Scheherezade

Hermione knows that there are many Purebloods who would envy her current position

presently straddling her lord and master, sitting back on his thighs, his cock in her hands

and there are almost as many halfbloods and mudbloods who hate her for her betrayal.

she rolls the glans in a practiced motion and he watches her through hooded eyes

Prophecy is a tricky bastard, it turns out - she was right not to trust it. Neither can survive while the other one lives was accurate enough but where was the fine print that warned about Lucius?

Touch yourself, he says

Harry survived the final battle for two weeks, three days and fifteen hours, then life stopped for both of them.

She rubs her fingers, coated with his pre-come, over her nipples. He likes that, she knows. She does too, which ought to bother her more than it does. He's marked her in other ways - what's one more?

They'd never understood why Lucius would follow a halfblood. It had never made any sense, and the the time they had worked it out the Ministry had fallen.

He gestures to her; he wants her to come closer, to lean down so he can suck her nipples. He likes the taste of himself on her.

The first time he'd done that, she'd been revolted; how could anyone bear it? Now, she's become familiar with the almost constant presence of that bitter, musky flavour in the back of her throat. She doesn't even smell the same any more. He's everywhere; he's colonised her completely.

He's in a playful mood tonight - slapping her breasts to watch them move

He sends for her almost every night, and has done since the day Harry died. She'd expected to die as well. Numb, she'd been utterly calm when she'd been brought before him. Even the departure of her escort hadn't shaken her from her detachment.

"Tell me about Harry," he'd said. "Begin at the beginning."

So she'd talked of the day they'd first met on the train; what he'd said and what she'd said, what she'd thought, and all the while he listened patiently.

"Now, undo your robes."

She'd obeyed with shaking hands, but he made no move to touch her, just eased her clothes apart with his cane then asked her more questions.

He did that every night for a week: make her talk about the past, and while she sank into the comfort of memories, he would make her remove her clothing until it was second nature to undress on his command.

She didn't see him for two nights then. The disturbance to her routine had made her anxious, and she'd sweated and shuddered in terror until her summons came again.

More questions, the familiar routine, but that time she'd stopped in mid-recitation and said, "I know what you're doing."

"Do you indeed," he'd murmured into her ear and standing so close behind her.

"Yes."

"Isn't that your cue to tell me that I'll never succeed; that I'll never break you."

She'd swallowed her tears and forced back her rage. "I have no choice."

"I see we understand each other. Severus did say you were bright."

And then he'd touched her - reached round and causally tweaked a nipple - the other hand on her hip, pulling her hard against him.

"Well then, time for your first lesson - how to suck cock."

It had been almost a relief to hear the words. There was no more uncertainty; she knew what was expected of her.

He'd issued a stream of instructions on how he wanted her to suck his cock - where to place her hands, how to use her tongue, how fast, how slow, how hard, when to use her teeth.

He called her a good girl when he'd finished pumping his come on her face, said she had promise - no doubt due to her inferior blood - then kissed her lightly.

He'd sent her back to her room still splattered with come, a punishment for forcing his hand and making him move quicker than he had intended. It was another lesson to learn - she was not to push things, that was his prerogative. The smell haunted her for days. It was the one and only time he was unsubtle.

Thus began her education.

He was relentless. Every time he pushed for a little more. Every time he waited until she agreed. He wasn't content with mere acquiescence; it had to be consent.

If she denied him, he said nothing to persuade her otherwise, just sent her away for a while. She never said no twice.

She'd never been religious but, after him, she'd come to believe in the devil.

She doesn't know how long ago Harry died and makes no attempt to keep count of days any more - there's only yesterday, today and tomorrow, and that only if she keeps his interest.

It amuses him to have the Malfoy crest on all his possessions

the nipples clamps he is easing on her

the riding crop he uses, and her.

There's an M on her arse, her inner thigh, her right breast, and one on her left arm.

He's rewarded her with each of those marks when she'd learned a new trick. She tells herself that's what it is, but she's afraid the truth is closer to surrendering another piece of her soul.

He didn't mark her the first time he'd buggered her, but waited until the first time she'd come, wailing and protesting, with his cock up her arse.

The first time he'd made her come at all - when she'd closed her eyes and thought of Ron and imagined it was him - she'd cried.

It made him laugh.

He'd licked her tears from her cheeks, and fucked her again to see if he could make her do it twice.

He could.

She still cries occasionally, suddenly taken by a wave of melancholy in the midst of sex; he makes her come but she's never known love and never will.

He always finds it amusing.

She doesn't hide it. She's here to entertain him, whether by her mouth, her cunt, her arse, or her tears, it doesn't matter which.

She has an irrepressible desire to live that surprises her. She's never given up hope; perhaps that's what intrigues him.

Her education has been thorough and when he decided it was complete he'd given her the final mark - her left arm bears it, next to the M. Her very own Dark mark. He thinks it an honour for her, that it elevates her above other Mudbloods.

It keeps her safe from others, so perhaps it does.

It wasn't what she'd expected from life, to find herself in bed with a man twice her age and her life depending on how well she pleases him.

the clamps pull at her - as insistent as him, creating an incessant throbbing that connects with the other pulse between her legs

She's well trained now.

he slides his hand along her hips, down the curve of her spine, to her arse

he always pauses at her Mark

rubs a thumb over it, then urges her up and over his mouth

Of all the things he wants her to do, this is the one that surprises her the most - why would he lower himself to

bury his mouth between her thighs and suck at her like a dying man finding an oasis

The first time he'd done it, she had nearly giggled at the noises. It was the closest she'd been to death in months.

he eases her thighs further apart, so he can better possess her cunt with short, stabbing motions of his tongue. Her thighs are burning with the effort of holding the position but she knows better than to complain. Besides she can feel another tension building inside her so it won't be long before

he stops. He always stops before she can come.

She waits to be told what position he would like her to take; it isn't for her to have an opinion. On top this time, which means he wants her to talk.

She slides down his body, careful to leave a trail of her juices as she goes. She can mark him too - let him smell the taint of a Mudblood.

He smirks; he knows what she's thinking.

she takes his cock, and guides it into her, slowly engulfing him.

"Now, talk to me," he says. "Tell me what you've seen today."

She shifts her hips fractionally and speaks.

People forget that Mudbloods have ears - even the Dark Lord's pet Mudblood - and talk freely in front of them. She's grown adept at fishing for information.

She twitches her hips again.

She's grown adept at a lot more.

Each piece of news is matched by a roll of her hips. She's close to coming, so her voice is a little breathless, but she doesn't falter. She keeps her eyes fixed on him, only when

he throws his head back, gasping for breath

is she allowed to move faster. There's a faint, pink tinge to his pale skin now; he's close too.

she grinds her clit against him to make sure she won't be left behind.

She's allowed to do that because it's good for him, but she's not allowed to touch herself - ever - and she has to wait until

he reaches a long finger between them and pinches at her clit and fireworks go off in her head and she comes sobbing nonsense.

Neither of them move, both panting for breath, still joined, though he's softening and will soon slip out of her.

Then he smiles at her, and it's all she can do not to shudder.

"Severus had been very loyal to me," he said. "Perhaps I ought to reward him."

He kisses her tenderly.

"I think I'll invite him to join us one evening, what do you think my pet?"

He will never stop testing her until she breaks. She is his fool, his touchstone, the one who continues to resist him, and the one that tells him the truth. He will never tire of her, whilst he does not own her.

She smiles.

One day she is going to cut his throat.