you wrote a long review. Maybe the Veil DID influence you LOL. It was past time for those two to clear the air between them. Lucius’ middle name is secrecy and Hermione probably hasn’t talked much socially for ten years. One does lose the knack if not honed once in a while. Let me check – ‘helensgirl’, yes, you’re on the spanking list. Will day after tomorrow be okay? Lucius likes to have daylight for his work so expect him midmorning. Let us know how it worked for you!

Scary Bear Hair – Hermione probably has tea coming out her ears by now and gnashes her teeth at the inane conversation. Somehow I don’t think clothes thrown on the dresser at your house would elicit the same sexy picture, as you don’t have elves. Or…do you?

Yes, my clues can be likened to droppings (just kidding!) I won’t embarrass you by saying I’m going back to see what guess you made in “Prisoners of Love” – I don’t remember what it was. Do you feel better now? Lemon pie is now cooling on the windowsill.

blue artemis – Hmm, Hermione as a cat burglar. She just doesn’t seem sneaky enough. Now Lucius… Hermione can have all the jewelry she could ever want with Lucius’ wealth. So her heists would only be for kicks.

angelprince – Really, that wasn’t SUCH a bad cliffie, was it? Lemons being served below. Lucius certainly likes a spicy life and a steady ‘diet’ of missionary sex isn’t it. Ooooh, I can’t address the rest of your comment.

jw – I’m glad you mentioned the painting (which I believe we are getting to) because I can’t talk about anything else you reviewed [grin]. My holiday was lovely, thank you.

maddie50 - You’ve wended your way to Madam Celestine’s I see. Hermione will have to grow into her position as the new chatelaine of Malfoy Manor. Your frustration about no sex will only last a few more chapters, then - kablooey!

And I guess you’ve just read about the wedding. That was a fun chapter to write. Lucius and his silver tongue.

sheherazade – Hermione is trying to fit into Pureblood subculture and it’s rough going, you’re right. She isn’t much of an actress, but I guess Lucius, thespian extraordinaire, can cover for her. I can’t discuss the rest of your comments, although I’d love to. (Bad LaBib, back away from keyboard-now.) Thanks for the compliments on my twisting wizarding culture. It’s fun, isn’t it. Lemon coming up!

Lemonade, lemon pie, lemon twist in your martini. Enjoy however you like!


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Chapter Thirty


A Revelation




Hermione led Lucius into their bedroom and over to the nearest wall, standing beside him as they moved slowly along, looking at each painting in turn. “All the paintings I turned down before are back in play. Do you see anything you like?” She smiled impishly up at her mate, wrapping one arm around his waist.

Lucius put his arm over her shoulders and pulled Hermione against him, “I see many possibilities, but I’m not going to overload your generosity tonight. How about this one?”

Hermione watched as the male figure pulled up the female figure onto a bed and turned her face down, raising her buttocks in the air and settling himself behind her, penetrating her from behind. The figures were both nude.

Lucius felt the petite woman against his side stiffen. “Tell me if it disgusts you,” he said gently. “It’s pretty tame next to some of the paintings, but each person has limits.”

“No, it’s not that. I…I…” she took a stuttering breath and replied, “It isn’t the sex at all. It’s the position.”

“Well, that position is a rather basic, sexual one. Doggy style. I don’t understand. Is it the submissive pose you don’t like?” Lucius turned Hermione in his arms to look into her face, but she stepped back.

“No, not at all. I’ve not wanted to have sex in any good light or in any position but missionary because of this.” Hermione reached for her wand and pointed it at herself, stripping the gown off with a quick charm. Hermione was left wearing nothing but her black pumps, stockings tied at her knee, and a pair of lace-trimmed lawn knickers that fell halfway down her thighs.

Lucius started to chuckle at her pantalettes as Hermione turned around and let him see the rest of her. His laughter died in his throat. “Oh, Hermione.”

The disfiguring scar ran from just below her left shoulder blade straight down the same side of her back to end at her waist. It was an inch-wide, shiny marring of her flesh, denoting a bad burn, although with age it had reverted to normal skin color. He’d seen and had wand strikes before and knew this one had hurt quite a lot when she had received it. Why had she not had it tended to at St. Mungo’s? They could have removed the scar tissue any time. He himself had had several wand strikes removed, some received from his displeased Dark Lord. Luckily Voldemort had rather delighted in marring the newly whole skin again, instead of wishing the old wounds to remain.

Lucius thought back to all his physical encounters with his witch and realized the closest he had unknowingly come was when he had disrobed her while she slept in the landlady’s musty old bedroom, but the light had been dim and he had merely used his wand to remove her dress, not his hands. He hadn’t been looking for anything during their firelit baths either. How had he missed so major a part of his wife’s psyche?

Lucius moved to Hermione enfolding her in his arms and hugging the little witch to him. His hands smoothed up and down her naked back sliding over the scar, trying years too late to repair the hurt she had suffered. “When?” he asked.

“The last battle. I tried to save Tonks and got in the way of a Death Eater’s wand strike. It knocked me out of the way and then he got her. She died, but I didn’t. She had a new baby and she died. I couldn’t just erase the scar and go blithely on when she couldn’t. I was so worried that you would be disgusted by the scar; I didn’t want you to see it and reject me. Like Roger did.” Hermione looked up at her husband. “You are so without flaw, so smooth and perfect, I didn’t want you to see this.” She shrugged the shoulder where her scar began.

Lucius laughed outright at her comment, earning a reproving moue and a wriggling attempt to push out of his arms. Lucius held her easily saying, “Hermione, I’ve lost count of the wand strikes I’ve had removed from my own skin. I probably have a revolving account left over at St. Mungo’s from all the times I was there to get a wound healed and erased. Voldemort gave me some, but he also liked to have the Death Eaters fight each other. He called it training, but it was mostly for his entertainment.

“Over the years, most of us sported wounds from our fellow Death Eaters. I had less than most, being fairly good at wand fighting, but I didn’t escape entirely.” He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose, “So, I’m not perfect either. If I hadn’t gone to St. Mungo’s, you could likely have played checkers using the criss-cross of scars I had removed from my chest alone. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but the Dark Lord occasionally found me too arrogant and not subservient enough for his taste.”

Hermione laughed a little at Lucius’ ridiculous sally, but blinked back tears, nearly weeping from the relief of knowing Lucius didn’t care about the scar that had haunted her for so many years - her badge of pain for all those who had lost their lives. She took a calming breath to steady her nerves and leaned up and tried to reach Lucius’ ear, managing to make it to his chin, “Oh, I believe you. Didn’t I tell you myself that sometimes you’re an arrogant arse?” At his amused nod, she went on, making his eyes light up, “but I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispered, now wanting to move forward into more adventurous intimacies with her handsome mate.

“Hermione, I really need a quick bath. Perhaps you can scrub my back?”

Hermione bravely slid her hands up Lucius’ waistcoat and under his dark blue jacket, “Allow me,” she said and tried to slip the jacket off his shoulders. He had to help with the tight-fitting material, but in seconds it was on the floor. Hermione went to work unbuttoning the black satin waistcoat, which had replaced the gray one she had cried all over. Soon she had that off her husband, too. She ran her fingers along his sides, wiggling them and found he was ticklish.

“Hey, do that at your peril,” Lucius stepped back, laughing. He snaked a hand out toward his wife, aiming for her side in retaliation, but she twisted and his hand landed on one full breast, which he promptly covered and squeezed, sliding his fingers away with a swift tweak on the crest.

“Sit down,” she said, shivering in delight from his quick pinch. She pushed him backward onto the slipper chair and knelt down on one knee in front of him in her knickers, raising one boot and prying it off his foot.

“I’ve decided I like that slit in women’s knickers. Very pretty.” Lucius sat back and gazed happily between Hermione’s spread thighs.

She looked down at herself and saw the open slit had revealed all her woman’s secrets to the rapt man in the chair. Hermione slapped his knee, “Don’t look. That’s for later, you nasty man. Help me with your boots. LUCIUS! Eyes up!” She giggled when he blinked and looked up at her face, his own features abstracted as his attention came back from the erotic vision below him. He was beginning to see the value of not displaying everything baldly. The peek-a-boo effect was very arousing.

“I remember you said that same thing to me once before, the first morning we woke up in that tenement. ‘Don’t look’, you said.” Lucius relaxed back into the chair and worked on helping Hermione pull off his second boot. It came off with a pronounced jiggle of the little witch’s breasts making Lucius smile. He had a cornucopia of arousing sights to indulge in and his enjoyment was beginning to make his trousers tight.

“I was shocked that my clothing was gone and I hadn’t felt a thing,” Hermione replied. “But watching you wake up and swivel around with your wand was breathtaking. You have such a masculine, well-defined torso, I think my jaw dropped to my chest. I may have drooled.” Socks gone, she rose and waved at the torso in question. “Let’s have your shirt off so I can see your chest again. Just to be sure it’s still as sexy as it was last night and the night before.” Hermione leaned forward, pulling the tails of Lucius’ finely woven shirt out of his pantaloons as he leaned toward her to allow access to his back.

While Hermione was bent, reaching over Lucius’ shoulders, his mouth found its way onto a rosy crest and he sucked it into his mouth, hard.

Hermione jerked in surprise, but immediately clasped Lucius’ head to her, encouraging his marauding lips and tongue. “That’s…oh…oooooh, yes…LUCIUS!” she shrieked as his finger slipped right through the knickers slit and into her. “Sweet Merlin…aaah,” Hermione went rigid over Lucius’ shoulder as he found even more to play with through the betraying slit. Soon she was bucking under his fingers as his other hand held her derriere in place, his mouth never leaving the cushion of one breast or the other. She was so petite it was easy to lift her slim frame for his own pleasure.

Hermione clutched Lucius’ hair in both fists as he concentrated on her disparate pleasure points, frying all her circuits within seconds and enduring his hair being pulled as she convulsed into a squealing climax. He didn’t let up until his wife’s shuddering finally lessened and she drooped onto his shoulder.

Lucius stood up with his slack trophy and deposited her on the bed. “I’m going to take a quick bath then I’ll be back for more of you. Don’t go anywhere.” He chuckled at her half open eyes, which looked like they might be slightly crossed.

“Wha…?” a sated little witch mumbled as her eyelids fluttered shut.

Lucius just smiled at the picture of his limp, little sprite sprawled on the bed still only wearing her funny pantalettes, stockings and pumps and strolled into the dressing room to get cleaned up for his first time making love to his wife not in missionary position. He called for the bath and disrobed the rest of the way as the elves put everything into place. The blond wizard slipped into the warm, scented water and let all his muscles relax, just leaning back against the tub and closing his eyes, letting his mind replay his ‘bosoms appetizer’ with intense relish; his gratified staff swirled and parted the water at his groin.

It had been a long day and Lucius dozed off as his body reveled in the water’s warmth and the contentment he was newly enjoying with his wife. Lucius was startled awake as he felt he wasn’t alone under the water and he realized he had fallen asleep. Small hands were lightly stroking his now semi-flaccid penis, then dipping to caress his soft, heavy sac as he saw his wife kneeling at the side of the tub.

“I said I’d scrub your back for you,” Hermione smiled, both of her hands industriously submerged, creating some foam with her enthusiastic ministrations as she happily played under the water.

“I know this is superfluous to point out and I certainly haven’t any burning desire for you to correct your error, but that isn’t my back you’re scrubbing, kitten.” Lucius looked over the side of the tub and saw Hermione was now naked. One approving eyebrow rose, but he merely lay back luxuriating in his spontaneous massage for several minutes, watching the water eddy and churn as he was given a thorough cleaning and inspection by touch before reluctantly slipping his hand under the water to gently remove his wife’s busy digits.

“Get my back and I’ll wash my hair.” He leaned forward and dipped his head under the water, coming up with streaming pale strands which he lathered while he felt small hands gliding soap over his shoulders and down his spine. Her gentle touch all over the firm muscles of his back made Lucius hum with pleasure as he rinsed out his flaxen locks.

“Hand me my towel, dearling, then my wand so I can dry my hair.” Lucius stood up and let the water stream down his body before stepping out of the bath and onto a folded towel to soak up the dregs of water flowing down through the matching, flaxen hair of his legs.

Hermione picked up a towel from the stack and began rubbing Lucius’ back and buttocks, then briskly continued down his legs, one by one, to his feet where she lifted each and blotted between her mate’s toes while he balanced holding onto the edge of the bath. She decided she rather liked being called dearling. It was quaint and old-fashioned and was probably another of the Veil’s translations, but it was a sweet-sounding endearment.

Lucius was bemused by his unexpected help, but let Hermione carefully dry between each toe, this time trying not to show he was ticklish there, too. He took his wand from behind Hermione’s ear where she had threaded it through her curls to free her hands for drying him, and quickly stripped the water from his hair, drying the rest of him before Hermione could find anything more to polish with her towel.

“Oh, I wasn’t finished,” she mourned as she saw Lucius dry all the most interesting items in his collection.

“That’s entirely correct, kitten, you’re not finished. Not nearly.” Lucius swooped down and lifted her up, cradling her to his body as he strode back into the bedroom and dumped her on her stomach onto the bed. Before she could scramble anywhere, Lucius came down over her and she was pressed face down into the sheets. Neither of them had a stitch on and it was child’s play for Lucius to position his tiny, lightweight wife as he wanted her, in imitation of the painting she had agreed to.

The blond wizard grabbed his wife’s hips and pulled her up and backward into position in front of his kneeling form. Those few seconds were enough to bring him to a full and raging arousal; he was looking down at one of his most appealing sights – a female bum, a naked female bum. Everything in Lucius went on high alert, his groin throbbing so badly he gasped with the sharp pain-pleasure.

Hermione looked back and up at her husband and saw his total absorption with her derriere. She watched as he began running his hands over the rounded cheeks, as though he were examining each millimeter of her baby-fine skin by touch. She remembered he was entranced by the act of spanking so she drew a huge breath and before she could back out offered, “Lucius, I’d like to try having you spank me first. Do you want to?”

Lucius looked down at the little witch, hope and confusion battling each other on his face, “Now? Truly? Now?”

“Uh, yes, truly, but I want to do it the right way. Is this some sort of playacting? Am I a naughty schoolgirl or a concubine or something?”

Lucius nearly goggled at his wife. Was he dreaming? “How did you know…? I would like that very much.” Lucius’ eyes went nearly black with excitement. “I don’t care for the schoolgirl. It’s too much like pedophilia for me, but I’ve a partiality for a slutty, sassy, French maid; it’s trite, but I like it. You already have a mouth on you so the sassy part shouldn’t be a stretch. Up you go!” Lucius lifted his wife from in front of him and set her on her feet beside the bed.

“We need a code word for if you want me to stop. We’ll use ‘broomstick’. Don’t forget the word. I’ll stop if you say it. Here, wrap this around you,” he dragged the top sheet off the bed and tossed it to his wife. “I’m going to get dressed for my part as the master of the house.” Lucius hurried into the dressing room while Hermione wrapped the black sheet around her lithe, little frame. She was a bit apprehensive about what she’d got herself into, but she knew Lucius wouldn’t really hurt her and so she took a few calming breaths, letting the game unfold as he wished.

Lucius returned in record time completely dressed as an aristocratic gentleman except for his coat, which to Hermione’s eyes was merely his normal garb. He grabbed his wand from the bed table and pointed it at Hermione, “Hold your arms out from your sides.” He went to work transfiguring the sheet into his erotic, if way too modern, version of a French maid’s uniform, including the black mini-skirted dress with frothy, short white petticoats, white apron, frilly scrap of a cap, and fishnet stockings. He tied off the stockings at her knees leaving her thighs bare.

Hermione stepped into her black pumps that she had left beside the bed when she had gone to scrub Lucius’ back, thinking his choice was somewhat pedestrian, but if he liked it, that was what mattered. “I think you forgot something,” she complained, flipping up her tiny skirt and flashing him a quick view of her little brown muff.

“You will call me ‘my lord’. You are here to clean the room and not talk to your betters,” Lucius intoned, his hands on his hips. His face and voice went into ‘intimidation’ mode making Hermione shiver a little even knowing it was all for fun.

“And will you, um, will you call me ze naughty names?” Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Of course, if that pleases you,” Lucius nodded, slipping out of character for a second as he grinned, then resumed his regal stance. “First, slut, I want you to clean the grate of the fireplace,” Lucius pronounced, looking down his nose at his upstart maid.

“But I ‘aven’t anything to clean eet wiz, monsieur milor’,” Hermione was getting into her role, standing with one fist on her hip in a challenging stance.

Her French accent was atrocious, but Lucius didn’t appear to care, if his big grin was anything to go by. Then he got back into his role and frowned fiercely.

Oooh, the word ‘slut’ is so liberating! Hermione grinned saucily as the shackles of her shyness slipped away. “You cannot expect me to clean eet wiz my ‘ands. I might break ze nail.” She was now exulting in her role as a sexy, cheeky harlot and realized there was truly something special in being set free of her straight-laced limits. Lucius knew what he was doing.

“I’ll break more than that for you if you don’t get started. On your knees, whore, and start sweeping the ashes.” Lucius gave her a realistic impression of menacing master as he took one step closer, his finger pointing to the fireplace.

His voice slid closer to the silky tone that usually indicated his deep displeasure and for a second Hermione shivered. Then she rallied and spat back, “Well eef you are go-eeng to be unreasonable about my duties…you uppity lords are all ze same. Arrogant, peeg-headed, zink ze world revolves around you becoze you are wealthy and ’andsome.” Hermione was really letting fly with the barbs as she began enjoying the sexual tension of their ‘fight’. “If you actually ’ad to work for a living as I do, you would starve in ze gutter. You are nothing bu…Ow!”

Lucius lunged forward catching Hermione by one wrist and yanked her up against him.

“Unhand moi zees instant,” the impertinent French maid demanded, her horrid accent slipping in surprise at Lucius’ grab.

“What did I tell you? You will address me as ‘my lord’. I think you are way too sassy for the servant you profess to be. Perhaps some punishment will make you understand your place in my household.” He secured her other wrist and put them together in one hand, pulling her over to the slipper chair where he sat down.

His voice had now sunk to the deepest, most mesmerizing tone he used, giving Hermione a taste of his former persona of Death Eater. She hadn’t heard that quiet, whimsical tone in many years and in spite of the role-playing, her fear became a little more real. “Please, Lucius,” she begged.



Hermione was brusquely told to call him ‘my lord’ again, and was catapulted over his knees, bottom up, screeching, “You have no right. I am un ’onest, ’ard-working…” She scissored her legs in an attempt to wriggle off his lap and felt his large hand slide her miniscule skirt up away from her bare bottom. “Nooo!” she yelled.

Lucius eyes glowed as the first wallop fell. Crack! The smack reverberated in the warm room and a bloom of pink surfaced on the ivory butt cheeks of his sweet little maid.

“Ow. That really hurt, Lucius.” Hermione wiggled some more.

“What did you call me?” The silky voice pierced Hermione’s funk and she stuttered, “M-milord.”

“And do you have any words for me?” Lucius asked, giving his wife a chance to bow out of the spanking with the word, ‘broomstick’.

“Non,” she said in a huff. She knew he was asking if she wanted to stop. But if those women could do it, she could do it, and even try to enjoy it. So far the attraction wasn’t materializing, only the pain, but she wanted to know if there really was more.

“Very well. You have been extremely disrespectful and cocky and have obviously forgotten your inferior place. You are nothing but a slutty, degraded little baggage who needs to learn to obey her master. Perhaps this physical reminder will help you. You will count each strike and say ‘more, please’. Do you understand?” Lucius growled. “Start at ‘one’.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and covered her face with her hands, merely nodding.

“Do you understand?” Lucius said, more forcefully.

“Oui, milord,” Hermione whispered.

The spank that landed next was just as hard as the previous one. “Owww….uh, une, milord. More… please… I mean, s’il vous plait,” Hermione moaned.

Lucius laid the next strike right on the first, delighting in the resilience of the small globes he was spanking. He listened for the code word, but none was forthcoming. Instead, he heard his fancy French maid responding in her role.

“Ow, deux, milord. More s’il vous plait.” Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat with the blossoming pain, but she was committed to pleasing this man who had always been so generous to her.

He repositioned his hand, more firmly holding her starchy petticoats up and away from her behind, testing the warmth of her pinkened skin before repeating his carnal punishment.

Crack! Hermione sucked in a gasp of pain. She was feeling the burning in her tush, but she was also beginning to feel a salacious tightening in her core as she offered herself to her ‘lord and master’. His solid, muscled thighs under her and his lime and Lucius scent surrounding her combined with the spanking was working in an odd way, making her feel feminine and protected by this powerful, dominant male as he walloped her backside. As each stoke fell, her desire rose creating a deep yearning for her husband’s mastery to continue in bed. She counted his smacks and begged for more, each time meaning it more than the last.

Lucius was enthralled with his wife’s natural affinity for this game of submission. He was getting erotically overloaded by her funny, ridiculous French accent – his courtesans had never made him a fraction as aroused, even though bare bottoms were his most consuming pleasure. This, this was purest heaven. He would reward her with whatever she desired.

Lucius knew she didn’t truly have a submissive bone in her body, but it was almost more fun this way, having her pretend she was the servile inferior to his dominant lordship. He wouldn’t have used crude names, thinking she wouldn’t like it, but she had actually requested it and it made him so hot he didn’t know if he could hold himself in check. His cock was close to exploding with his ardor, her rosy, hot bum affecting his carnal appetite as his salacious hunger built to a fever in his blood.

He had tried to assuage his private desires by selecting one of his courtesans and spanking her, but the others had been so jealous he had become enmeshed in a stupid rotation and any enjoyment had fled. Lucius had worked his way through each of them once and would have left it at that, but he had idiotically dragged Hermione to the bordello and been blindsided by Margaret.

There was no way he would admit to his wife that he had been trapped into those spankings as an act of good business. Even he would never have believed such a bizarre tale if he hadn’t lived it. The reality was ludicrous enough; confessing to his wife his entrapment by a gaggle of jealous women threatening him with a slowdown unless he treated them all equally he would not do – ever. His humiliation would be unbearable.

That fucking New Leaf Policy was going to be his death. He had never once thought being considerate of others would include spanking harlots. Thank the Gods he had finished and been freed of the rotation from hell. He’d been summarily served a painful penance for his straying.

Hermione’s little bum, however, was perfection. By the fifth stroke on his wife’s now rosy butt cheeks, he could smell the special scent of her arousal and it fueled his own lust to hurricane force. Lucius ended his session at twenty spanks, his voice now low and gravelly with his spiking passion, “You may thank me and kneel before me.” Lucius waited for his wife to pull herself up from his knees and settle in front of him.

Hermione was on fire from her backside but also from her raging libido. She wanted some of that domineering male cock she could see distending the front of her husband’s breeches, wanted it stuffed between her swollen folds and she wanted it now. Her eyes on the prize, she mouthed her line, “Merci, milord,” and waited, lifting her buttocks above her heels just enough to keep from pressing on the tender skin.

“Have you learned your lesson? Do you acknowledge me as your master?” Lucius stood, bringing his groin closer to his wife’s piquant face and focused, sparkling eyes.

“Oh, mais oui, milord, I do acknowledge you as master,” Hermione breathed, letting Lucius know she was actually telling him a truth under the playacting by smiling up at him with a contented acceptance of this bedroom sport he wanted to share with her. She wouldn’t think again about his courtesans. He had promised that was over and she believed him, firmly quashing the tiny remnant of pain his behavior had caused her.

She was learning more about her new husband; if she wanted him she realized her own desires had to become more sophisticated. So far, her pleasure at his hands had been magnificent. What more could he offer her that would bring such glittering joy to her body?

“Very well, my wanton little strumpet, you may have a reward. Stand up and remove your dress, petticoat, and shoes. Leave everything else on and get up on the bed on all fours.” Lucius crossed his arms majestically as he waited for his little sprite to obey his order. He stood watching as she slowly slithered out of her dress while trying not to rub her reddened derriere on the petticoats as she slipped the materials down her body.

Hermione stepped out of the dress and petticoats, kicked off her pumps and crawled up onto the bed being careful to keep her rosy red rear in Lucius’ line of sight. The skin was throbbing now as more blood pooled under her skin, but Hermione was getting used to the discomfort some. She was hoping Lucius’ reward was the doggy style they had been about to do before. Her one worry was being touched on her burning bum while he was thrusting into her. Was that part of the playing, too?

Lucius quickly disrobed, his little wife displaying her well-spanked bum and wearing those black stockings and her frilly, little white hair ornament feeding a deep-seated pleasure he wasn’t sure he’d ever been blessed with before. He hoped he could repay her overwhelming generosity to him by showing her the rest of why spanking had its attractions.

Lucius stepped to his bedside table and retrieved the numbing ointment from the small drawer. Holding it so she could see, he asked, “Would you like me to spread this on you before I take you? It is entirely your choice. I want you to enjoy our lovemaking.” He smiled at her and she understood their master-maid play was ended.

“What do you do?” she asked.

Lucius beamed at her, this intelligent woman he was married to, “I like to have the sex with my bum smarting. It intensifies everything.”

“Then that’s what I want, too. Please, Lucius, make love to me,” she whispered, staying enticingly in her doggy position on their bed.

“Truly my pleasure, kitten,” Lucius put the ointment back in the drawer and slid up behind that petite, ruddy rump, lightly caressing her heated skin before settling himself to begin loving his wife. He stuffed several pillows under his precious lady settling her more firmly for his body’s invasion of her delectable cave. He could see she was very wet for him and using one finger to separate her feminine folds for his penetration, Lucius took a breath, said a prayer that he would last more than three thrusts, and pressed the head of his penis into her channel. “You can still say ‘broomstick’ if you need to,” he said while mentally crossing his fingers that she wouldn’t want to.

Lucius needn’t have worried; his wife was made of sterner stuff than that. Hermione had committed herself to the experience and she was along for the entire ride. The first deep thrust brought his hips up against her reddened glow and she hissed, but no word stopping him passed her lips.

Lucius quickly understood that the whole carnal encounter from beginning to end was his for the taking. With that acceptance, Lucius held her hips and pulled out, then pressed in even deeper until he found her entire length with his own, angling himself to hit the most sensitive spot inside her with his staff. He bent over her back, kissing the nape of her neck, then biting it and soothing the bite with his tongue to spread the sensations.

Hermione lurched when her husband caught the skin at the join of her neck in his teeth and nipped her. It was an area of strong arousal for her and she moaned her pleasure in the bite, seeing his pale hair swinging down by the side of her face. She gasped when she felt his hair feather in retreat over her shoulders as his tongue wove a slow path on her back, licking deliberately all the way down her scar and illustrating without words his complete affirmation of all of her, including her flaw, before he surged once more, filling her core with his male tool.

His intimate acknowledgement and acceptance of her disfigurement brought tears to her eyes; the approval intrinsic in his gesture was so very heartwarming she had to catch back a sob. She didn’t want to spook her mate out of his greatly deserved pleasure so she buried her face in the sheet to mask her tears, but within another minute, Hermione wasn’t coherent enough to think about much of anything as her husband’s pace picked up. The sensations snaking through her body were magnificently heightened by the brushing of his male hips against her burnished backside. Hermione sank into the intense carnality of the experience with muffled gasps and hisses.

For Lucius it was now a race to see if he could bring his wife to completion before he lost control of his own teetering libido. Each stroke in her tight, hot, wet passage was another slick slide closer to the edge for him. Seeing her rosy bum and feeling her squeezing him from inside was so tormenting he almost despaired.

Finally, he felt the beginnings of her release, her inner passage fluttering around him, provoking his own body’s reaction and driving him to bring her all the way up to her woman’s pinnacle. He kept his thrusts deep and steady, working her into a frenzy of feverish trembling - waiting, waiting until at last she screamed, her slight frame buffeted with so strong a jolt he was nearly knocked free.

Suddenly for Hermione, everything being buffeted inside her coalesced with her throbbing bum outside and a tsunami of sensation crashed over her delicate body, drowning her in the most stunning, shattering orgasm of her life. She never knew her ecstatic scream echoed throughout the firelit room; she was completely immersed in her own tempest, submerged in a passionate bliss such as she had never known. The reverberations went on and on as she collapsed shuddering onto the mound of pillows under her, while still feeling the escalating power of her master as he, too, found his paradise in her.

Lucius let go of his control and almost instantly was swept into the raging torrent of his own climax; he held on helplessly while his body convulsed and emptied its precious burden into his tiny mate. Endless seconds later, two shivering, trembling bodies were entwined on the remaining black sheet, both wildly sated and both completely exhausted.

Hermione had one final whispered request as her eyes closed, “Lucius, may I just be an English tart next time?”

Lucius grinned and pulled her under his big body, keeping his little kitten’s body warm as they fell into a dreamless sleep.

tbc...


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As "The Most Interesting Man in the World" says in the Dos Equis beer television commercial, "Stay thirsty, my friends." More lemonade soon...

Do you ever wonder exactly WHY he's the most interesting man in the world? I really don't think it's his bravery or his beard or his blood smelling like cologne. Do you? See the commercial:

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Bc0WjTT0Ps]

What could it really be?

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