The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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2-19-10 F


Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. I really appreciate the time you take to give me some feedback on my writing efforts. As usual, my responses are at my LiveJournal site along with a couple of pics for the chapter. The URL is at the end of this chapter.


Oh, yes, much lemony goodness (or badness LOL) in this chapter. Enjoy!


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Chapter Thirty-Seven


The Ice Cream Cone



If Hermione had been able to relax even a tiny bit, she might have been amused by the picture of herself, imitating a terrified garden gnome facing a hungry Kneazle. As it was, she knelt, transfixed by the sight of a long, thick, hard dick no more than three inches from her face, the veins pulsing faintly in an intriguing viney pattern under the red-flushed skin. This fanciful, surrealistic snake mesmerized her as she momentarily froze - immobile, unable to run and yet whimsically grounded somewhere inside herself by those erotic pulses, her lover’s very heartbeat.

Trust and something more ghosted silently through her as though she had come to an unexpected safe harbor, moored to him by his life’s blood flowing through his organ. An epiphany of peace and true contentment settled over her, a soothing balm to her soul.

This was what he’d been trying to teach her. This was what she hadn’t understood. He wanted this primitive play of defiance and subduing, the eternal mating dance between man and woman as old as time, for them to relish and reaffirm their bond of trust and affection and commitment. In some way the collars also symbolized that.

Hermione willfully turned her mind from how Lucius could know about this intimate connection, only speculating briefly that gentle Narcissa couldn’t have been too good at the rough play before blankly refusing to think about his past sex life at all.

In turn, Lucius knew if he had his way, it would never be Hermione’s to discover that the one other time he had felt that overwhelming, visceral yet transcendent sense of primitive joy had not been with Narcissa; it had been with Bellatrix who had tainted the entire experience, fouling it with her darkness when it should have been blinding light. Lucius had always instinctively known it should have been more, but had never found the woman strong and confident enough to meet him in that light – until now.

Just the slightest pressure on the back of her head where Lucius still kept his hand, finally woke her from her frozen trance. A floaty feminine sigh wisped through the space between the married couple. Her lashes lifted over big brown eyes gone soft with acceptance and Lucius’ breath caught in his throat. This was no longer a woman being led to a fate worse than a Dementor’s kiss.

The jubilant wizard guessed that tasting his genitals was now upgraded from the level of disgusting zombie entrails at least to the level of merely unappealing brussel sprouts, which he knew were not Hermione’s favorite vegetable; his rare, pure smile lit his face. Lucius understood his hopeful invitation was now eliciting a generous and willing gesture on her part, even if it wasn’t precisely viewed as a treat. The word ‘Crookshanks’ wasn’t spoken and that was more than enough for him.

“I’ll show you what I like, shall I?” It belatedly occurred to the playful, blond conqueror that he had been asking his little witch scholar to dive off into unknown territory with no clue what to do. Her inquisitive nature must have been in a battle royal with her natural reluctance to experience oral sex.

Her husband saw at once that Hermione’s attitude changed with his offer; her addict’s thirst for knowledge was adding impetus to her decision to explore this new facet of lovemaking. Knowing his wife, whatever she undertook, she wanted to be the best. It was the same for him; he understood the eternal drive for perfection.

In this case, he shrewdly knew he was going to profit, because once she made the decision to learn, it would only be a matter of time before his little witch was a virtuoso on the skin flute. It went without saying his would be the only skin flute she ever practiced on.

Hermione, perching gingerly on her haunches to save her tingling tush, perked up at the unexpected, positive side to her situation. If she had to do this, at least she would be gaining some sophistication in the art of sex, which was so important to her husband. And when she was through, Lucius would be the one hoping to have more sex. It hadn’t been important to her before, but it was of vital importance to her now. She would make him so enthralled with her expertise he wouldn’t ever leave her for two weeks again.

“What do I do?” she asked, her eyes skimming over his tool now with a clinical detachment while she studied her assignment’s turgid anatomy and began assessing its construction. This was new territory for her and the fires of erudition began to burn in her mind. Of course, she had seen him and held his penis in her hand before, but she hadn’t been given the opportunity to actually study his male organ at such close range with a view to discovering precisely how it worked and why certain touches especially could please a man. Hermione was fascinated by a real, working specimen – it was miles better than seeing flat drawings or even seeing it swing from her husband’s body.

Lucius frowned a little at her sudden investigative manner. He was beginning to feel like a science experiment rather than an aroused man ready for oral sex. He wasn’t a piece of machinery, for Hecate’s sake. His incipient indignation stuttered to a halt, however, when she shyly ran a fingertip up his entire length from root to tip, then circled the head lightly.

Oh, Gods, he moaned silently, I am such a slut. His head clunked onto the back of the chair in happy despair.

“Lucius?”

The wizard’s whole being was following that inquiring finger as its tiny nail twined lazily around and around and -

“Lucius! You said you’d teach me.”

That teasing fingernail assumed the mythic proportions of Cleopatra seducing Antony, Lancelot luring Guinevere, Medea tempting Jason…

Lucius’ hips began their timeless dance without his volition, slowly pumping up to reach the enticing drag of a feminine nail on his most delicate flesh. His icy eyes were shut tight to savor the delicious, tantalizing pressure; he wasn’t consciously aware of his body melting into the softly circling rhythm winding around and around and... the finger stopped.

A heartfelt groan cut into the silence, sending Lucius’ acute disappointment reverberating through the room and surprising them both. Lucius’ eyes opened and he looked disoriented, blinking in confusion. “You stopped,” he said stupidly, his words nearly slurred with his arousal.

“I’ll continue after you show me what else you like,” Hermione said firmly. “I learned how to do this much already, in the bath. Now I want to learn how everything feels to you. I asked you before, in the bath, but I guess you were too far gone to reply coherently. I didn’t get much answer I could understand.

“I want you to explain the sensations,” Hermione said, “what feels best and if your body is wired between different parts like mine is. If I touch your nipples, does it trigger a wave of sexual longing in your penis? What is the difference between squeezing your balls and stroking your length? Which do you like better and why? You said you would show me.”

Lucius heaved a great sigh and sat up higher in the chair. “I will if you don’t treat me like a bug under glass. Being dissected like I’m so many interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle isn’t very romantic, you kno-”

Hermione shut off his irritating diatribe by the simple expedient of leaning forward and sucking the head of his slightly wilted cock into her mouth. She gave one swipe of her tongue and pulled it out again with an audible POP, then dared him with eyes grown frosty to continue his flippant little speech, insulting her natural curiosity.

Lucius froze, speechless. He looked down at his cock, the head gleaming wet from her tongue, then back up at his intrepid, tiny scholar and a quizzical, quirky little smile inched onto his handsome face. His head angled sideways as pale hair fell forward over the bit of torn skin on his pectoral, the physical remnant of her impulsive bite, now hidden behind a curtain of flaxen satin.

Hermione’s conscience bit her, just as she’d bitten his chest. She hadn’t meant to break the skin, but he’d yanked away before she could let go. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered sadly, her big, sad brown eyes beseeching as white, even teeth worried her trembling lower lip. A small hand tentatively reached forward, hesitating, wanting to soothe. It hovered, then withdrew.

Lucius stretched out one long, elegant finger and gently removed her lower lip from between her teeth. “I know you are, sprite. It was my fault; I was surprised. I hadn’t quite taken your measure,” a soft smile lit his pale eyes to warm gray. “Now I know to expect your fiery nature in physical ways as well as the very familiar verbal ones. You’ve exceeded my hopes and wishes in all ways. You’re quite the tigress, love.” A chuckle escaped, “You’re not afraid of me at all, are you?”

“To be honest,” Hermione shrugged, “I would liken it more to living with a venomless cobra, never knowing when it will strike and give you puncture wounds, but not worrying that it’ll be anything lethal.”

“I think I got the puncture wounds today,” Lucius grinned, rubbing the torn skin on his chest. He gestured to his now half-flaccid rod, “Well?”

“Well what?” Confusion furrowed her brow.

“I merely wondered if it tasted better than brussel sprouts,” her husband’s eyes laughed although he was trying to keep a straight face for his wife’s sake.

“Brussel sprouts?” The dregs of Hermione’s guilt dissipated like fog in sunshine and perplexed curiosity took its place. She shook her head, wondering if she’d heard him wrong. She aimed an uncertain smile at the naked wizard, who began idly stroking himself. Her focus instantly changed direction.

“You hate brussel sprouts,” he said, his narrowed eyes giving away the speculative calculation going on in his mind if Hermione had been looking in them, which she was most definitely not. Her big, brown eyes were glued to the languid up and down glide of Lucius’ long fingers on his penis.

“Especially undercooked,” he went on, keeping his voice low and soft. “That was the worst-tasting thing I could think of to compare with your first experience of oral sex.” He lifted his tool higher, which was making a swift return to excited duty; he gleefully noted his wife’s eyes follow the movement as though she were hypnotized.

In slow motion, so as not to disturb her concentration, he reached under his raised shaft with his other hand to envelop his large, heavy testicles with his fingers, cradling his virility in his palm. His perfectly manicured and buffed nails caressed the loose male sac, locking his wife into her helpless voyeurism, watching as the skin holding his testes was manipulated by squeezing and light twisting, making the globes within slide sideways under his fingers. It was as though he were preparing them for some secret, naughty ceremony just for her.

Hermione shed her clinical detachment without a second thought at the sight of Lucius rubbing his balls and slowly stroking his burgeoning shaft within a few inches of her face. It was quite odd, but extremely titillating, how his salacious actions were so magnetic to her senses - how she wanted, needed, panted, to touch her tongue to that turgid, cushioned tip being so tenderly fondled in front of her nose.

Oh Gods, her muzzy mind gushed, this was way better than an ice cream cone and in a different universe than brussel sprouts, although it looked sort of like two brussel sprouts hanging inside that arousing, masculine sac. Two big brussel sprouts. Hermione’s eyes went glassy with desire, hypnotized by the slow, methodic movement of Lucius’ fingers luring her to him with the sexually blatant display. Millimetre by millimetre her head leaned forward until her lips came to rest on the tip of his cock.

Lucius slid his hand to the base of his cock, inviting, coaxing, presenting his body to be shared in this new way, something private and exquisitely intimate felt by them both.

A low moan broke from deep in the wizard’s chest when his wife’s soft, pink lips glided over the head of his cock, encasing it in her mouth again. His icy eyes closed involuntarily as a small, questing tongue tested the sensitive slit at the end, then discovered the rim of his cushioned tip and ringed it before drawing the shaft farther inside her wet, oral warmth with a tentative suction. Lucius convulsively clutched at the testicles he’d been fondling, the hot, moist tension of her mouth on him knocking him sideways.

“Her…Herm…ah, Gods, Hermione…,” he breathed, his chest rising with the desperate inhalation of air his body needed – he had been so clever, seducing her into oral sex, never knowing just how much power he had handed her; he was helpless against that probing, caressing tongue currently reducing him to ashes. And then it got worse.

Hermione watched her handsome husband as his eyes closed in ecstatic surrender, then her eyes lowered to his hands right in front of her face as she licked all around the ridge of skin on his glans, seeing him squeeze his balls suddenly. Gently she put her hands over his, the one constraining his sac and the one still holding his cock at the base, interlacing her fingers through his and ultimately replacing them with her own firm touch.

Lucius never opened his eyes, merely abandoned his flesh to her ministrations as his whole body slammed into rigid alert in the chair; his arms moved to the side, abandoning the field to her, his hands clutching the padded chair arms instead. His breathing grew labored, but his concentration was purely on a warm mouth and two tiny hands controlling his genitals, his body, his heartbeat, his everything - all centered between his legs.

He had decided she would be less shy if he wasn’t watching her sucking on him and he wasn’t sure he could keep his body under control if he did watch. However, not watching was its own torture, as the sensations rocketing through him from his groin tested his endurance immediately. A gentle milking of his testicles by delicate fingers, pinching them from side to side within the now-tightening skin as she had seen him do, had his breath hitching in time with the sweet pressure, but his air intake was disrupted when the small fingers circling his cock began their ascent toward Hermione’s unceasing, wicked tonguing of his glans.

“Ahhh, sweet hell, Hermione, your mouth is heav…heaven… Oh! Gods, yes! That! Twist your mouth again.” Lucius’ voice was deep velvet desire, pleading incoherently for her lips to girdle his girth, to twist her mouth up and down his thick length. One hand crept into her hair, the fingertips finding her scalp and guiding her movements, showing her what made him demented. He ventured one swift peek at her servicing him and nearly shot his load on the spot. It took several uneven heartbeats and one bruised and bitten lower lip to wrestle his need to climax back to manageable proportions. After that he didn’t look again.

By accident Hermione’s hand manipulating his sac slipped behind it, pressing down on the perineal skin and suddenly Lucius’ hips darted upward, driving more of his penis into her mouth, gagging her. She kept hold of his shaft, but let go with her mouth for a moment, wondering what had happened. Hermione’s brow furrowed in perplexity. She wanted to know. She wanted to understand why he had gone ballistic.

Lucius didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break the glorious tension spreading like a wildfire through his pelvis. Desperately he grabbed her hand, pressing the fingers to that salacious spot she had happened upon, demonstrating without words the sensitive touch that made his brain short-circuit and his hips jerk as though pulled by a hidden string. He let her feel how, when she petted him just so, his whole existence collapsed down to his groin, transfixing him with overwhelming pleasure.

Lucius signaled that he wanted her mouth back on him with gentle pressure on her head again and he squeezed her small digits still wrapped around his shaft, encouraging them to slide up and down his length. He hadn’t opened his eyes once after his close call so he couldn’t see his wife’s awe in her discovery.

If he had seen her expression he might have been even more worried for his potential sexual slavery to the petite female kneeling between his thighs. He couldn’t know that he was telling her with every hitch of his breath, every moan and hiss, that she had happened upon a goldmine of information to use in her marriage.

Hermione had been testing, twirling, licking, pinching, to see what particular movements her husband favored and she had been building a library of libidinous lessons for his enjoyment and, more important, his enthrallment. This man was never going to disappear again – not for two weeks, not even for a day without her. His sex drive was enormous and she had decided in her mind that he was hers, for better or for worse. Probably a lot of ‘worse’, but only she would supply what he needed in the bedroom, no one else. He had forced this marriage and she intended to make certain of his fidelity. She didn’t share men. Ron had found that out.

If Lucius needed the rough sex, she could do that. She’d discovered the shameful thrills that his demanding mastery could wring from her and recognized the danger of being enthralled in turn. This way, the balance was equal and they both won. She would make sure he won, often. She smiled around his engorged staff as she sucked, then disengaged to engulf one round, soft testicle with her mouth instead – she could learn to like brussel sprouts in this form.

Lucius’ fingers dug into the arms of the chair as his hips set up a rhythmic pumping that he had allowed to slip from his control, trusting that Hermione would call a halt if she gagged too much, but she seemed to have adjusted to the motion, because her talented mouth was driving him inexorably toward completion.

He hissed as she discovered how to mouth his balls while keeping her sliding rhythm on his shaft. The little she-devil was applying that treasured touch beneath his scrotum in nasty, irregular intervals so he never knew when she was going to flip his switch down there; it kept him teetering on the edge of the abyss and greedily wanting more. When she finally went back to merely sucking his penis, he was pathetically grateful; her triple threat had nearly ended everything.

Several steamy seconds later as Lucius’ body danced on the edge of orgasm once more, he reluctantly knew he had to call a halt before he blew his seed down her throat. For her first time, that wouldn’t be a particularly thrilling climax. He smiled at his horrible pun, but gently disengaged his wife’s soft, pinkened lips from around the thick head of his cock and her hands from their erotic work as well. Her disappointed murmur was a choir of angels to the thoroughly besotted, heavily aroused man.

The beginnings of a goofy smile trembled on Lucius’ lips before being quickly banished as his mind traveled from his prick to his head again. He was master here; his pleasure would be his triumph, not hers. His little wife was quite capable of taking the reins of their marriage from him; she had the strength of mind and determination of purpose to bring him to his knees through his cock.

Lucius knew it was his greatest weakness, his delight in and love of sex. She was proving to be perfect in every way and that was dangerous. If she loved him, that would make all the difference, but he didn’t think she did – yet. Neither of them trusted the other enough to allow love to enter their marriage. It saddened him, but he understood he was holding back as well. He didn’t want to be hurt again.

He was learning to let go of his ex-wife marrying his best friend. In his head, he saw it was a wonderful thing for them both and he was happy for them. He knew his marriage to Narcissa hadn’t been a love match, but twenty plus years had done their work and having it ripped apart had hurt. His feelings had to heal some more from the blows before he could move forward with this little wonder who had just gifted him with one of the most accomplished blow jobs he’d ever had. Leave it to the little knowledge junkie to perfect her fellatio skills in one lesson. What idiot ever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach?



“More to come,” he teased weakly, feeling like he’d won the National Lottery and the World Quidditch Cup all in one go. Hermione groaned at his inane joke as she wiped her mouth with her hand. Her whole jaw was wet from her ministrations and Lucius thought he’s never seen a more beautiful sight. The blond wizard scooped up his tiny bundle of warm woman in those beautifully sculpted arms she admired so much and Apparated them both back to their bedroom.


tbc...


(The evening's not over yet, folks. Tune in next week.)


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Don’t forget this chapter’s pics and responses -

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/62682.html


I'd like to hear from a few lurkers. Doesn't this chapter just make you want to type your little heart out? Should Lucius have pushed Hermione into adding to her repertoire of adventurous sex just because he'd been doing the same for her for months? Did she come to enjoy her new experience?
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