Strict Machine - COMPLETE

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling, publishers included but not limited to Bloomsbury Books and Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No copyright infringement is intended, no money is being made.


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Updated 7-27-08


I was riding in a car, away from the internet and traveling all day, when I wrote this (and my other story, "Young Girl"), so I didn't see until too late that Snapes_Goddess had a limit of songs from the 1980s or 1990s for her challenge. This didn't qualify, so I'm adding it here.


Title:Strict Machine
By: LaBibliographe
Warnings: Anal, Spanking


Song: Strict Machine
Artist: Goldfrapp
Year: 2003

To hear this song, watch this YouTube (3:50 mins, but you can get the idea halfway through) Listen for the whip-snapping sounds at the beginning and throughout the song.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2VktozqkSc

WARNING: This story has spanking with an implement and anal sex. Don’t read it if these ideas offend you.

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Strict Machine - Lyrics


I get high on a buzz
Then a rush when I'm plugged in you
I connect
When I'm flush
You get love when told what to do

Wonderful electric
Wonderful electric
Wonderful electric
Cover me in you

I'm in love, I'm in love
I'm in love with a strict machine

I'm in love, I'm in love
I'm in love with a strict machine

When you send me a pulse
Feel a wave of new love
Through me
I'm dressed in white noise
You know just what I want
So please

Wonderful electric
Wonderful electric
Wonderful electric
Cover me in you

I'm in love, I'm in love
I'm in love with a strict machine

I'm in love, I'm in love
I'm in love with a strict machine


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Strict Machine


by LaBibliographe


Hermione entered the small, private room, the walls hung with black silk enclosing her with a sense of erotic intimacy, while deadening any sound. She closed and locked the door and the silken drapes fell into place over it, covering the exit.

Shivering with anticipation, she removed all her clothing, tidily folding the pieces and placing them on a shelf for that purpose. She picked up and donned the provided black facemask, tying the ribbons in a neat bow behind her head. Then she remembered she was to keep her shoes on, the one requirement demanded of her – black four-inch strappy stilettos with an open toe. Easing the fragile heels back onto her feet, she crossed to the only furniture in the room – an odd, padded, hump-shaped arch rising in black velvet splendor just over a metre high and half a metre wide. It was centered in the middle of a dark green marble floor, the only color in the room except for her discarded clothes.

Hermione draped herself over the arch face down, shimmying into place until she was comfortable and could reach the silver bar attached across the arch halfway down one end. She reached for a tiny, silver bell hanging from the bar and shook it once. A bright peal of sound cut the hushed atmosphere. Hermione dropped the bell back on its cord and eagerly grabbed the silver bar with both hands. Then she waited.

The first she knew she wasn’t alone was a wisp of citrus-scented air wafting across her nude body. Hermione drew in a delicious lungful of the smell that now was its own sensual drug; the slight movement of air now cooled a burgeoning wetness between her legs.

He was here!

“Mistress,” a smooth voice greeted her; his name for her pretended submission while its whimsical tone negated the idea in the same breath.

He walked slowly around the arch until he stood in front of her and she could see him from where she lay. Her breath caught in her throat; why did she never become used to the incandescent virility of the man?

He wore a complete hood over his head, all dark green leather the same shade as the marble floor. The face was split only with eye, nose, and mouth holes giving no clue to his features or identity. She only knew his eyes were a light color.

His only other adornment consisted of tight, dark green leather gloves, which fit his hands like a second skin and ascended halfway up his forearms ending in thin silver cuffs. Otherwise, the man, her handler, was as naked as she was. In her mind she had named him the “Strict Machine”, his single-minded dedication to giving her whatever she asked with no mercy, bestowing a sense of wonderful freedom to her stressed body and mind.

His body was sculpted perfection with well-muscled shoulders and arms, his torso and legs matching his upper body in beauty. There was no hair on him anywhere, giving Hermione no hint of his coloring. Neither did his flawless ivory skin give anything away.

“Your wishes, Mistress?” the cool voice queried as he stood relaxed and at ease in his nudity.

Hermione was ready with her answer, “Today I want the riding crop,” she said simply. She’d been dreaming of what she would choose, what her Strict Machine could give her, ever since the last time. This marked an escalation of her routine.

After the end of the war, Hermione had dutifully gone to work at the Ministry as an Auror and she’d become a very good one, adept at investigation, interrogation and if necessary, using force to quell transgressors who broke wizarding law. As time went on she realized she hungered for something more, something she didn’t control. She was always in control and she needed to be free of it occasionally to stay sane and do her demanding job.

A chance remark overheard at a nightclub a year ago had led her here, to this very discreet, very posh private club where special desires were met and secrets kept. Hermione had quickly become a regular, starting with a monthly appointment, and now coming every other week. She needed that interval to fully absorb the chastisement both physically and mentally, then she was ready to return once again.

Hermione sucked in a determined breath and continued, “Then,” she closed her eyes and leapt, “anal penetration.” She had never asked that of her handler before. She had been afraid any intimacy with him would make her feel something deeper for him, but she had lost that battle already. She’d never seen his face, but she was in love with him, and with his expertise as a dominant.

Hermione heard her handler shift his feet but no other reaction told her of his thoughts on her change of venue.

“As you desire,” he intoned silkily, his seductive words falling musically on her ears and her core tightened with want. The handler turned toward the black silk-draped wall and swept the materials to one side displaying numerous implements meant for various types of play, but he immediately reached for an ivory-handled riding crop, gripping the end firmly in one hand as he dropped the silk drape back into place.

Hermione always enjoyed the moment when her handler went to the drapes. She thought he had the most masculine buttocks she had ever seen. As he moved, the musculature slid under his pale skin, flexing and tightening in a picture so erotic, Hermione half wanted that to be her pleasure for the day, to watch her Strict Machine walk around the room.

She was brought back to the moment by hearing several swishing noises and she was mesmerized anew by her beautifully formed handler as he cut the air with the crop a few times to get the feel and balance of the toy, his genitals gently swinging with his movements.

Hermione bit her lower lip with her teeth as she watched the crop’s flight through the air and a tiny moan escaped as she imagined the instrument kissing her skin. She imagined him kissing her skin and more moisture seeped onto the black velvet of the arch. Sexual electricity arced through her at the thought of his lips on her derriere.

Her hooded handler turned fully to her and she saw he was beginning to be aroused by the idea of her punishment. “How many strokes?” he asked.

“Oh!” she hadn’t thought of a number. “Um, twenty, I think,” she answered, distracted by the sight of his increasing tumescence.

“Once I begin you may not rescind the number, “ he reminded the little witch in low tones.

Hermione could plainly see he was pleased by the twenty strokes she was allowing him, even if she couldn’t see his face. She was coming to know him well from their sessions and she could almost sense his pleasure just by the way he held his body. And, of course, his erection told its own story.

“I understand,” she smiled and relaxed for a moment on the arch before tensing again as he moved to one side. Perhaps twenty strokes was too much. She was dithering when without warning, the first blow fell.

Crack! Hermione wondered where the pain was…and then it bloomed, searing her nerve endings in a sharp, biting line across both her buttocks. Hermione started to let go of the silver bar, but the loss of touch signaled the bar to clamp her wrists and Hermione couldn’t take her hands away. Her handler bent and affixed her ankles to the other end of the arch so she was truly fastened and unable to move away from the next blow.

Crack! The second strike lit her bum on fire. This time her handler began to count, “Two,” then “Three, Four” and “Five” landed in quick succession followed by a brief hiatus for the pain to register fully.

Hermione moaned, but she knew from experience that no matter how she screamed or whined he wouldn’t stop until they had come to the end of the count. They had long since established their safe word and she had never uttered it. She knew he didn’t expect her to capitulate today either, although the riding crop was the harshest implement she had ever chosen.

Her forehead dropped to the velvet and she squeezed her eyes shut on the vicious pain. The throb lessened just a little, allowing her to breathe then “Six” landed just as hard as all the others and all her stripes screamed again.

“Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.” Her handler was relentless, not reacting to her pleas, her cries of mercy, or her demands to slow down. She was definitely not in control here. Later, she would appreciate his ruthlessness, but just now his muscled arm dealt unrelieved agony. Still she never uttered the safe word.

Another brief spell of quiet ensued, but this time Hermione understood it was only to heighten the effect of the red criss-crossing on her butt. It seemed to her to be the worst she could stand, but then number eleven hit just below her buttocks and she screamed again, this time with pain and astonishment that the new area of skin could hurt so much.

Hermione endured each of the next sharp, heavy thwacks emitting only miserable, gut-wrenching sobs as the riding crop did its work, lighting up her behind with electric shocks of severe pain. The concomitant buzz and high she received elevated her rush to epic proportions. Waves of love washed over her as her Strict Machine dealt out the final strokes, then he threw the riding crop on the floor in front of her so she could see it was over.

Hermione was nearly hyperventilating from the throbbing beat pounding in her buttocks. Twenty had nearly been too many. Next time she was not going to ask for more as an act of bravery. She lay still, trying to bring her heartbeats back to something she could breathe with and quiet moments ticked by punctured only by her harsh intakes of air.

She roused from her suffering as she felt the bottom half of the arch split, opening her legs so her handler could come up against her from the rear. Oh, shite, she had asked for anal penetration, too, hadn’t she.

Hermione opened her mouth to deny the added request, but then closed it again. She hadn’t ever had any penetration by her Strict Machine before and had decided to jump in at the deep end. Now she laughed to herself somewhat hysterically. This was certainly the deep end. Oh, my Gods.

The man wasn’t small in any sense, standing at easily six feet tall with a flesh weapon that suited the rest of his toned body. Something that size in her backside would fry her circuits if they didn’t fuse them together. She prayed that he knew what he was doing and silently waited for whatever came. She hoped that would include both of them.

Her handler dripped some cool cream down her buttocks, soothing the burn some but centering the cream between her butt cheeks. She tensed at the treatment prompting him to ask, “Is this your first experience with anal sex?” When she hesitated, he said kindly, “I’ll continue because you asked for this, but I’ll be careful. It will hurt, but I expect for you it won’t be a negative.”

Hermione heard the smile in his voice and relaxed into the new venture. It was the right thing to do. Her handler fingered her woman's core first, wetting his finger, then easing it into her tight, little rosette.

Hermione gasped at the odd feeling, but following his instruction to push out toward his finger lessened the discomfort. Soon she felt an added a second finger and then a massage of her anal ring until she finally let the muscle go slack.

The muscles of her back tensed slightly again as she felt the head of his thick erection pressing on her anus as the fingers were pulled out.

“Again,” he instructed. “Push your muscles out.” He ran a hand over the globes of her red hot butt making her suck in a startled gasp at the pain and chose that moment to push more fully into Hermione’s interior.

“Oh, Gods, it hurts,” she moaned.

“Just as you wished,” he replied striking deeper into her backside, widening the muscle ring and bringing another wave of pain to the small witch. When he was seated nearly to the hilt, he paused, then began to pull out, dragging the muscle ring outward with his girth.

“Ah, Gods, now that feels good!” she sighed. Her handler eased up her hip and inserted one hand under her pelvis, finding and flicking her clit as he shoved into her more roughly.

Hermione’ multiple points of sensation - her stretched anus, the finger pad rubbing her clit and the intensifying thrusts into her, slapping her burning butt, all brought the most wonderful, electric, overwhelming pulsing to her core, sending her into a euphoria of pain pleasure the like of which she had never before known as she was covered in him, this man she loved. The pulsing of her entire pelvis to the mastery of this dominant male became a tsunami, welling up into a crescendo crashing her over the edge into utter bliss.

Hermione’s wrists were released from the bar and her ankles were freed allowing her to push her bottom onto her handler’s engorged tool to the hilt, wiggling in a frenzy as she impaled herself. Three seconds later her high-pitched scream tore through the lower sounds of their groaning and grunts as she went over the edge a second time to the most intense climax of her life. Her handler thrust until she slumped, then let himself go with several strong lunges that reamed her thoroughly. Then he, too, bellowed out his completion and sank down covering her while they both regained their breaths.

Finally Hermione turned over under her sex partner, pulled off her facemask, and said with the utmost calm as she looked up into his pale eyes, “I’m in love with you.”

She didn’t even know his name. But it seemed as though she had always needed to know him, know who he was, know more about this Strict Machine of hers. She needed him to take off his hood and either accept her or reject her.

Her handler lifted a tired hand and grabbed the back of his hood, pulling it off quickly, pinning her with his mesmerizing pale gray eyes, “Well, it’s about time. I almost despaired that you were ever going to want me.” Lucius Malfoy smiled uncertainly at the little witch who had first taken him over sexually, then taken his heart. His platinum hair fell about his shoulders, his brow sweaty and his cheeks glowing from being encased in leather.

“Lucius? Lucius Malfoy?” She began to laugh. “You’re the reason I came here. I’ve fantasized about you for years. The sexual tension of my unrequited longings nearly drove me demented. Ah, Lucius,” she giggled, “We both like spanking - in our own ways - and you have a foot fetish.” She snuggled in under his chin. “Does this mean you love me, too?”

“Too right it does. Need you ask?” He lifted up to see her face better and used his pelvis to press hers into the arch, letting her know he was ready to go again. “I came here following you and paid the owner a great deal of money to be the one to service you. Will you want to continue with your biweekly sessions now?” He grinned, “I can have one of these rooms set up at home.”

Hermione nodded as a brief grimace sketched across her face; he was squishing her sore bum into the velvet. Lucius smiled devilishly at her pain and she gazed happily up at her dominant lover, knowing he would give her everything she ever craved, whenever she needed it. She needed him. Her wildest erotic dreams had been made real. Lucius Malfoy was her Strict Machine. She had fallen deeply in love with him twice. And he was in love with her.

The End

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I do love that song. I had to write something to celebrate it.

Reviews happily accepted. Thanks!!

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