The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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2-11-10 Th

I'm not in town tomorrow, so you get my new chapter a day early. ALSO, do not miss the announcement at the end of this chapter. Directions to Valentine Lucius for those who read it. Did I mention there are lemony parts to this chapter?


Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. I hope you like my Valentine card.


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Chapter Thirty-Six


Hellcat



“What?” Startled brown eyes met his glowing gray, confused by the non sequitur. The jersey dropped to the floor. “Hellcat?”

“Do you know what your offer means to me?” Lucius growled, his triumphant gaze making Hermione think perhaps she had gauged her husband’s need incorrectly; she took a step back only to come up short as his hand shot out and grasped some of her long, curly locks in a fist. “No? Let me explain, then.” His fist relaxed and he began massaging the back of Hermione’s scalp while simultaneously pulling her closer to his much larger body. Lucius dropped the hairbrush onto the nightstand.

“I am master in my home and in our marriage. You’ve never liked that idea and I accept the issue will never be entirely resolved, but, correct me if I’m wrong, you are willing to submit tonight, if only to soothe my lacerated feelings.” One naked, muscled arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, skin to skin. “I understand that your offer comes with a natural hesitance, but I hope it is sincerely and unselfishly made. I accept, knowing all it costs you to make the gesture,” he said formally, almost as if he were officially marking a momentous point in their marriage.

Hermione wasn’t so sure she had been all that altruistic. It felt more like an upwelling of primitive desire threaded through with borderline ferocity, firmly controlled for now. Where this new, unpleasant, artificial compulsion riding her ended and her own libido began, she didn’t know. She also didn’t know how strong her itch to bite her husband was going to get, but she figured he was stronger than she was and could combat anything that might get out of hand as he accepted her thinly camouflaged urge to eat him whole. Her hands came up to test his ribcage, and the tactile petting fed her instinct to dig her nails into the firm, warm skin she found there.

“Therefore,” he said, oblivious of Hermione’s growing feral excitement, “I want to add to the entertainment you’ve proposed and I think you will enjoy it as much as I will.” Lucius dropped light kisses along Hermione’s forehead and drew circles on her back with his palms, tracing her delicate shoulder blades, then skating along her spine to the top of her buttocks before returning to her shoulders.

“Um, what…what sort of entertainment?” The furnace that was Lucius’ body and the hypnotic petting of her back was beginning to sap her of her sharper thought processes, leaving it to the hot touch of his rigid tool against her belly to interpret his confusing words. Her hands slipped to his buttocks and held on.

“I want to own you, control you, make you accept my will,” the aroused blond heaved a sigh of satisfaction that his dream of the perfect mate might be coming true for him – finally. “Well, of course, I’ve always wanted that and I do know that’s never going to be more than make believe,” he smiled beguilingly, “but now I also want you to play at it with me, to resist. Don’t make it easy, but in the end I want to win against your feigned reluctance.” He began pulling her even more tightly toward him, “Remember we discussed role-playing? This is one simple version. You fight, I win.”

The bizarre sex play idea brought Hermione out of her erotic, happy cloud for a moment and she looked up at the bright, excited eyes of the man she had just offered her hairbrush to, “What fun is that when you know ahead of time that I’ll capitulate after some sort of mock struggle?”

Hermione’s voice was slightly ragged from her body’s reaction to the indent of his hot masculinity vertically branding her tummy as he increased the pressure of those circling palms. Her flattened breasts tingled where they met his chest, parts of her going soft and moist while two points hardened against his taut, male frame. Her fingernails dug into his butt, making her lover smile in anticipation.

“Have you ever seen that orange furball of yours having fun with a mouse before he killed it? I won’t kill you, but the compulsion is much the same.” He smiled, “I want to play with you as you try to escape or fight me, before I fuck to two of us into catatonia.” His predatory gaze alarmed the little witch even as her secret place clenched hard at the bald description of his intent. “We need a safe word, though,” he continued. “We’ll use ‘Crookshanks’. I know I’ll never say that word in the heat of the moment. Remember it and use it if you want me to stop. Don’t forget! ‘Crookshanks,’ if you want me to stop instantly.” Lucius trailed one hand down her back and slid it between her legs from the rear. “Hold on!”

Hermione barely had time to even understand his command before she was Apparated into Lucius’ playroom where once before she had been strung up for his oral gratification. “Lucius! How did you do that? You can’t Apparate that kind of distance! You can’t Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds at all. You could have killed us!” Hermione struggled to loosen Lucius’ arms, her sex fog clearing and leaving her all too ready to fight him in earnest for his cavalier flirting with death.

“We’re not at home, Hermione. We’re in the Room of Requirement. It knows just what I want tonight. And the Headmaster can Apparate anywhere in these grounds he wants, if he disables the wards. Now hold still!” he shook her as she tried without success to lever his arms off her.

She stopped, her mouth agape as she took in the spooky similarities of this room to the other where she had hung from the ceiling for this man’s pleasure. “I don’t believe you. Oh! Well, I guess I do. You couldn’t Apparate as far as Wiltshire from Scotland. Not in one leap.” She looked around curiously, still held by her husband whose arms hadn’t given way in the slightest to her frantic attempts to release herself. Strangely, his dominant strength actually reassured her that if she couldn’t control her hidden, dark drive to hurt him, he could easily subdue her puny strength next to his.

It disconcerted her to realize that buried under her desire to get free of his restraining arms was a tiny flash of excitement at pitting her physical strength against his. Worse, she basely hoped he would win the contest. How lowering to understand that her biological impulse to submit was swamping her intellectual need for autonomy. Did Lucius know the advantage he had over her – not only physically, but by manipulating her own feminine nature? He must, the sneak.

In the next second his fingers had traveled even farther between her legs and found enough to elicit a shocked squeal from her.

“Lucius! Don’t do that! You aren’t in the right place…Lucius!” Hermione began squirming again, to no avail.

Lucius had lubricated his finger in her natural juices and then repeated what he had done to her once before in his real playroom. His little finger was pressing against her tightly resistant arsehole, his gaze avidly watching her struggle to dislodge his forced entry where none had been before him. His pinky finger was small enough to win the unequal match and the tip popped in through the muscle ring.

Hermione went rigid, the decadence of the act disorienting her for a moment, scattering her wits at the unbelievable intrusion. Before she could do more than emit a gasping shriek, Lucius had impelled his little finger in farther and was wiggling it in a slow, sensual motion, which brought a flush of embarrassed color to her smooth cheeks. She didn’t know where to look. How could he do this to her? She was afraid to move for fear his finger would go deeper. Or maybe he’d add another finger. Hermione was completely out of her depth sexually, her sangfroid shattered with the lascivious act.

“It’s done, Hermione,” Lucius crooned, nuzzling his face into her wild curls, “let me show you what you can have. Let me love you this way. I’ll take it very slowly. You can trust me,” he said, “or you can fight me if you wish. I’ll like it either way. I promise you’ll like it better than the hairbrush.” After you get used to it he added mentally, gently sawing his finger in and out only half an inch each way as he held her immobile against him.

Suddenly he had a spitting mad virago in his arms and his first intimation that he was going to have a fight on his hands was a pretty set of teeth chomping his naked pec. “Yeow! Dammit, Hermione!” Lucius perforce had to release her from his hold, his little finger reluctantly retreating from its tight, warm slot as he yanked away. He bodily picked up his little tormentor and slung her over his shoulder, feminine arms and legs twisting and kicking and pounding his back.

“I don’t want you to love me that way, you degenerate! That’s disgusting. Ouch!” she screamed as the first spanking blow fell in her unprotected rear. “You monster. Let me down. I don’t want you to spank me now, either. I’m mad at you.”

“You’re mad at me? You just opened the skin of my chest. I’m bleeding. Be thankful you’re only going to be spanked, little brat.” Lucius was grinning ear to ear at the spitfire trying her best to pummel his spine into bone meal. Several hard spanks bounced off her rear, lighting it up to a bright pink as he strode over to the side of the room.

Hermione was disoriented for precious seconds as she was swiftly lowered from her husband’s shoulder, unaware of his next move until she felt herself propelled face down over a padded bench affair. She looked like a pink sack of flour stretched bottom up on the piece of furniture, her torso supported in a head-down angle, but her feet off the floor.

Whap! The next spanking blow fell as she adjusted to the cushy bench, trying in vain to stand upright. Her husband’s hand continued exacting a keen punishment for biting him hard enough to break his skin. His other hand held her down so she couldn’t find a purchase on the floor to raise herself.

Hermione was treated to a flurry of stinging slaps on her derriere, each one finding her skin more sensitive than the last, until the quivering ache was constant, a hot, sizzling reminder that this powerful man had great physical strength against her diminutive size.

Surprisingly, after his initial meltdown, he changed his technique. Every few spanks, Lucius stopped and crooned nonsensical encouragement as he smoothed her abused posterior with gentle strokes. Whispering in her ear, his low, cultured tones arrowed straight to her core, making her wriggle with mortifying need. She bit down on her own lips in mindless arousal at the soft glide of his hair caressing her shoulders as he leaned in, the warm puffs of his breath at her temple sending streaks of lightning zinging downward to add to the building throb between her legs.

Hermione heard him chant a quiet cleaning spell and soon learned that the soothing slide of his palm over her burning butt cheeks was followed by an investigative finger in what she deemed was the correct chamber for his digits as he churned her woman’s center to primal ooze.

The first time she felt his probing finger, her erotic bubble burst and she tensed, but she was unable to rise with his heavy hand pushing down on the small of her back. Her fear translated to a blistering verbal denunciation of his entire heritage, suggesting his family tree had spawned a dynasty of twisted perverts, until she realized the finger was only going where she wanted it and not back to its previous unwelcome entrance.

Hermione was very disappointed when he withdrew his fingers and the spanks resumed, harder in response to her vitriol about his family tree, but it tickled her that now she had expectations between swats. Her dissolute husband had a mean, diabolical streak and she was eating it up.

Was this the playful fighting they were supposed to do? He had certainly aroused her ire with that finger in her butt. She dimly knew some people had sex that way, but it had never interested her – until now. The idea was still rather icky, making her squirm mentally, but the memory of that soft, sliding sensation and gentle wiggle of his finger did have a faint attraction.

Then she bit her lip in embarrassment that he might have encountered something from her backside he hadn’t wanted to introduce into her sheath, hence the cleaning spell. This parade of perversions was very awkward and humiliating in places. Why did he have to enjoy so many disconcerting variations of sex? And how on earth did he rip so many holes in her rigid code of conduct, teaching her to like his shameful preferences? He must have some alchemy that shredded her moral fiber. Sweet Hecate, his fingers felt good, scissoring in her woman’s core. Hermione mewled her pleasure at his touch.

Her little puckered rosette still smarted a tad from being invaded, but the hurt was just the tiniest bit erotic. Hermione shrugged, sheepishly acknowledging that, to her great surprise, she had found several times now that her pleasure mixed rather well with a soupçon of pain - and she had this magnetic, if prurient, wizard to thank for unlocking that secret part of her nature.

Hermione endured the next firm spanking, anger giving way to delight at this perceptive, virile man who gave her no choice, forcing her to give up her deep-seated autonomy to his keeping, making her face her hidden well of occasional submissive need – but only for him, to him. Shivering with her desire, she waited for the in-between times when his long, questing fingers plied their passionate trade, stirring her inner juices, then spreading the moisture on her butt cheeks.

Lucius surprised her yet again when he leaned down and licked through the dew he had spread over her derriere, his tongue efficiently lapping up the moisture and sporadically venturing lightly into the origin of her cream. Hermione held very still for his tongue, hoping each time it would find its way to even more sensitive territory, but it never did. Then the process began once more with another spate of spanks followed by the whispered crooning and the invasion of her sheath.

As her buttocks got wetter, the slaps got louder, the sting sharper, his whispers more erotically earthy, and the licks longer. She thought that when Lucius wound down they would have some spectacular shagging, but she miscalculated once again.

“Up, Madam, you have some atoning to do.” Lucius smacked her thoroughly reddened bottom a final time and stood to the side, letting her find her feet.

She pushed up on the padding and came upright swinging. A solid crack knocked Lucius’ head back as her palm connected with his cheek. “Don’t you touch me, you…you…depraved snake!” Hermione thought she could get used to this free-for-all style of sex and she frowned furiously to hide her retaliatory triumph at the frozen shock on her mate’s face. Now his cheek was as red as her two were.

Lucius blinked at the sudden assault, but it only took a couple of seconds for him to retaliate, “Why you little she-devil! That love tap is going to cost you, my dear. I should have remembered that right cross of yours. That’s the second time. I won’t forget again.” Lucius stepped behind her, grabbed her upper arms and frog-marched her over to the lone comfy chair in the large room.

Hermione wasn’t helping him; each step was hard-won, Hermione first going limp, then using her dead weight to unbalance her husband when he dipped to catch hold of her suddenly squirming, lithe little body. She got in a few shallow scratches on Lucius’ arms as he tried to retrieve her, but when Hermione let out a blood-curdling scream, she unintentionally spooked her mate and he accidentally dropped her all the way onto the floor.

Surprised husband looked down at startled wife; he absently rubbed the furrows on his arm from her sharp nails as he asked a little plaintively, “Are you all right? We’re still playing, aren’t we? You remember the safe word?”

He reached out a helping hand and Hermione accepted his help up, while throwing a fulminating glare at him that he could have sworn singed his eyebrows, but when she saw his sudden flare of uncertainty, she hurriedly scorned, “Of course. I don’t give in easily. Did you expect your game to be so easy to win? I’m not a quitter.”

Lucius exhaled and his eyes gentled, “No, I would never label you anything but lethal.” Then he added, his eyes starting to glow silver again, “in so very many ways.” He grabbed her by her wrist, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but she was effectively manacled by strong fingers as she was led over to the chair.

“I can’t sit down, you cretin,” Hermione shrilled, “you’ve made my bum too sore.” She tried to shrug out of his hold, but found his strength unmovable. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling; her jerk against his hold was making his fiercely erect penis dance in the air, its crimson length painting lewd circles as its lone eye searched for its now very moist target.

Lucius slowly shook his head as though she were a particularly dense child, pale strands of his hair falling forward onto his shoulders and clinging there in the light sweat he’d worked up from the spanking.

Her husband had other ideas, taunting with a jovial smile, “Oh, the chair is not for you, little madam,” he chuckled. He ostentatiously lowered his own bum into the seat, pulling Hermione so she perforce had to kneel between his bent knees. He yanked her arm firmly enough to tell her to square up facing him, then he slid the fingers of one hand into her hair once again, tightening his hold and exerting a modicum of pressure on the back of her head.

“Remember when you helped me sort all my correspondence that day in my study and we discussed our bathroom accommodations here at Hogwarts? I said you had seen and touched every millimetre of me already. Then I said we would work on taste next. Well, tonight’s the night.” Lucius kept one hand in Hermione’s hair as he watched his meaning dawn on her shocked face. “You don’t like the idea of me breaching your bottom so I’m going to make use of your mouth instead. You may thank me later for my benevolence.”

Hermione’s eyes shot immediately to the heavy erection jutting up from the flaxen nest of curls at Lucius’ groin, his large, smooth sac resting on the cushion underneath. She swallowed convulsively, a shadow of revulsion crossing her face.

Her eyes rose to his, hoping, beseeching, that he wasn’t truly going to press her, but his steady stare convinced her that this time she was going to give back some of what he had been generously doling out to her for months.

Left to her own devices, Hermione knew she wouldn’t have had either the inclination or, if the truth were known, the courage to provide oral sex for her husband. That choice wasn’t hers to make any more. Lucius’ impassive, stolid attitude telegraphed the importance of her next move. Did she want to end this rough role-playing game that he so treasured on a sour note with a curt refusal to do as he commanded? All she had to do was say ‘Crookshanks’ and she’d be released. But at what cost to them as a couple?

She knew it was all for fun. Weird fun, but he liked the roughhousing very much and it had been quite liberating in a way for her, too, if rather ouchy. She acknowledged that she had originally handed him the hairbrush, so that outcome had been hers to choose. The coercive, unpleasant, but increasing desire to ridicule, sadden, or even injure her husband, which had invaded her system like a virus, had miraculously abated with the first few smacks on her rear. That was a very good thing, because Hermione was pretty sure she was now somehow infected with whatever agent was causing magic folk to turn on the Purebloods.

If Lucius could dissipate the negative feelings inside her with some choice spanking once in a while, that could be fun for both of them while they worked on whatever was creating this artificial, but powerful antagonism she and others in the wizarding world were being fed. And it was purely artificial in her case. She knew for an absolute truth that she didn’t want him hurt in any manner, through her actions or words. Sighing at the mysterious ways the libido worked, Hermione primmed her lips, but nodded once, signaling her acceptance of his desire for oral sex.

At once Lucius relaxed showing both of them how on edge he had been and how much her capitulation meant to him. His approving smile went a long way toward resigning Hermione to her new experience, but her brows arched up in concern when she looked at the thick, lengthy member she was supposed to…what did one call the act? Sucking, she supposed. Or maybe licking?

She’d overheard Harry and Ron talking about it once briefly before they saw her and changed the subject. They had been discussing ice cream cones and snickering about some girl who liked to lick the ice cream and swirl it, then stick the whole scoop in her mouth. The boys had been laughing and it was awhile later that Hermione figured out what had been so funny about an ice cream cone. Maybe if she pretended that this was an ice cream cone, it might not be so bad. Hermione didn’t have much more time to contemplate her position because her spouse took over.

Lucius was nearly hyperventilating with mixed desire and worry that his wife wouldn’t move with him into an area of sex he, like every other breathing male on the planet, wanted. He wanted it with her. It was frightening him that if she wouldn’t consider this form of lovemaking, he would be reduced to their more limited variations of sex for the rest of his life. And that scenario was disappointingly bleak as a future - their delightful, rough sex notwithstanding. He wanted her to accept his fuller sensual leanings. He wanted it all.

Her miniscule nod of acceptance opened the floodgates of relief; a surging, maelstrom of joy shot through his bloodstream translating directly into his velvety flesh, wrapping a phallus as hard as tempered steel. It wasn’t waving around now. It had solidified into a long, thick ruddy poker of hot, stiff anticipation offered with intense concentration by two glimmering, silver eyes boring holes into Hermione’s face as she stared at her fate.

tbc...

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Happy Valentine's Day a bit early. Don't forget to see this chapter's pic, a special Valentine Lucius card from me to you. I'd rate it perhaps an R, so those who can't abide any HINT of prurience should skip it.


This chapter’s Valentine pic and responses are waiting for you at -

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/62067.html

For future readers, scroll down to Chapter 36.
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