Hunter and Prey

How he struggled then. His male instincts demanded he protect his genitalia. Hermione focused determinedly on the ropes. Fenrir snapped a few more but she tightened the knots and in the end he had to stop or throttle himself. She smiled at him, remembering what she had to do in the cottage.

“We both know I can’t really wound you here.” Hermione remarked, scraping the sharp tip of the scissors across his testicles. He tensed and forced himself not to wince. “But anything I do will hurt and I wager there will be some lingering damage. Bruises translate into the physical world.” She opened the scissors, the sound of the metal scraping made him clench his teeth. “Of course, your quickened healing here means I can do whatever I fancy again and again.”

“When I get loose, you will suffer.” Fenrir snarled but he did not move, proving you could train a werewolf. Hermione snipped the scissors close to his skin then proceeded to give his short and curlies a haircut. He was shivering by the end of it. Had they been in the physical world, he would have torn himself loose and be at her throat. The werewolf did not have the mental muscles to do that in the dream.

“I am suffering now. You have no idea.” She squeezed the base of his shaft, watching the tip of his penis turn purple. He was swollen achingly hard. Hermione heard his teeth grate as he breathed rough trying not to cry out. “But of course, you don’t care. You have no empathy. You could not have done what you did during the War if you can any feeling for your victims.” She shook her head at him. “It’s all about dominance and power.”

“You see now.” Fenrir jerked his head towards the scissors she had laid aside. Hermione looked at the silvery blades then nodded. She understood, which was why she continued to tease him. Mating was one of the four basic instincts. The four Fs as she had learned them; Fight, Flight, Feed and Fuck though the last was usually censored as Fornicate. Those urges were hardwired into every vertebrate.

She could not beat him in a physical contest and running away solved nothing. He was a better hunter too so it came down to his urge to mate. Hermione pulled her robes aside, letting her image of herself relax. Her belly expanded as she let her breath out. Acknowledging her physical state gave her a little more control over this reality because she did not have to fight her subconscious. She rubbed her stomach.

“I am going to cure them.” Hermione sat back a little so Fenrir could see their children inside her. “You might have sired them but that is all the inheritance from you they will ever have.” Their eyes met and he could not doubt her intention.

Fenrir jerked in the ropes, absolutely furious at the thought of being denied his litter. She would take his pack from him! His future gone; just wizard whelps. He howled but he could not free himself. Hermione watched him thrash and twitch like he was having a fit. It took a long time before he had exhausted himself enough that she could approach him.

She should not do this, Hermione warned herself distantly. She needed to take the moral high ground and be the honourable one. The heroine. In the real world, she could never have brought herself to do it. But in her mind her own instincts and subconscious were less restrained. She wanted to hurt him.

Hermione straddled Fenrir, engulfing him inside her. It was not penetration. It was the sacred cave of the Mother Goddess. The little death. The vagina dentata. The werewolf shuddered and knocked his head back against the floor trying to escape her. He was so aroused any sensation was overwhelming. Despite his physical reaction, he did not want this.

“You see now.” Hermione threw his words back at him. She rolled her hips wondering if she could do this. She was so angry and wanted to hurt him so much it nearly consumed her but she could empathise. Two wrongs did not make a right. Clenched her thighs tight around his legs, she stopped moving and looked down at him. “Ask me to stop. Plead for mercy and I will let you go.”

“Bitch!” Fenrir snarled.

“All you have to do is ask.” A little bounce and Hermione stopped again. There was an ache deep inside her. Was she aroused? She wanted to think she was doing this coldly, rationally, strategically. Perhaps in revenge but still icy. Fenrir screwed his eyes shut. His hands tautened into claws scraping against the floor. He would not say it.

He would say it! Hermione lifted herself up and down on his dick. He would say it and realise what it was like to be the victim. Then he might even regret. How could anyone punish him if he did not lament? She would teach him.

Hermione kept going. The cramping inside her grew then she brought herself to climax and the discomfort eased for a little while. Fenrir writhed under her, twisting and squirming and trying to take control. If he pushed against her Hermione instantly stopped. She would not let him ease himself.

It took a long time. She was aching badly and panting. Fenrir was baying. Then he said it. He whispered it in between gasps.

“Please.”

Hermione got off him. She left him there and willed herself out of the dream.