Cherries

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Story: Cherries
Author: bubblybabs
Email: bubbalilly@gmail.com
Beta: Periculum
Total Word Count: 6,642
Chapter 4 Edit Date: 11/20/2008
Clean-up editing done: 07/31/2009
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Chapter 4 – Confused

Previously:
Hermione's mind was numb, she felt oddly detached from her body. Her night had begun in fear and trepidation, which somehow crossed over into hours of exhausting ecstasy. She again recognized the fact that she needed to think about what had transpired, but was too tired to do more than crawl under the sheets and quickly fall into a dreamless sleep that only fatigue could bring on.

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The morning faded into the afternoon, Hermione continued to sleep soundly, finally prompting Mrs. Weasley to come and make sure she wasn't ill. Hermione awoke to find the older woman sitting on the edge of her bed with a worried look on her face. She put the inside of her wrist to Hermione's forehead.

“Are you alright, dear? You don't normally sleep so long.”

Hermione looked at her quietly, still snuggled warmly under her covers, a furrow forming on her brow. She felt funny, as if she had just been aroused in the middle of a deep sleep. Her mind felt sluggish as she tried to remember if the memories she was recalling were real or a strange dream. Why was she feeling so funny? Almost like she had taken a potion designed to befuddle her.

“I'm okay, Mrs. Weasley. Just very tired for some reason.”

“Are you hungry? How about if I go get you some soup, dear. Perhaps you need something light to begin with?”

“Um, yes, yes, that will be good, I suppose.”

Mrs. Weasley gave her a look of concern.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Are you sure you're feeling okay, dear?” Hermione felt a hand reassuringly on her blanket covered arm.

“Yes ma'am, just a little funny. Maybe I'm getting a cold or something.”

“Perhaps. You do sound as if you have the beginnings of a sore throat. I'll get you that soup and we'll see if that helps, alright?”

With that, Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the room. Hermione went to sit up and discovered she was naked. Her first instinct was to cover herself with her arms. 'That's funny, I distinctly remember putting on a nightie before I went to bed.' She also found that she was so very sore, her whole body felt as if it were one large bruise. She inspected her arms and legs, but didn't see bruises on her. Were the nights events she was foggily remembering, the memories seeming to be just out of reach of full realization, for real? They weren't a dream? Or were they? If they were real, why did she feel so foggy and the memories seem so far away and indistinct? If they weren't real, why was she so sore?

Hermione cautiously climbed out of her bed, walked to her bureau (Wow! She was amazed at how sore she was between her legs! And she was oddly sticky down there), and pulled out a cotton, knee-length nightshirt, put on some of her cotton knickers, and climbed back into bed. She then felt a compulsion hit her that oddly forced her to get up and change into one of her baby-doll nighties with its matching lacy panties. Finally redressed and back in the bed, she felt the need to use the loo. Once again, she climbed out of the bed, and grabbed her pretty blue terrycloth bathrobe her mother had given her for her birthday last year, pulled it on, and walked a little stiffly down the hall so she could relieve herself. As she walked passed Master Sirius' door she heard it open and saw him come quietly to the doorway; he folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb while watching her. She looked at him questioningly for a moment, murmured a brief greeting, then continued to pad barefoot down the hall to her destination.

Once she sat on the toilet and her stream began, she realized how sore she truly was. With a gasp she stopped urinating. She brought her hand down to inspect the skin around her urethra and found she was tender and swollen, the skin rubbed raw in some places. That had not been a dream! The night's events descended upon her like thunder, her body recoiling physically as she grabbed at the sink to keep her from falling off the toilet. How on earth could she have thought it was all a dream?

She felt a tear slowly leave her eye and fall down her cheek. If it had been a dream she could chalk up all she remembered as teenage hormones gone amok, but for it to have been real? Shame burned her face, deep shame that she had acted and reacted so sleazily. Did she really do all that? React like that? With them? *Both* of them? And Master Sirius had come out to watch her from his doorway as she came down the hall, probably to gloat over her like an adolescent boy would. She tried to remember what his face looked like. Was it a face of scorn, concern, disgust? She didn't remember now, she remembered looking at him but hadn't registered his facial expression.

And she was thinking of him as Master! Automatically!

'I will not think of them as Master! I will not!'.

Trying to pull herself together, she took stock of how her body felt.

She was surprised of how sore her vagina felt. She thought that after the initial penetration, the pain would be gone, apparently this was not so. She found it burned, especially at her entrance. Her whole bottom seemed to burn, felt like it was going to fall out of her with a strange ache in the bones of her bottom, as if that was all that was holding her insides in. She put her hand on the outside of her vagina, she remembered Mast – Sirius stating that her hymen had been torn there. It felt hot and a little swollen. Another tear fell. She was no longer a virgin.

She itched down there a little bit and worried about a vaginal infection. Would those cherries cause an infection? How would she know if she got one? How obvious were the symptoms? She had no one to ask. If she were to ask they would want to know why she was asking. Too much of a risk to do that.

And she had cherries stuffed up inside of her! Her stomach rolled when she thought of that. She didn't know people did things like that, putting food up inside of a woman. 'And it had felt so good when he was.... No, don't think about it! How could I think it felt good? He hurt me! Against my will! I did fight him, I did, I did!'

'I'll never eat another cherry as long as I live, never.'

Her hips felt sore, sort of inside her thighs where her legs joined, where Sirius' knees had dug into, and his thighs had slapped into her repeatedly. She was sure there had to be bruises there but had no way to check.

Her throat felt scratchy as well. Was it normal to have a sore throat after swallowing semen? She didn't know, and again, she had no one to ask. Was it Kreacher's semen or Master Sirius' or a combination of both that made it sore? Or was it because of their penises hitting her throat? WHY did she swallow their sperm? She just gulped it right down like it was the best thing in the world to do. She even licked it off of her lips and licked them clean! And she LET them put their penises in her mouth! Their dirty penises that they urinate out of! She had had the penis of a man and a house elf in her mouth. The thought made her gag and she held her hand up to her mouth for a tearful moment as she fought to keep her stomach contents from coming up.

'I'll never get my mouth clean again'.

She realized she had called Sirius Master yet again. 'I will not call him Master!' Why did she keep doing that?

And Sirius peed on her! Sirius and Kreacher both. She shuddered when she thought of it. She actually enjoyed their peeing on her! Their dirty, nasty, stinky pee. Oh, the shame of it!

Her wrists hurt where Kreacher had grabbed them as he had been rather rough. She looked at her wrists and could see pale shadows of finger-shaped bruises upon them. Not very noticeable, but one could see them if they specifically looked for them.

And how sore her nipples were! She guessed that the combined sucking and pinching of the two of them over several hours had taken their toll. She wasn't sure she could even wear her bra today. Suddenly, she remembered their bites. She looked down at her breast and was startled by the deep pink, raised teeth marks, just above her right nipple. She felt down her left buttock and felt Master Kreacher's mark, then gulped in disbelief. 'And I told them I loved their marks on me?' Her mouth hung open for a moment as she recalled how thrilled she was at receiving their marks. She was thrilled with being branded their slave? She felt her nipples begin to harden and slapped her breast in anger. She couldn't believe her body was responding to those thoughts. It was as if her body and her mind were acting on two different levels – one in shocked disbelief and the other in repressed excitement.

Why didn't she fight them harder? Surely, if she had fought harder or longer she could have gotten away. She remembered that Sirius wasn't expecting her to fight him. A knee to the groin and she could have ran. But then, there was Kreacher. He would have stopped her. She should have grabbed her wand then. Right, me, fight a man and a house elf. Who was she kidding? Had she not been so stupid, she would not have had to fight them in the first place.

Then she thought about how good it felt to have them touching her body, how wonderful it felt to have the both of them doing things to her, the things of her dreams. She repeatedly recalled what they had done last night in her room. All of it. She obsessively mulled the night's events in her mind. The visions wouldn't leave her. How she had responded to the both of them like the whore Sirius called her. She was especially disappointed in herself for how she behaved and acted once her initial instinct to fight had been quelled. She knew men wanted women to act that way, but those are women they screw, like Lavender Brown, and not girls they respect and marry. She was confused over all this. Men wanted sluts in their beds but wanted to marry good girls who were shy and respectable in bed. She had been far from that last night! Why? What made her act like that? Did they Imperius her when they first entered her room? Had she been drugged?

She closed her eyes and began to reminisce about how good it felt to have their hands and mouths on her body and she found herself rubbing her nipples at the thought. She pulled her hands away in horror the moment she realized what she was doing. How horribly shameful and embarrassing! How could she face anyone ever again? 'God, I was begging him to fuck my butt! Oh God.....

Suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach and grabbed the trash can so she could vomit into it. As the emesis came out her mouth, her urine was forced out as well. She had to endure the discomfort of vomiting with the pain of urinating over raw flesh. Her lower lip trembled and tears came down her cheeks. She saw cherries in her vomit and she wondered how much of the fluid was sperm. She felt a thick liquid squirt out of her anus and vaguely wondered if it was semen as well. Did the cleansing charm clean all of their seed from inside of her body as well as the outside? Was she going to have to worry about pregnancy now, too? Could house elves impregnate a human? She envisioned lying on her back and pushing a baby out with the baby being a human-sized house elf looking like an alien baby one would see in a horror movie.

She tried to stifle a sob as she vomited some more, finally dry-heaving a few times when nothing else would come up, then began to cry in earnest.

She heard loud, incessant knocking on the bathroom door. Hermione looked up and was relieved to see she had locked it. Mrs. Weasley's worried voice flowed through it.

“Hermione? Hermione, are you all right, dear?”

“Yuh-Yes, yes. Yes, I'm all right. I'm just s-sick to my stomach and threw up.”

“Oh dear. I'll go get a potion for you to take. I have your soup in your room. Don't eat it until I bring the potion up, okay?”

“Yes ma'am. I'm going to wash up; I'll be out in a minute.”

“All right.”

If there was one thing Hermione wanted at that moment, it was a big, huge, squishy hug from Mrs. Weasley, her mother substitute. But she knew if she were to allow that; she'd break down and blurt everything out. Did she want everyone to know what had happened last night? How slutty she had been? How she had done it with a man AND a house elf? Kreacher of all elves, couldn't have been someone she liked like Dobby, no, it had to be the Mudblood hater.

Did that mean Sirius hated her, too? Did he do this to her because he hated her? She thought he rather fancied her. He said he was pleased with how she was last night, but how could he respect her? How could he *possibly* respect her? She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. He may have liked her in bed, but surely he thought her no more than a tramp. And tramps were scum.

She turned the shower water on as hot as she could stand it and washed herself. Washed and cried. Her breasts were very tender, as was the area between her legs. Other than some aches and pains, her body wasn't hurting too much. She associated the aches and pains as feeling like after she had swam a few laps in the pool the first day it opened in the summer. Her limbs felt just as heavy, too. Soon, she began to scrub herself, but felt she would never get the feeling of their hands, mouths, and secretions from her body. Finally, she had to force herself to stop – as it was, she looked like she had a sunburn due to her scrubbing the top layer of skin off.

Gingerly, she dried herself off, having to be careful to only pat her tender breasts dry. Looking at herself in the mirror, she didn't see any bruises other than on her wrists. And, was that a lovebite? Right there on her shoulder near her neck? Did she seriously have a lovebite? She remembered Sirius sucking her there, but didn't realize what he was doing. How embarrassing! She hoped no one would see it. She was grateful that at least their bite-marks of ownership were well hidden from casual view. Where on earth had Master gotten an idea to mark her with a bite?

'I will not call him Master!'

She put her nightie outfit back on and mentally abused herself for choosing to wear it; why didn't she keep on her sensible cotton undies and T-shirt? She brushed her teeth about a dozen times, but they never felt clean enough, though she was sure there wasn't a speck of plaque left on them by the time she was done. Her gums were even bleeding a little. And, when she went to brush her tongue, she dry heaved and drooled into the sink a few times when she went back too far, something she normally didn't have a problem with. She remembered she had had penises shoved back there – the toothbrush, something she always associated with her parents because they were dentists, now became a source of anxiety when she imagined it was like a skinny penis. She gargled, trying to get that slick feeling of their juices to go away and vomited into the sink, nausea hitting her without warning.

Finally, she just stood and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't look different on the outside, but yet she was. Would other people notice? She just stared, feeling as if she were floating, her eyesight going out of focus as she seemed to lose herself in a mindless fog of nothingness.

Suddenly, she was startled by Mrs. Weasley knocking on the door and nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed the edge of the sink and willed her knees to hold her up as she took in a few gulps of air.

“I'll be right out, Mrs. Weasley!”

“All right, Hermione. I'll wait for you in your room.”

'Oh, great. Now I have to deal with her some more.' Hermione just wanted to lie down and pretend everything was a dream. She wanted to be comforted, but she didn't want to be touched. She didn't want to talk with anyone. Didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to be alone.

She put on her bathrobe and pulled the belt tight. Her hair would have to be brushed when she got back to her room. She pulled at it a bit with her hands so it was at least not sticking up everywhere and framed her face a little.

She stepped out into the hallway hesitantly. She definitely did not want to see Sirius again, not now, not after she had remembered everything and knew for sure it wasn't a dream. She glanced up at his room and was relieved to see his door was closed.

Slowly, as quietly as she could, she started walking back to her room. And, as she neared his door, she was dismayed to see that it began to open. Her mind began to plead for him to leave her alone.

'Please Master. Please, leave me alone. Please, close the door and leave me alone. Please! Please!'

'I will not call him Master!'

Again, he came to the doorway and leaned on it. She couldn't bring herself to look at him and she tried to hurry past. He reached out and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her towards him. She thought her skin would crawl off of her and she flinched away. She was amazed that just yesterday she would have welcomed his touch, and now the thought felt like poison rotting her brain.

“Oh please. Please leave me alone.” Her voice was a ghost of its normal tone and she felt her whole body tighten.

“Hermione?” He said her name quietly, his voice sounding both questioning and exasperated.

He put his fingers under her chin and brought her face up so he could look at her closely. His fingers were warm and strong, the total opposite of how she felt. She kept her eyes closed and was surprised when he bent his head down and felt his lips lightly touch hers, his tongue gently probing, trying to gain entrance. Moments later, she found herself mindlessly kissing him back, her tongue deep within him, her hands in his hair as she pushed her body against him. Without hesitation, he turned her forcefully so she was against the wall, yanked her bathrobe open, shoved his knee between her legs, and began exploring her breasts with his hands as she put her arms up against the wall submissively, her back arching so she could push her tits into his hands. She lowered herself down onto his knee and was preparing to start humping him when the pain in her privates and her breasts forced her mind into action, allowing it to fight and overrule her body. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she pushed him away with a gasp, jerking her bathrobe closed and tying it tightly in confusion as she pulled away from the wall and began backing away. Just a few minutes ago she was crying because of what had happened last night and yet here she was, being the slut again!

“Look at me, baby.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Keeping her head down, trying to hide her face, her eyes went up to him reluctantly, fearfully, shiny with tears. He reached out and grabbed her chin with his fingers, trying to simultaneously hold her still as he stepped closer to her and pulled her head up so he could kiss her again.

Looking at him, she was relieved to see a look of concern on his face, not one of disgust. She clutched the front of her robe around her chest, the cloth of her lace nightie rubbing painfully against her nipples. As he neared her and lowered his head, she jerked her chin out of his hand and looked down, her face burning with shame, tears falling from her eyes, nausea rearing it's ugly head once more.

“Why am I responding to you like this?” she whispered in shame and disgust as a small sob seemed to twist out of her.

Alarmed, Sirius grabbed her and pulled her up to him, wrapping his arms around her. She attempted to pull away but he was too strong for her to do so without it becoming a tussle and she was mindful that Mrs. Weasley was in her room just down the hall. She could tell he was attempting to comfort her, she really could. But at that moment, she wanted to run from him. Yet she found her arms starting to go up so she could wrap them around his neck and she felt her privates trying to push against him. Confused and distraught, she jerked her arms down and covered her chest again, and was finally able to step back as Sirius put his hands on her upper arms, near her shoulders. She was horrified her body was responding like so wantonly towards him, especially after what happened last night. Especially since she hurt so much. And she continued to struggle to keep herself from throwing herself at him. Her anxiety increased as she warred with her body to stay away from him and to remain under control.

“Hermione, hon, don't be embarrassed or ashamed. Nothing about last night was shameful. Nothing. Last night was wonderful. It was between us, and we care for each other. Come on, Kitten, it's okay.” His words were spoken in an urgent whisper. She felt him move towards her again, and she shrank back from him, pulling her robe about her tighter.

“Y-y-you called me s-s-s-slave.....and you hurt muh-me. Ple-please. Please, don't.” Again, her voice was barely above a whisper, almost as if she were hoping it would fade away forever.

Suddenly, she felt the unaccustomed and desperate need to hide wash over her and she began to hyperventilate, her pupils dilating with fear.

“Hermione, I thought...”

With a huge effort, she pulled from his grasp, began to cry, and ran to her room while hugging herself, where a startled Mrs. Weasley was waiting for her, a pretty pale green potion bottle in one hand, a tablespoon in the other. Both were put down hastily as the older woman grabbed a sobbing Hermione and pulled her up to her in a fierce, protective hug.

“Hermione! Hermione, what's the matter?”

“Nuh-nuh-nothing! Nuh-nothings wrong!” Hermione hid her face as tears poured from her eyes.

'I've got to get myself under control! I have to!'

“Hermione. I may have more experience with boys, but I think I can tell this is more than nothing!” Mrs. Weasley gave her another hug, then tried to pry Hermione's hands away from her face.

“No, no, it's nuh-nothing! I-I-I'm just tired and I th-think it's time for my peer-peer-period. I always g-g-get emotional at that time of the muh-month.”

Good, blame it on hormones. The period was always a good reason to blame being an emotional idiot. She allowed her hands to be pulled away from her face but she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look at Mrs. Weasley, not sure if she'd give her shameful memories of the previous night away.

Mrs. Weasley grabbed hold of Hermione in a huge motherly hug and rubbed her back as she pulled the sobbing distraught girl to the bed, making her sit as she did so herself. A few minutes later, with Mrs. Weasley's arms around her, Hermione finally calmed down, her hiccupping sighs punctuating the silence.

“Tell me what's wrong. I can't help you fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

“Nuh-nuh-nuh-nothing. Hon-hon-honest.”

“Are you sure, dear? I feel like something more is wrong.” Mrs. Weasley's voice was quietly probing as she looked at Hermione's tear-stained face, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. She smoothed Hermione's hair from her face with a firm, yet calming hand.

Hermione looked questioningly at her through tear-blurred eyes.

“Call it mother's intuition, dear. What's wrong?” Again, her voice had a calming tone to it, helping Hermione feel less frantic.

“Nuh-No, no, I'm okay. Really. I thr-threw up in the bathroom and I'm getting my period. Th-that's all. My-my-my tummy is cramping. I'm tired and I ju-just want to lie down and s-s-sleep.”

Mrs. Weasley looked at her critically, hesitating. Hermione could tell she wasn't convinced by her story. Hermione looked down, trying to hide her face, feeling guilty for lying to the woman who only wanted to help.

“Hermione, I know there's more to it. Why don't you tell me what's wrong? Like I said before, I can't make it better if I don't know what's wrong.” Mrs. Weasley grabbed her chin gently and pulled her head up, looking imploringly into her eyes, a small, reassuring smile on her face.

“Ruh-ruh-really (hiccup-sigh), there's nothing wruh-wrong. Just my period.” Hermione gave a small smile, hoping it would give Mrs. Weasley some reassurance.

“Hermione...”

“Puh-please, can I have that nausea poh-potion?”

After a moments hesitation, Mrs. Weasley gave her two tablespoons of the thick, yellow-green potion (which rather tasted like very tart lemon, causing a brief moment of hypersalivation) and watched as Hermione ate the soup (even wizards believed in chicken noodle soup for an upset stomach). All the while, Mrs. Weasley kept peppering her with questions and observations.

“I'm not convinced this is all your period, Hermione. Are you sure it's not something more? Something to do with boys, maybe?”

“Nuh-no. No. Nothing with boys.” Sirius was not a boy, and Kreacher definitely was not a boy. She felt herself getting weepy again.

“Hermione, if you and Ron are having problems, I'm sure that a little girl talk could help.” With that, she reached up and pulled a few strands of Hermione's hair from her face. Hermione said nothing, she just sat there and sniffled. She wanted to tell Mrs. Weasley everything, she really wanted to. But she couldn't. Sirius was nearby and she feared him. She didn't know where Kreacher was. She didn't know what they, together, would do to her and Mrs. Weasley if she told. She knew Sirius wouldn't want to go back to Azkaban and feared he'd hurt Mrs. Weasley if he had to in order to stay out of the prison. On top of those worries, she didn't know how Mrs. Weasley would respond to her tale of a lust-filled night – who would believe she had been initially forced into it?

Mrs. Weasley finally left when she had Hermione tucked in bed, still wrapped in her bathrobe that she refused to remove. Mrs. Weasley watched her for a long time from the doorway, her eyes with a look of deep concern.

Finally alone, fearing Sirius (or Merlin, Kreacher) would come in, she pulled the covers over her tightly and began to cry and mumble to herself. She could NOT believe what happened to her! She ruminated the night in her mind, dissecting each act. 'WHY did I respond like that? WHY did I tell him I was enjoying it? I hated them touching me at first! But then, why did I suddenly start acting like a sex-crazed nymphet?' Now she truly understood why Tonks didn't want to be called by her first name. 'WHY did he listen to Kreacher when Master Kreacher told him I was enjoying it?' At that point she was fighting him; it was obvious she didn't want him touching her. And, at times they would give each other these knowing looks, especially when she DID start to become excited and respond to them against her will. Only dirty girls did what she did.

'I will NOT call them Master!'

Then she started to turn the tables on herself. She thought about how she had flirted with Sirius, about that day with the cherries. She knew better than to act like that! Why did she do that?! Even letting him put his hands on her breasts, pushing his hand between them. And when she allowed him to pull her onto his legs, onto his exposed penis, how could he not think she wanted to have a sexual relationship with him! Well, yes, she had thought about sex with him, she thought about it a lot. She did want it, a great deal. But she wanted it to be a slow progression with shy hugs and kisses, then flowers, candlelight dinners. Romance. Not with her acting like she was a whore working at a house of ill repute! But the way she acted, how else would he think to use her? And to share her! He shared her! What man shares a woman unless he has no respect for her? And he didn't share her with another man, that would at least be a little easier to swallow, but with a non-human creature. A house elf. Shame washed over her and she writhed with it, clutching her hair and pulling her body inwards painfully.

Hermione finally cried herself to sleep. Her sleep was fitful, full of dreams with her Masters. And in her sleep, she could hear Kreacher's voice instructing her on what to do, how to act, how to be a good sex slave.

Mrs. Weasley checked in on her throughout the day, and fed her soup again for dinner. Ginny had come up to visit, but Hermione just wanted to sleep, so she left after a few minutes. The boys looked in on her but let her sleep. Hermione was alone, sleeping, for most of the day. Remus also came up to look in on her after hearing Molly's description of how the girl was acting, sniffing the air, a troubled look on his face. Mrs. Weasley last checked in on her just before going to bed at 10pm.

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After Hermione had run from his arms in tears, Sirius paced in his room in a worried state. He rather thought Hermione had enjoyed herself the previous night. She certainly acted as if she did. Hell, she had been begging him to do things to her! And climaxed more than he dreamed a woman could do in one session! After he left her, he had been too excited to sleep after they left her room due to how well she responded to his advances. Once back in his room, both he and Kreacher discussed with excitement about what had just occurred, a wonderful feeling of satisfaction flowing through them. They talked for hours about other things they'd like to do with her. He even had a huge boner that he had to take care of once they got back - he still couldn't believe he had had it in him to get another hard on, but he did.

So, why was she crying now? Pulling away from him fearfully? She had been perfect for him last night, everything he had dreamed of and more. Why the hell can't women deal with sex! Why did they always have to get all shy? And emotional? They want it, but they don't. It was so exasperating! And confusing! He'd have to discuss it with Kreacher later on.

Meanwhile, he considered the outfit she was wearing as he kissed and fondled her in the hall not long before. She wore a skimpy, deep-blue, lace and satin baby-doll outfit that left little to the imagination - he was sure she had worn it for him, so why did she behave like she did? His mind's eye on what she looked like, his dick began to twitch. Absently, he unbuttoned his pants as he considered how strongly she had responded to him at first. He remembered her willing, writhing body under him from the night before and masturbated, imagining his cock between those luscious tits of hers as his cum splattered onto her neck and face. He imagined her licking him clean while he smeared his cum on those tits. And he came forcefully and loudly, not knowing that at the same time the woman of his dreams was crying pathetically in Mrs. Weasley's arms.

He pulled out his magazines, looking for ideas on what they could do to her next. He looked at the faces of the Hermione-slaves. The magazines showed sex acts in a series of pictures, beginning when the act first started and ending with the woman in obvious sexual bliss. The captions under the images spoke about how the woman was begging her captors to leave her alone, about how she didn't want the men (usually two of them, sometimes more) to touch her. The men always took the woman by force, sometimes tying her or chaining her up in some fashion. He looked at the positions the women were in, they did look a little uncomfortable, but none of the women had faces of true pain on them. He knew what a face of true pain, of agony was, and that was not on the faces of these women. Even their bodies were in a relaxed state while aroused. They did indeed seem to be enjoying themselves by the end of each act even though they were begging and crying in fear in the beginning. The end caption always read how happy she was to have been forced into enjoying explosive orgasms or to have had the best cock they had ever had. Hermione had acted just the same last night, begging to be let go at first, but a Lolita by the end. He was sure, had Molly not been near, he would have had his Kitten willingly sucking his dick in the hallway before long.

He wondered if he should employ the idea of the “safe word” as the one book suggested. That way, he'd know if he was going too far with her. On second thought, he figured that that would ruin his fun, and he didn't want her stopping him just as he got going good. He now was the proud owner of a half-dozen books on bondage and other sexual practices he rather thought he'd like to try. And he had many new magazines to peruse. What did they want to do tonight? Did he want to tie her up with ropes or with chains? Gag her maybe? Her room or his? Did he want to try flogging her yet? Was it too soon? Gag her and flog her? No, it was definitely too soon for that. Should she be naked or wear one of the sexy little numbers he had bought for her?

He was anxious to be her Master again. But she needed to know he was ALWAYS her Master, not just when they were in the bedroom. His dick twitched in anticipation. So many decisions before night fell. Where the hell was that damned Kreacher?

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Kreacher watched the Mudblood's shameful reaction to her Master in the hallway. Oh, she would have to be punished for being so disrespectful! Oh, yes, she would. And he'd give it to her. She would be begging to call them both Master by the time he was done with her. He followed her into her room and hid under the bed while the blood-traitor fussed over their slave. The Mudblood was upset, poor dear. What rot! The Mudblood had acted just like what was shown in the magazines in Master's room. Acting all sweet and innocent at first and then becoming the slut that couldn't get enough, begging for it in the end. Yes, Kreacher knew exactly what her type was, what all Mudblood sluts were. Oh, yes, he did.

Kreacher watched as people came to check on her. They'd have to be more careful than he realized to keep from getting caught. He wasn't so sure his Master knew how perilous their position was, especially with his friend, the werewolf, around.

When the Mudblood tart finally cried herself to sleep, Kreacher continued his lessons with her, hiding when people came to visit, coming out cautiously when they left, preparing her for tonight. Oh, yes, he did.


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Authors notes, you may freely skip this:

Have nothing to say here, really. You already know about the subliminal messaging thing going on. So, I thought I'd tell you about something I read while digging around for ideas for this story, something that piqued (there, ~ky~! I spelled it right!) my interest. Did you know there is a thing called a “terminal erection”? Look it up. Very interesting, indeed. Well, to me it is, though I hope to never see one in real life.

Wait, just thought of something to say. I had Sirius wonder why women can't accept their sexual selves. Think about how women are brought up. We're supposed to be goody-goody girls who are frigid and pristine until we are married, then we are suddenly supposed to be sex-goddesses once married. If a girl “puts out” she is a slut, if she doesn't, she's “frigid”, an “ice princess”... Both are considered bad in their own way... So, exactly what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to act? It's confusing.

And, therefore, I have Hermione dealing with her confused thoughts over how she is acting and how she thinks she is supposed to act. Of course, she was a goody-goody until Kreacher got hold of her...

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