Cherries

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Story Rating for Cherries written by bubblybabs:
Adult++/Lascivious/NC-17 (see warnings below)
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Warnings, this story will eventually include (it does not necessarily go into graphic detail about all, though I'll do my best *smirk*): Abuse, anal, angst, torture, beastiality (aka zoophilia), BDSM, bisexuality, body modification, bondage, character death (both canon and original), cunnilingus, D/s, Dom, double penetration, exhibitionism, fellatio, F/F/M, F/M/M, F/M/O, fetish, fisting, Golden Showers (urophilia), het, heteropaternal superfecundation, humiliation, hurt/comfort, incest, language, masturbation, minor (starting at age 15), mind control, non-con, pregnancy, rape (male and female), Rim, S&M, scat (aka coprophilia), sex toys, slavery, SoloF, SoloM, spanking, subliminal teaching, suicide, unresolved sexual tension, voyeurism, wet dream (Yes, WesleyY7, I'm covering all of my bases! *wink*)
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Main Groupings: HG/SB, HG/Kreacher, HG/SS, SB/Kreacher
Other brief encounters (some of these will be HG/threesomes/moresomes):
SB/RW, HG/BL, HG/RL, HG/DM, HG/GW, HG/LM, HG/RW, HG/V

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About Cherries: This is not a love story. It is not meant to be happy, nor romantic. It seems that way at first but turns nasty as the story goes on. A bit twisted. I just thought about a lot of things I'd hate to have done to me and made poor Hermione suffer through it instead. And it's obviously pretty unrealistic in some areas but I tossed them in there anyway just to spice things up (tons of orgasms and all that). However, I've also done quite a bit of research in order to write this story, anything pertinent will be in the Authors Notes at the bottom of each chapter.

I also wish to convey to the readers that I also want them to *think* about what is being done to Hermione and how they would feel and react if they were experiencing these things themselves. Become involved with how Sirius feels, what he's going through, how he's acting and reacting. Same goes for the other characters in this story. This isn't just a PWP, there's a message to this fic. I hope it's educational as well and that once you are done reading it you feel it was worth your while. Feel free to comment, both good and bad, so I can improve the story.

The story is Alternate Universe in that characters can be OOC – it's up to you to see how OOC they are!

So, an official warning: this story contains a lot of graphic sex: M/F, M/M, F/F, threesomes, moresomes, as well as sex with a house elf. It also contains graphic torture. If these topics squick you, don't read or use your scroll bar. Emotional issues of both will be explored as well.

The first chapter is kinda slow but it picks up from there!

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The beta for this story is Periculum who has been helpful with punctuation and some sentence structure as well as guiding me a little bit when I get too outrageous. Thankfully, she isn't too squicked with my story (so far)!
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Look her up if you need help with your story, she's cool. I found her at Perfect Imagination:
http://www.perfectimagination.co.uk/

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Suggestions welcome at bubbalilly at gmail dot com.
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Written using OpenOffice.org Writer
Total Word Count means all the words being uploaded, including review replies and Authors Notes. Word Count done within OpenOffice.org and includes my responses to reviews as well as my author's notes.
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As usual, reviews craved – good or bad.
People don't seem to review much on AFF, oh well. At least toss me a few pluses.
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Story: Cherries
Author: bubblybabs
Email: bubbalilly@gmail.com
First Beta: Aphotic Halo
Second Beta: Periculum
Total Word Count: 7,366
Chapter 1 initial upload date: 11/17/2008
Edit date: 4/22/2009 (fixed various errors, clarified a few things)
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Chapter 1 – The Beginning

Suddenly, she began to experience a compulsion to buy herself lacy intimate wear and frilly nighties. Shyly, she would enter the Muggle shops, hoping no one she knew would see her as she bought herself babydoll nighties, teddies, chemises, cami tops, thongs (and she didn't even like wearing them at first!), cheeky shorts, and other lingerie she associated with young married women or women of questionable reputation. Some of the bras had holes for her nipples to peep out of and she found she liked wearing them to bed so she could feel her nipples brushing against her sheets, inevitably stroking them into hard points. She liked to play with her nipples as the cool night air came into contact with them, and the nippleless bras made it so much more enjoyable. It was a lovely sensation, to have her sensitive nipples unprotected while the rest of her breast was contained in its armor of satin and lace. She now only wore matching satin and lace bras with cheeky short sets or thongs under her clothes, slowly getting used to the feel of the thong as it moved between her cheeks. Sometimes, for an extra thrill, she wore a nippleless bra and crotchless knickers under a dress when she went downstairs. She felt vivacious and sensual with her erotic underwear on, and sometimes daydreamed of having her clothes unceremoniously ripped off of her by one or more of the males in the house; seeing their eyes as they roamed over her scantily clad body before they grabbed her with their strong hands, forcibly ravishing her. Previously, she had always worn an old T-shirt to bed and her underthings had been the type she associated with women who were modest and proper – the type of woman she had envisioned herself becoming. Until those dreams began, that is.

Yes, those dreams. Those wonderful, sensual, sleazy dreams of debauchery. Before he had entered her room the first time, Hermione found her dreams were filled with exciting and frightening erotic activities that centered around him. Activities she never knew existed before. Activities she began longing for, wanting to know what it felt like to do them or have done to herself. He would do things to her, making her feel used and dirty and oh, so aroused. He would force her to do things to him, and punish her if she didn't do them right. The erotic dreams had begun abruptly, and quickly became the only type of dream she had. She often awoke in a sweat, her heart beating madly and her body demanding attention; she would find herself twisting her engorged nipples and struggling to finger herself before she was fully awake. At times, she was still in the fog of partial awareness when she brought herself to orgasm, allowing her to drift back to a sated slumber. Other times, she awoke but was unable to go back to sleep; her fingers frequently straying between her legs, trying to quell the incessant throb between them. Occasionally, she woke in this state of arousal several times a night, causing loss of much needed sleep. One thing that bothered her was that she always heard Kreachers voice in the dreams, directing her, and praising her when she did things the way he wanted her to.

Not long after these dreams began, she found that her nighttime dreams started to invade her daydreams at odd times, sometimes forcing her to make a hasty retreat to her room for a frenzied session of self-sex. And, she didn't know why, but she would hear Kreacher's voice in all of her dreams, directing her. If she looked at the elf long enough, she'd become nauseated at the thought of him near her sexually, and yet was aroused at the same time. She found herself staring at him whenever he was near her, and at times he'd catch her doing so and give her a smile that caused shivers to race up her spine. She didn't know why he suddenly invaded her dreams, or why she felt her body respond to him when he was near, but she began to both fear and wish he'd show up in them and join in on the activities instead of merely telling her what to do. She shuddered whenever she thought of that possibility, both in disgust as well as anticipation.

She began to experiment with her body - tasting herself, nipping her breasts, sucking her nipples, rubbing herself against variously textured items, and placing differently shaped and sized things inside of her. One day, she slowly and carefully placed a carrot inside of her and walked around impaled with it within her for a few hours, becoming tremendously excited whenever she was near a male. She wondered what it would be like if the carrot were them inside of her instead of the vegetable. She was sure they all noticed her nipples jutting out from the front of her shirt, she certainly noticed Sirius and Ron looking at them – Ron bashfully sneaking looks at her peaks while Sirius was bold with his eyes, making her feel he was undressing her with them. And, several times, Sirius accidentally brushed his hands against her, though she seriously wondered how accidental those encounters were. She had to masturbate several times that day, the last time she was so wet the carrot almost slid out before she got up the stairs. Once safely in her room she pushed the vegetable out, then used it to rub herself to completion as she yanked and pulled and sucked on her nipples, pretending it was his hands and mouth and dick on her. After she came, she slid the carrot into herself, thickly coating it in her cum-juice, then brought it up to her mouth and sucked on it as she pretended it was his cock in her eager little mouth.

Afterwards, she washed the carrot off, and, knowing it was twisted and sick of her to do so, took it down to the kitchen. She sliced it up so that anyone who ate that night had a piece of her cum-carrot in their salad. She became amazingly aroused as she watched them putting the slices into their mouths, wondering if it was her cum-carrot or not. She imagined their mouths and tongues on her, and had to excuse herself from the table so she could masturbate – she didn't make it to her room and wound up cumming while on the stairs. She lay on her back, one hand frantically rubbing herself between her splayed-open legs; her other hand yanking her top open, buttons flying everywhere, freeing her breasts from her bra, and began pulling at her nipples. She looked up to see Kreacher watching her quietly from the top of the stairs, and was turned on by the thought of his eyes on her as she finger-fucked herself, making her orgasm feel more intense as she silently writhed in ecstasy. He walked down the steps, stepping between her legs and watching her fingers dip into her juices as she licked herself clean. He leaned forward and began sniffing her, she could feel his breath swirling around her wet vulva and she bucked up involuntarily. She began to squeeze herself, wanting more from him. He stood, looked her body up and down, his eyes lingering on her breasts, and said in a shaky voice that she was a “filthy Mudblood whore”. She looked at him and continued to pull her juices out of herself, bringing her hand to her mouth so she could suck her fingers clean, her other hand continuing to play with her nipples. All the while, he stood there and watched her as she watched him. Once done, she got up unsteadily, took her ripped shirt off, collected her buttons, slowly walked up the rest of the stairs, and went to her room, her exposed breasts jiggling for him nicely the whole time.

She worried that her body, with its raging hormones, had an imbalance of some form; that it was suddenly going out of control; she felt like a nymphet that could not obtain satisfaction for long. She had sex on her mind constantly; a train of thought she associated with teenage boys, not her. She was studious and practical and felt herself mature, yet she was plagued with these dreams at night and lecherous thoughts during the day. She soon found herself daydreaming about having an erotic encounter with anyone she met, male or female. This included Ginny, Ron, and Sirius, amongst others. Even Professor Snape and, heaven help her, Kreacher, weren't exempt. Indeed, when Kreacher had caught her masturbating herself on the stairs, she felt as if she could finally safely enact a fantasy; she knew he would never mention what he saw her doing to anyone and she became bold. She just couldn't stop herself from giving him a peep show. She felt his eyes on her breasts so she deliberately removed her shirt while facing him, picked up her buttons as slowly and with as much bounce she could muster, then went to her room while playing with her nipples. She was sorry he didn't do any more than look at her; when she saw him between her legs she had hoped he'd at least touch her, and, her body gave a jerk when she thought of it, maybe even taste her. Or do more. She wondered if he would have gone “all the way” with her. Then she wondered, would she have allowed it?

Once alone in her room, she curled up in the bed and cried, wondering why she was behaving so brazenly. What happened to the Hermione of a few months ago? That Hermione would never have licked her cum-covered fingers clean. That Hermione would never have chopped up a carrot that had been inside of herself and fed it to the others. That Hermione would never have masturbated herself on the stairs. That Hermione would NEVER have hoped that Kreacher, Kreacher!, would fuck her. That Hermione seemed to have disappeared.

Before long, her dreams became a reality. A reality she both desired and despised.

Each night, no matter what spells she put on her bedroom door at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he came to her. After the first night he visited her, he would stay for a few hours before quietly slipping away, leaving her to struggle with her feelings of fear, confusion, excitement, and self-loathing until she finally fell into a fitful sleep; sometimes she had to masturbate once he left her before she could get rid of the lingering throb between her legs.

She didn't like thinking about the first night he came to her, and yet those memories were all she thought of whenever she was idle. She found herself struggling with many ambiguous feelings by the memories – fear and excitement, anxiety and anticipation, anger and longing. She was stunned by all of the emotions that coursed through her over the memories of one man who came to her one night. One. That one man and one night seemed to have taken over her life.

That night, she had had to reluctantly endure him for hours on end as he played out his fantasies – hours she both loathed and guiltily recalled with wantonness. That first night had been unexpected, exhausting both physically and mentally, and was the last thing in the world she wanted to happen to her at that time even though she had daydreamed about it incessantly afterwards. Initially, she fought hard, but she was no match for him. Hours it lasted, with him not leaving until the first light of dawn began to glow in the night sky. When he first left her, she had been so exhausted she could do nothing but sleep, but oh, how she cried the next day! Her mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts that tore at her deeply. And from that night on, with one exception, he came to her room, night after night; he even came to her during her cycle, she had initially thought he would back off when she told him she had started to menstruate but, to her horror and intense embarrassment, he just chuckled and said it would be messier but no less enjoyable. He didn't seem to care how much pain or humiliation he caused her, which made her dread when he came, and yet he made sure she enjoyed herself no matter how much she didn't want to, making her body respond strongly to him in such a traitorous manner that it craved his touch even when her mind was screaming otherwise.

She tried to will her heart rate and breathing to slow down as he manipulated her body to exquisite heights of passion, trying so hard to keep from climaxing, but she succumbed to him time and time again. Oh! how she would respond to him when he whispered, “there's my little slut, how's my baby whore doing?” while his lips and fingers expertly manipulated her. He would even come up behind her outside of the confines of her room and, in full view of others who weren't paying any particular attention to them (he obviously found this exciting, he made sure they were around but not focused on them), whisper those words in her ear while sneaking a hand under her skirt and sliding a finger inside of her (and she was, without exception, wet before his finger could even begin to slide under the elastic of her knickers), which always caused her ass to arch back and her nipples to harden while she took in a sudden hiss of breath.

Yes, she was his baby whore and, to her shame, she had begun to think of herself in that way. She hated how she looked forward to performing nasty acts upon him that surely the church did not allow, but her body seemed to suddenly go into overdrive and stand at attention, ready to do his bidding. She was so confused! She really hated it when she would moan and gasp in pleasure or even call his name in urgent whispers, yet she couldn't keep herself quiet. Often, to her shame afterwards, she would loudly beg for him to keep going, not to stop, to continue the immoral act he was busily performing upon her body as she wriggled and grabbed at him in return. She was sure that had she not known, liked, and respected Sirius before that night he made her his that she would have been able to control and save herself, but now it was impossible - she was lost to him, she was his possession, his sex kitten . She had always thought that a woman responded to romance and love, yet here she was acting like a closet whore to a man who often did not seem the least bit interested in her feelings – if he was that type of man, he would have left the moment she began to cry and attempt to fight him off.

She had thought she was so “together” as a person, so logical, someone who could think things through and figure out a solution. Yet, she didn't understand her conflicting feelings, actions, and reactions to him. She would lie in her soft, warm bed anxiously listening for him, thoughts of looking forward to the moment she saw his body slip through the door warring with thoughts that she wanted him to stay away. Each night, as the sky began to darken, she could feel the beginnings of desire start between her legs and steadily increase until she was rhythmically squeezing her thighs together so she could manipulate her engorged clit, finally forcing her to go to her room lest she give her arousal away to the others. Why she felt hunger for him she didn't know. She rather thought she should hate when he touched her but the opposite was true.

She wanted to tell someone, anyone, about what was happening but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, at first due to fear for her safely and for those of the others, then due to guilt. The longer she hesitated, the guiltier she felt, thinking everyone would believe her hesitation meant she enjoyed the nightly encounters. Well, in the beginning she didn't. Now she wasn't so sure about how she felt and that had her worried – had he Imperiused her into acting so sleazy or was she truly a baby whore at heart? Were these thoughts and feelings normal? She so wished she could ask someone. And would the others believe her when she said he forced himself on her at first and she hated what he had done to her? She had been flirting, seriously flirting, with the man before their first night together; they would probably say she deserved it. She worried they would be right, and the guilt just piled on. She feared telling the others of these nighttime attacks on her person – she worried over what would happen to Sirius, a man who had spent much of his life in a horrible prison for a crime he didn't commit. She didn't want him to go back to that hideous place, no matter what he had done to her, when she was sure that the prison was what broke his mind, making him do something he probably wouldn't have even briefly considered before his incarceration. Of that, she was sure. She also worried about how Harry would take the news. She didn't want him upset over what his Godfather was doing to her. She knew Harry had enough on his shoulders without his love for Sirius being shaken.

She knew these nighttime encounters would stop once she confessed what was going on; part of her did not want them to stop, part of her wanted them to continue and even wanted them to become near constant acts of depraved profligacy. She tried to squash those thoughts out of her, she told herself over and over again that she did *not* want these attacks to continue because the acts that were performed upon her were indecent and frowned upon by society. But then, at odd times of the day, she would imagine their hands and mouths upon her and she would begin squeezing her thighs together, wishing the night would come quicker.

And she felt embarrassment – embarrassed because she somehow didn't see Sirius' attacks coming, even though she noticed his eyes constantly following her, as well as where his eyes would stray which, at the time, made her feel sexy and desirable and because she had flirted shamelessly with him on more than one occasion. Heaven help her, she knew where his eyes were most of the time and she felt the need to flaunt her breasts at him, sometimes even wishing he'd grab and manhandle them mercilessly. She would also daydream, when she was alone with her thoughts, what it would feel like to have more than his hands on her and she had masturbated with him on her mind more than once. At one point, in the kitchen, with the cherries, she had come so close to throwing herself at him like some type of cheap floozy you read about in a horrible fanfiction. Embarrassed she was, because she allowed the attacks to continue by not telling someone she was being raped. How do you come out and say “Yey, that guy that you all really like and adore is raping me every night”? How do you do that without feeling like you are going to ruin other peoples lives and likely be the pivotal reason Harry falters and loses to Voldemort? No, she just couldn't do it. Her life being ruined was only one, if she held her secret she might save many other lives. But, was she being raped anymore? She never sought him out and would never have gone looking for him if he didn't come to her room, but she no longer fought him either. No matter how degrading his treatment was of her, he seemed to balance it with a tenderness that produced such confusion in her as to what he was all about. And she so looked forward to his visits – she would never look at Ron the same way again, didn't know if she would ever respond to him like she did Sirius. She seemed to be totally under Sirius' control and she didn't know how to fight that power over her.

She felt a strong sense of shame when her body responded to his ministrations - she would be wet as soon as he slid into the room, her nipples becoming hard long before he began to massage them and suckle them (God, she hated to admit how much she loved feeling his hands and warm, wet, oh so wet, mouth on her). She began to have multiple orgasms with each nightly episode, something he demanded she have before he would leave her - he would work her tirelessly until she came. Because he insisted she climax at least twice while he was with her, she allowed herself to welcome the delicious feelings of arousal and, from that point on, once she had made the conscious decision to allow herself to cum on his command, her body went haywire whenever he was near. She was so conflicted over how she felt – she both loved what he was doing to her and yet was repulsed by it. Lastly, but definitely not least, she was ashamed because he didn't come alone, and she enjoyed it immensely.

For his part, Sirius had noticed her body blossoming into womanhood when she was thirteen – too young, he thought. At the time, he was putting all his energy and effort into killing Pettigrew and only thought of her when he was well away from the castle. Even then he had no idea how obsessed he would become with her when her saw her a mere two years later – he had never realized how a great set of tits on a tight little body could create such havoc in one's mind. He didn't know what it was about her; he had known others girls with great bodies before, but yet they never affected him like Hermione's did. Was it because she was different - admired by others for her mind and not just for her body? He wasn't sure, but he didn't care. He wanted her.

Once she was in his boyhood home day and night, he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and his mind began to imagine his hands and mouth on her, his dick sliding back and forth inside her hot, slick wetness. Day and night his thoughts turned to her. He would envision her performing any type of sex act he could think of upon his person, the more humiliating the act, the more excited he became. He bought magazines and charmed her face on to all the girls contained within them, the magazines giving him ideas on things he could do with her that he never knew existed – Muggle magazines seemed the most interesting, especially the ones with ropes and leather. He would stiffen just thinking about her luscious body, bound with ropes he had artfully tied around her, her back and buttocks red with the marks from whippings he had to give her for being a disobedient little slave, her warm, short, quick breaths flowing enticingly about his member as she prepared her lips to suck him into her hot, moist mouth with that gorgeous, textured tongue of hers undulating and sliding along the bottom of his cock, its tip whorling tantalizingly around his head, diligently exploring the slit before she sucked him back in again – her succulent lips looking like little rosebuds around his engorged, veined, deep fucking red dick just waiting to shoot his hot cum down her throat. He could almost feel her suction pulling his cum out of his cock hole while her tongue and lips worked to milk the rest out of him. Oh, just the thought of hearing her gulping his seed would put him over the edge and he had to be careful of where he was when his mind would wander to her.

His mind conjured up visions of what he thought her breasts would look like from all the times he had studied them – he had taken advantage of different seats in the house so he could view them at many different angles while she did various activities – making food with Molly, reading a book, practicing spells, helping clean the house (he loved it when sweat would bead up on her cleavage, making him long to lave it off as he imagined hearing her squeal in delight) and bouncing down the steps (he just loved the sight of her on those stairs, she seemed to make sure they jiggled and bounced extra hard when she saw him). He couldn't wait to find out how accurate his imagined Hermione-breasts were, and he had full intention of finding out some day, the sooner the better.

One place Sirius discovered he was guaranteed hours of devoted Hermione tit-sizing time was in the library, a room filled with hundreds of tomes, some over a century old. When Hermione entered the room, he saw she would often pause a moment as a smile spread across her face, her bright eyes scanning the room, looking up and down the walls and bookshelves, all awash with the muted colors of a forgotten lifetime. Her enjoyment of the room was almost infectious. Sirius had never thought much about the library other than as a place to gather information. To Hermione, it was a place of deep emotional attachment. And Sirius learned to share her attachment to the room though for very different reasons.

Sirius would sit in the far corner of the room, hidden in its shadows, mostly concealed from her wandering eyes by a chair, and watched her while she read a book, as usual trying to imagine what her body looked like as if he were a virgin teen who had never seen nor felt a woman before. He always remained silent, never letting her know he was there. She came to the library religiously while the others would sit at the kitchen table or in the living room - she was often alone in the room for a few hours each night devouring the information contained in the Black family books, every once in a while taking in deep breaths through her nose as if savoring the odor the old, musty books gave off. He wondered what it was about the room's smell that appealed to her; when he sniffed the heady air all he smelled was decaying paper and a hint of mold, nothing of interest to him (except, of course, when she was there). All he had to do was make sure he entered the room and was well hidden in the shadows before she arrived. She always sat in the same wing-backed chair, it's sides shielding her from view to anyone in the hallway. At first he thought she sat there to keep herself from being distracted by the shadows they produced as their bodies interfered with the dim light that filtered into the room. But then, he reconsidered her real reason for sitting in that chair, one succulent night when she did more than read a book.

On that night, he had been absolutely fucking delighted when he noticed her breathing quicken as she put the book she was reading down and, after she had made sure she wasn't easily seen by someone who happened to come to the door (but yet she was conveniently in full view of his fevered eyes), she slowly brought her hands up to her chest and began to circle her nipples with her fingers and rub her thumbs over them, after a few minutes she put her head back as she began to pinch and pull on them through the fabric of her bra and shirt, finally sliding both up so she had full access to her (gulp) generous tits, then began to massage them in earnest while tugging and twisting her nipples fiercely as she hissed under her breath, “Oh God yes! Suck them! Please! Don't stop! Yessssss! Oh please, oh please, oh pleeeeease!”, she was groaning and moaning urgently as she continued to beg her mind's lover to continue. At first he was shocked at her seeming so brazen. Where in Hades did she learn to talk like that? To act like that? She sounded like she belonged in a brothel! But soon, the moans and hissed words began to work on him, making his dick grow and tingle in anticipation of release. All the while, he kept hoping to hear her call his name, but she never did; had she done so he would have obliged without hesitation. As it was, he had an enormous erection to deal with in a hushed room filled with a girl's wanton moans and cries for a good fucking time, while he had to struggle to sit there as quietly as possible so he wouldn't startle her and stop the show.

Sirius was delighted he no longer had to struggle to imagine what her breasts looked like, the skin so smooth and taut, the tiny nipples standing hard and erect with their pebbled skin around them – his imagination had not failed him. He kept hoping she'd pop one of those nips into her mouth and suck on them but, sadly, she never did. She did, however, go one better by opening her legs wide, throwing one over the chairs arm. She then roughly, almost savagely, jerked her skirt up with one hand while pulling her (red lace!) knickers aside with the other (he thought he heard the faint sound of ripping lace, how he wished to rip them off of her himself!), giving him a lovely view of her pink, moist, labial lips as she rubbed herself to completion with a gasping “oh!” and an irregular jerking of her hips making him want to leap upon her and shove his obliging dick inside of that little whore hole she had her fingers crammed into. While she manipulated herself she was quietly moaning frantically, “Oh yes! Yes, Gods, yesssss! That feels so good! Oh, don't stop! Oh please, make me cum! Pleeeeeeeeeease! Yessss, oh! Oh! Oooooooohhhhhh! Gooooooodsssss yesssssss!” Both hands were frenziedly working her womanhood, sometimes both rubbing her nub as it grew and became more sensitive, at other times one worked her clit while the other pumped in and out of her vaginal opening, preparing it for the day when he would be able to shove his manhood deep within her, his mind making plans to take her the first time with one stroke, filling her quickly and losing himself within that hot, wet pussy. The moist sounds she made as her fingers rubbed and circled her clit and battered into and out of her cunt was music to his ears.

Then, after she had climaxed not once, but twice (all the while begging a nameless lover to fuck the shit out of her) - and he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw her do it - she raised a hand up to her mouth and cleaned her fingers, slowly licking her juices from between them and sucking their tips with noisy slurping pops. She then reached down and scooped up more of herself, raising her hand to continue cleaning herself, murmuring how good she thought he tasted and how she wanted him to fill her up more (what an imagination she had!). He was totally amazed by this, he had never known a woman who did not mind tasting herself. Seeing her do this, after just jerking herself off, combined with the musky fragrance of her arousal, made his dick throb almost painfully as he reached the point of no return and began to shoot his seed into the air, how he wished his thick, white liquid was deep within her and not all over his hands. It had taken all of his control to stay silently in his place and continue stroking himself, he felt he had very nearly gone mad and once again came oh, so very close to lunging at and ravishing her.

He could smell her hot arousal as it filled the room, becoming headier in the air, and marked her scent as his. God, how he wanted her to repeat that performance night after night! He prayed to the Gods to give him this one wish for now. And he found that, from that point on, he was indeed rewarded with that show several times a week. She never did suck on those tits, something he again prayed to the Gods she would do, something he was so damned desperate to do himself. His obsessed mind replayed watching her masturbate at various times during the day, and while he was alone in bed (a safe place to think about it since he always had to frantically jerk himself off to relieve his painfully engorged cock while whispering her name, imagining it crammed down her hot little throat, hell, he imagined it shoved in all her holes) he wondered if she put on that little show just for him, making it their little secret. He wondered if she truly thought she was alone in the library, surrounded just by the musty books she loved. If so, then why did she seem to always turn her chair so he had a full view of her body as those soft little hands worked it, those hands that he was sure would be on him someday? Yes, he was convinced of it. He was sure she knew he was there and giving him a preview of what was to come. The thought of her doing that just for him almost made him cry, he knew they had to be careful lest they get caught together, knew that that was why she didn't invite him to eat her and fuck her while she teased him mercilessly. This way, with him hidden in the room and watching her erotic peep show but not directly participating, she could quickly set herself to rights and go back to pretending she was reading should someone dare enter their sanctuary. Yes, she was a clever girl indeed.

Something else he thought about was her virginity. He was convinced that she was a virgin. Despite the fact that she was so free with her own body (the sight of her taking in her own body juices still drove him nearly mad with desire), he was sure she was an innocent. How many men were lucky to have a woman who wasn't shy of her own body while still a virgin? He was sure that she had not yet rutted with the Weasley boy, and he dearly wanted to be the one to 'pop her cherry', as the saying goes. He even began to dream of cherries and it became a compulsion for him to eat them whenever he was around her, to suck on them and roll them around in his mouth while he smiled at her. He would stick his tongue out balancing one on it before sucking it slowly back into his mouth while she watched him slyly from the corner of her eyes, her mouth in a little O of wonder, he was sure she was wondering what his tongue would feel like on that hot little body of hers. He had every intention of showing her someday, yes, he couldn't wait for that day to arrive. To further his fantasy, one day, a day he was sure was designed by the Gods he often prayed to, he was able to convince her, while they sat in the kitchen alone (the ever-present Molly gone to the Burrow for supplies and the other members of the household off doing other things) to feed a bowl of cherries to him.

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Authors notes, you may freely skip this...

(This is where I'll post my thoughts [I'm pretty opinionated], some links that I used for the story, and other info.)
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I wanted to comment that I can't stand fanfics that have people who hated each other for years (my fav is SS/HG) that are suddenly madly in love within two chapters (it can be done if done right, most don't do it right). Hermione and Sirius don't hate each other, they don't love each other either. This story isn't showing love. It's obsession, compulsion, and hormones. Hermione loves Ron, but she's sexually attracted to Sirius. Big difference. And Kreacher, well, you'll see as the story unfolds.
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Sirius in canon was immature in some ways, mature in others. He was depressed, who wouldn't be after the life he's living? In this story, he's immature and a little bit of a nut who is struggling on the brink of sanity. If only Remus hung around more, maybe he'd have a chance. Unfortunately, he's got Kreacher around instead.
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Hermione in canon is pretty self-assured. But even the most level-headed person will change and/or be affected by torture. You will see this with Hermione.
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Kreacher in canon hates Mudbloods and blood-traitors but doesn't really get to vent his beliefs effectively. He does in this story.
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Oh, and this story uses all those sexual clichés and nasty wording you usually see in this type of fanfic. I debated about using that or using the correct medical terminology. Somehow, medical terminology isn't sexy.

I also decided to use the word “cum” for when they orgasm instead of “come”. Why? Because it's easier to distinguish what I mean. Also, it's kind of strange to use the word “come” twice in the same sentence and mean two different things. I don't understand some websites that don't want the word “cum” used. We all know what it means.
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A link to a site I've used for some of the terminology in this story:
http://www.sex-lexis.com
Good golly is all I can say.
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A link to a site so I could name the various items Hermione was buying for herself (I know what they look like but didn't know exactly what to call them):
http://www.bodylingerie.com

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