Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 11-14-07


I hope all of you who enjoy Turkey Day, enjoyed Turkey Day! Forgive the wait. I was the designated Thanksgiving location for my extended family and clean-up, greeting, entertaining, big meal, dessert, then clean-up again all took their toll. My house looks its best right now – maybe I ought to do it more often – nah. The only time my dorm room was ever clean was right before finals when I suddenly found a burning need to clean and dust rather than study. I think it’s some sort of psychological mechanism – avoidance? Whatever it is, my case is chronic.

Anyway, thank you all for your patience. And all your lovely reviews.

I think I should put some minds to rest at this point. So – Draco is NOT one of the baddies.

And for those who are not mystery readers and don’t know the format, the villain(s) are usually only disclosed near the end of the story. Suitable clues will have been dropped all along the way to help readers solve the mystery. I’m not a professional mystery writer – actually I’ve never done this type of tale before – so please, no bricks through the plate glass window. Please confine any disgruntlement to a nasty email. Thanks.

Lady Serpentina I think Lucius will have a moment with his newborn soon.

blue artemis I add Draco as a side issue to Lucius who is my main interest. I don’t think I could sustain an entire story with Draco. I’m not sure I could do his ‘voice’.

Dee Dee Draco will go back to Romania. He has exited the story.

Damiana Thank you for the spelling. I changed to the more often used Romania.


Next up is wall-to-wall smut. Those who aren't into that can skip this chapter. (LaBib hastily moves aside from the stampede.)


Readers after my own heart. 8-)

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Jolly Green Giant


Lucius picked up his parchment again to finish reading the financial report on the Hogwarts fund, but within minutes put it down again. It would wait. He quietly slid his eyes over to where his wife was sitting on the opposite sofa, reading as usual. The blond, horny wizard pondered just how he wanted the evening to end, running various scenarios through his mind and raising his fly in the process. Lucius was slowly getting back into a more normal physical arrangement with her after nearly three months of limited mutual hand jobs while she waited for and then recovered from the baby’s birth; he was ready to bring back the pace of sex they had enjoyed in Azkaban. He just didn’t know if she wanted that or could do it. To him she still looked so delicate, he didn’t want to get too physical with her too fast. However, Lucius had never been a shrinking violet and his desires had grown exponentially after that session with the paints.

He kept asking himself why he was dragging his metaphorical heels on his own sexual fulfillment? His hallmark had always been self-gratification, not self-analysis and certainly not self-denial. Was he actually putting her wishes above his own? Without at least attempting to sway things his way? Had that illegal drug affected his brain somehow? Lucius got up and moved over to sit snugly against his petite witch, jostling her arm as she held her book.

Hermione looked up at her husband. He was so graceful in his movements – this wasn’t like him at all. “I assume you want my attention? Saying my name would have served as well.” Hermione’s lips quirked as she lowered her gaze to the front of Lucius’ trousers. Ah, so that mystery was solved. Her role as Fragile New Mother was finally being pushed aside and she was being reassigned to her previous position as Malfoy’s Love Slut. And about time, too.

She had despaired after the paints had only brought on brief, tame gropings and sickeningly sweet sex where she felt like she was a breakable little porcelain doll. All she wanted to do was smack him over the head with “Hogwarts, a History” after some of the boring fuck forays she’d endured in the past few days.

She knew from past experience that her husband was capable of eons better work than that, but she didn’t know how to jumpstart her benign idiot into his more predatory sexual self. If that bulge was any indication, maybe she should have been careful what she wished for.

Lucius removed her book from her hands and threw it onto the other sofa where he’d been sitting. “Accio, green paint.” Hermione’s little jar of green paint flew into his waiting hand. “Accio, paintbrushes.” Now Lucius was armed and definitely dangerous. He put his accoutrements down on the sofa cushion behind him and turned to his wife. “Roll your dress up to your waist.”

Hermione looked at her mate for a second, just to let him know it was her choice to do as he commanded, then she slowly lifted her skirt and pulled it to her waist. She was wearing a pair of serviceable white cotton knickers.

Lucius almost gagged at the unattractive underwear, “Dammit, Hermione! I’m going through your wardrobe later and pitch all those spinster panties into oblivion. You know I don’t like them.”

“Well,” his Love Slut volleyed back, “pardon me! I thought I’d been reborn as some sort of religious relic the way you’ve been treating me lately. We religious relics can wear whatever is comfortable. Just because you don’t invest in underwear, doesn’t mean everyone else has to follow suit. Those thongs you bought me ride up and make me constantly aware of places I don’t need to be thinking of when I’m giving Lucien his bath or taking him into the garden for a stroll. YOU certainly haven’t been taking the edge off of my reaction to those torture devices.”

“And that is about to change.” Lucius stripped the spinster knickers off Hermione and they disappeared into thin air. He pulled on one of her legs, slinging it over the back of the sofa, making her wide open to his gaze.

Hermione relaxed back against the side arm of the sofa and waited. Lucius didn’t appear to be in any great hurry to touch and after several seconds went by with her assets getting a thorough review as they got drilled by frosty gray eyes, she sighed in some frustration. “If you don’t want to do anything more than look, just take a snap so I can get back to my book.”

The frosty gray eyes looked up and met her chocolate ones. A slow smile oozed across his face and it wasn’t a nice, safe smile. The predator had awakened at last and Hermione shivered in the warm room.

“Such bravery, tidbit,” Lucius purred, sliding his index finger from a slim ankle up almost to the jackpot, then sliding it back down again, frustrating his wife who had tracked the digit with renewed interest, tensing her leg muscles and giving her absorption away to her husband.

Hermione gritted her teeth and huffed her displeasure when she saw his teasing touch wasn’t going where she wanted it. She instantly gave back measure for measure, “Have you forgotten what to do with it, Lucius? That bulge in your trousers goes between my legs. Ring a bell, now?” Hermione loved watching the storm clouds gather on her husband’s face. He was just so easy. Pulling his tail always invigorated her and a sensuous feast of the senses would follow with her husband behaving like a storm trooper on a mission to destroy her maddening giggles.

Lucius had a second’s irked reaction to his wife’s taunting, then he relaxed again, startling her and making her more wary. He knew she could send him up quickly, making him livid. He’d never known anyone who could infuriate him half as fast as she could. But tonight he wanted total control and that didn’t include anger. His anger and resulting carnal impatience were her sex weapons and his downfall. She easily got the upper hand when he lost his temper and fell on her exulting little body, giving her what she wanted. No, not tonight.

He smiled gently at his little sprite and reached behind him to retrieve the jar of green paint and the long-handled paintbrush. He knew she’d forgotten them and he gloated at her dismay as he pried off the lid.

“Oh, I know where things go, my love, but tonight I’m changing the rules a little. Do you remember my reaction to this green paint on my balls, tidbit?” One doting male finger traced the open top of the jar, around and around and around, fascinating her in an obnoxious way, “As I remember, you enjoyed watching me writhe against the tingling it promoted on my very tender skin. I wonder what sensation it will bring forth for you?”

Hermione tried to bring her leg down from the back of the sofa, but Lucius was faster, flicking a charm on both her legs, freezing them into place. She started to roll down her dress over her exposed attractions, but Lucius caught her small hands with his unencumbered one and suddenly they were frozen in place as they gripped her dress, wrinkling the material where it was still bunched at her waist.

Lucius sat back and admired his handiwork. “Lovely, Hermione. You make a beautiful canvas. Let’s just open the front of your dress so I have a bit more scope for my artistic talents, shall we? You may call me Picasso for the evening.”

Lucius unbuttoned the front of her dress, smiling at the ease of access which was designed for his son’s nourishment, but was perfect for his purposes. “Perhaps I should get the black paint, too, so I can finally do your nipples the way I wanted you to do for me before, if you remember. Ring any bells?” he mimicked her sassy comment of a few moments before.

Hermione couldn’t budge her hands and Lucius soon had the front of her dress wide open and gaping, her full breasts bursting free and enchanting the budding blond artist.

“Lucius, be careful what you put on my breasts. I don’t want the baby to be poisoned by something not made for infant digestions.”

Hermione hoped that might slow down Lucius’ plans for her chest but she was doomed to disappointment as he tsked in mock annoyance, “My dear wife, I had Snape analyze these jars of paint and there is nothing in them to bother our child. Not that Lucien’s going to get any in any case.”

Hermione was blooming with embarrassment, “You told Snape about our paint? How could you?” She struggled again with the binding charms but they held her tight. “Oh, you are so dead, Lucius.”

“As it happens, he actually is the creator of the paint. If you would ever look at the small print on labels you’d see his logo. He doesn’t put his name on the product for obvious reasons, but he’s been making various concoctions for sale in the Muggle world for years. It helped supplement his somewhat meager income as a professor at Hogwarts. Of course, he doesn’t really need the money any more, but the product is successful enough that he continues to supply the stores with it.”

“I don’t care,” she wailed, “he didn’t have to know we used it!”

“Hermione,” Lucius growled as he glared at his inconsistent spouse, “how did you find out about the paint?”

Hermione saw the pit opening at her feet but it was too late and her innate honesty came burbling to the fore before she could rein it in, “Oh, all right,” she pouted, “I got it from Ginny Potter. I take your point.” She mumbled under her breath, “Arsehole.”

“What was that, my love? Are you calling me names while you’re bound hand and foot?” He raised an eyebrow in mock admiration of her foolhardiness.

“I was just calling you Picasso, like you requested,” fibbed his prudent wife who decided not to push her loving mate any further while he wielded the green paint. “At least use the softer paintbrush,” she wheedled, “I don’t have your masochistic tendencies.”

“Agreed,” Lucius said and changed for the other paintbrush. He dipped the end into the green slush and stirred it slowly, allowing Hermione to build up to a feverish apprehension (and anticipation) of the tingly effects of the substance.

She focused on the slow circles of the paintbrush, nearly hypnotized by the monotonous movement of the swishing brush. The spell was broken and she gasped when the brush was finally lifted from the goo. “Uh, Lucius, can we rethink this? Lucius? LUCIUS?”

Hermione’s rosy headlights were adorned with the minty dessert, then Lucius leaned forward and served himself a double helping of green paint, leaving nothing but wet splotches on her nipples. She closed her eyes at the erotic sensation of her husband’s slick tongue circling the crests, and bucked when he lightly bit her. He sat up licking his lips with the residue, “Tasty stuff,” he offered with a grin, dipping the brush again. Lucius didn’t have even the tiniest smidgen of green paint adorning his chin, stupid sod. She hated him. Damned perfectionist despoiler of innocent (kind of) women.

This time the paintbrush was aimed right for her most delicate property and she moaned, “Lucius, noooo…” Then, “Sweet GODDESS, that’s cold! NO, LUCIUS! Not up there.” Hermione tried to wiggle away but she was held fast and the paintbrush found its way into her moist tunnel slithering upward a couple of inches. Then the blond fiend slanted the brush, applying the green goo to all sides of her channel before sliding it back out.

Lucius casually rested against the sofa back and watched his wife, just as she had watched him before. He didn’t have long to wait.

Hermione’s initial withdrawal from the application of the paint gave her husband a wonderful sense of righteous retribution for his poor abused sac and he eyed her reddened twin peaks again for his next project. Maybe he should paint both boobs completely? He was just moving to ‘accio’ the black paint when Hermione jerked his attention back to her.

Hermione had been assailed by a rolling barrage of prickles in her interior that brought a sensual pleasure and she was intensely relieved that the feeling was so mellow next to what she had been dreading. But she wanted payback and saw a way to do it.

“Oooooh! YES!” she crooned, watching the degenerate brute masquerading as her mate through lowered eyelashes to see his reaction, “I…I…oh Gods! This is…this is…ah, ah…” she panted dramatically, pumping her butt muscles to show her body’s appreciation, “Lucius! This is better than sex! I LOVE this.” She added some more heavy breathing to put the final nails in her mate’s reprisal, “Snape, I love you. More, Lucius, I need more.” Hermione wiggled histrionically and watched with glee as Lucius drew back, clutching the paint jar to his chest protectively.

Lucius looked down at the innocent jar, wondering how it was his wife got so much more out of the paint than he had. He frowned in perplexity. Was this color formulated for the female body? There was nothing on the label and Snape hadn’t said a thing about… Lucius heard a definite snicker from his petite darling and quickly realized he’d been had. “You do like to play with fire, don’t you?” Lucius asked rhetorically as he set down the paint and brush on the sofa table. “I think it’s time for more dessert.”

Hermione got as far as, “Now, Lucius…” before her mouth was filled with his tongue.

Lucius caught both of Hermione’s breasts in his hands, weighing them and pinching the tips until she was moaning in earnest while he continued to give her the punishing oral osculation that always made her slightly crazy with lust. Her concentration was shot and she still couldn’t move her hands or legs. One of Lucius’ fingers found the hiding place of the green paint and commenced distributing it even higher in her channel, making her faint with desire at his dastardly rubbing on her sweet spot. The green paint’s effects were enhanced by the rubbing and her special spot felt like it was doing an erotic, tingling tango with his finger.

Hermione was given a second to breathe and then Lucius dove in again, inventorying each and every tooth in her head and sliding his tongue all over the insides of her cheeks. My Gods, was the man hanging wallpaper in there? Hermione was so hot she figured her sheath would shoot flames any moment. She adored Lucius’ take no prisoners way of kissing. She was subjugated, pure and simple.

When Hermione’s mouth started blindly following his as he moved his lips over hers, he lifted his mouth and gave her an evil grin. She had trouble focusing on his face, but got the idea. This wasn’t over yet. More payback to come. Oh sweet heaven, she hoped she was going to come.

Lucius backed up a little and settled himself lower on the sofa, placing his face close to her mint-scented cave. “Time for a little spelunking, love,” and he used that wicked tongue to carve a tormenting path into her sheath, licking up what was left of the mint paint and making her absolutely mindless with a lewd craving to do the same to him.

“Sweet Guinevere, Lucius, free me,” Hermione panted in extremis. She wanted to touch him, smooth his hair while he made her see stars. “You know I won’t try to stop you,” she breathlessly added as an inducement.

“It’s not about you stopping me, tidbit, it’s about me having control. I need that right now,” Lucius’ voice was muffled from his labors, but he looked up at her with his icy eyes showing her his buried distress.

Hermione smiled down at him sympathetically, “I know,” she said softly, acquiescing to his need.

Lucius’ eyes glowed with her acknowledgment of his slight, residual misgivings. He was still worried that she owned him and it still directed his actions with her more than he would have liked. He had been pussyfooting through sex for the last few days because he was afraid to injure her if she was still sore from the birth, but also because he hadn’t wanted to get lost in the quagmire of his attachment to her again. Lucius was concerned that he was closer than ever to becoming rebonded now that they had come to a mutual closure on their individual grievances against each other. Her soft acceptance of his hesitant remelding of their lives relaxed him and he went back to giving them both intense pleasure.

Hermione crooned his name as he led her body to its ultimate shattering, her increasingly plaintive gasps culminating in an ear-piercing shriek as his little witch-wife utterly unraveled under his nimble, clever tongue. Hermione’s body bowed up as far as her restraints would allow, hostage to the helpless, impassioned backlash from her orgasm, then it slumped back onto the side arm of the sofa. She watched through sated eyes as her husband began to take off his clothes.

Lucius was still wearing a dress shirt from dinner and he smiled mischievously, seductively opening the top button. His tie was already lying on a side table, having been discarded while he’d been reading the parchments. The blond tormentor made a production out of each button, sliding them with maddening indolence through the buttonholes.

Lucius leaned back against the opposite side arm of the sofa and slung his legs in a mirror image of hers so they were facing each other; Hermione was getting a second wind of energy watching the slow striptease.

It was a deliberate tease and she finally frowned at her dilatory husband. She wanted to use that paint to draw the “Jolly Green Giant” which she could see distending his trouser front. If he didn’t hurry up she was thinking of another use for his tie and the chandelier, involving his neck.

Lucius idly drew the last button through its hole and ran his fingers down the center of the open shirt, then back up as Hermione tracked each millimeter of his movement. He was thoroughly enjoying her impatient wiggles as he bared his chest at a slug’s pace. The soft cotton of his shirt was finally pulled apart wide enough for Hermione to be bewitchingly entertained by lovely twin pecs and truly impressive washboard abdominals. The blond sorcerer idly fingered each cufflink before slowly unhinging it and sliding it out of his dress shirt making sure his chest muscles were clenching and releasing with his task, mesmerizing his wife who wanted to lick her way down his torso, tasting the smooth warm skin of his male body. And then something more exciting happened. Her husband started pulling down the zipper on his trousers.

It wouldn’t be long now, she thought, knowing there weren’t any shorts to obscure her view when the trousers went. Hermione sat up a little straighter in honor of the potential unveiling of her pagan idol. Well, she snickered to herself, I’ve worshiped at that shrine on my knees so much, by now it should be some sort of deity.

Lucius lazily shimmied out of his pants allowing Hermione an ecstatic view of his sacred treasures, then he relaxed back again, wet his index finger in his pre-cum and traced a path from tip to root, circled his balls once and retraced his route to the tip again.

“Lucius, I’m getting a leg cramp. Can you loosen the leg I have over the back of the sofa?” Hermione affected a completely bogus appearance of ennui, which was fooling no one and they both grinned.

Lucius flicked a finger and all her restraints disappeared, letting Hermione flex her hands and legs before coming up on her knees between her mate’s legs. She leaned forward over his torso and kissed him enthusiastically on the lips, then resumed her stance relaxing back on her side of the cushions again. “What’s next?” She slid one small foot up between his legs and nudged his assets, curling her toes on his shaft.

“Take off your dress,” Lucius ordered. He picked up the paint jar and paintbrush.

Hermione whipped off her dress and inhaled in some expectation, wondering what he was going to color now. She saw him dip the paintbrush into the jar and lift out a large dollop of the green glop and then…she laughed.

Lucius languidly drew a strip of green from his testicles up his shaft onto the glans of her favorite toy. He redipped and put another stripe all along the top length of his penis. The blond wizard paused to inspect his artwork, then he proceeded to completely cover his tool, until the entire surface was bright green and the air was filled with the fragrance of mint.

Lucius put down the paint supplies and smiled wickedly at his little mate whose eyes were glued to his artistic talent. “Come here, tidbit,” he intoned, laughter in his voice.

Hermione got back up onto her knees and leaned forward to enjoy her green lollipop, but Lucius had other ideas. He grabbed her upper arms and raised her aloft over him, settling her astride his hips on her knees.

Hermione screeched, “Oh no, you don’t, I’m not having more of that tingly torture inside me,” but she may as well have talked to the chandelier, because even then Lucius was aiming his tool at her channel and pulling her down onto him. “Lucius, you rat,” she laughed, “Noooo.”

His engorged staff slid easily into her wetness, cramming all that mint paint into her up to the far reaches of her love tunnel. At first the effect tingled with the now-familiar impulses, but suddenly every part of their most delicate flesh went on sensory overload into hair-raising! The combined warmth of their bodies rubbing together in the oxygen deprived atmosphere had acted to change the sensation from mere tingling to a salacious, overwhelming throbbing that translated into an almost unbearably erotic experience.

The two lovers held onto each other tightly, afraid to move, their bodies now on autopilot, intense washes of voluptuous pulses going on and on, fusing their sensitive nerve endings in a headlong rush to an obscenely erogenous peak. Suddenly the cliff loomed and they both shot over the edge into an endless abyss of concupiscent carnality as simultaneous screams, one high and one low, rent the muggy sex-scented air.

Hermione’s little body went slack on her husband’s chest, but he had blacked out at the same time so they both lay boneless for several moments. Lucius woke first, pulling his spent cartridge out of her and gathering his tiny termagant more closely against his body, groggily assimilating the results of their duet of loving, lascivious sex. It was amazing to him how their bodies had fed on each other, each heartbeat bringing incredible surges of unruly desire for both.

Hermione roused and weakly looked up at her tired spouse. “What on earth was that? she asked.

“That was Snape, damn his eyes,” Lucius huskily replied.

“Huh?” Hermione didn’t understand.

“He told me to paint myself then have sex - that the paint would increase our pleasure that way.” He groaned, “It certainly did that,” adding with fond annoyance, “the sadistic arsehole.” He sent a worried frown down to his limp wife, “Are you okay?”

“Aside from missing all the bones in my body, I’m wonderful. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.”

“Yeah, a mushroom cloud,” her husband muttered. His balls felt like Armageddon had arrived.

She giggled, “ So Snape invented that? I’m quite impressed.” Her head fell down on his chest again – she couldn’t keep it raised. Instead she idly petted Lucius’ flank as she slowly regained her strength. “That man certainly has hidden depths. I wouldn’t have thought he’d even think about that sort of thing.”

Lucius grunted and didn’t offer any comment, but in his mind he rejoined, Oh, tidbit, you don’t know the half of his hidden depths and I’m not interested in turning your attention to ANY of them. He feebly rolled his wife off himself to the cushions on the sofa and got up, then lifted his limp darling and carried her to bed.


tbc...

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I'll let the steam dissipate and just beg pitifully for reviews. I'm still digesting from Thanksgiving and feeling kinda sluggish.

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