Adventures in Grimmauld Place

The lampposts outside the house cast shadows across the hallway as Hermione shuffled in her slippers and nightgown into the dark study. The house was silent, and nearly empty, except for a crazy House Elf, a lone werewolf, the ever dangerously snarky Potions Master and Hermione, who was now more alone than she could have ever imagined.

Parentless and friendless Hermione was at the mercy of the Headmaster who had left her at Grimmauld Place under the tender care of Remus and Snape, who both were at a loss as to how to treat the young woman and so left her alone to explore the Library and the rooms that they didn’t inhabit.

By chance Hermione found a room away from the men’s which she claimed as her own, and one night was walking from the kitchen to her room when she saw light coming from under a doorway - a room that she thought was empty, unoccupied and most importantly locked by Mrs Black. Waiting until she was alone in the house Hermione found a way, by perusing the extensive wards section of the Library, to enter the room. There, she found a happiness and pleasure that she had thought gone forever…

The room wasn’t the room of requirement, but it seemed to be Hermione’s perfect room. Initially identified as a long lost unexplored library, Hermione soon realised why it had been locked away, even before Sirius and his brother had come to Hogwarts. Every book, every painting, even the chairs and the decorations around the cold fireplace - reeked of sex magic, of possession and persuasion, control and submission, giving and taking. The power behind being fucked from behind - happily being dominated, freely giving of yourself to aid the magic’s growth, powered the wards on the room as well as the slight air of sentience that reminded Hermione of Hogwarts.

Only the first time that she sat down at Hogwarts, the chair didn’t tie her down.

Seating herself in an armchair with low armrests and a high back, the seventeen year old remembered with excitement her foray into the unknown. Guilelessly, she had picked up the first book that caught her attention; in a sea of black and green leather bound covers it was the only one in red and gold, and in a bout of melancholy for her erstwhile friends, she picked Gryffindor colours over sense or intuition. It wasn’t till she was seated and surveying the Dark library that she thought herself lucky not to have picked up a book that screamed bloody murder. Leaning back into the chair Hermione felt as if she was sinking into a warm fragrant bath completely naked, as the softness of the plain looking furniture was revealed, and as the material seemingly stroked the backs of her bare knees and the back of her neck almost through her hair. She felt as if she was being massaged, in a warm bath, by large strong hands that knew every kink and every strain in her body, working slowly and methodically to leave her a moaning boneless mess.

A small part of her mind was working out what was going on - the ambience of the room, the Darkness plus the sexual references everywhere, possibly the chair was charmed to feel like that, to make a person more receptive to touch, to being caressed, stroked and aroused in such a gentle subtle way so as to never arouse suspicion. As her stressed body relaxed, the undertone of the carresses of the chair started to fire her erogenous zones. She felt her nipples harden and her pussy dampen, and she ground herself deeper into the chair, which developed a hardness in exactly the right spot for Hermione to grind herself onto. Parting her thighs she rocked herself on the hardness, which seemed to grow, but Hermione was too far gone in a sea of pleasure to think about how or why. Sitting upright, she struggled out of her clothes, and shimmied out of her damp knickers, gasping audibly at the sweetest, softest sensation; like a tongue was gently licking her pussy from the chair. Leaning back the feeling stayed with her, only now the warm big hands were back on her shoulders, on her neck, then slipping forward onto her breasts, tweaking her nipples and squeezing and teasing them. She flung her head back, and hands delved into her hair, massaging her scalp, her temples, rubbing her earlobes and her neck. When warm lips descended onto her ears and neck, Hermione raised her hands above her, desperately trying to feel whomever or whatever was giving her this pleasure. When she couldn’t find anyone she let her arms rest on the sides of the chair, and as another warm hand started tracing fingers along her pussy lips, up to her sensitive nub and down past her wet tight hole to her pucker, probing and stroking, teasing Hermione slowly driving her closer to passion, she parted her thighs further and hooked them onto the low arm rests. Spread out, completely exposed, a sheen of sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip, she was completely delirious and being driven crazy by the chair. A finger slowly worked it’s way inside her soaking pussy and she cried out for more, pushing herself further onto the digit, impaling herself, craving the feeling of being filled even more. Another finger drove inside her and she arched her hips, crying yeses and fucks, and as she felt the build up of a powerful orgasm rising inside her like a flash tide, the fingers curled inside her pushing against her bladder, thin chains appeared and tied her arms and legs together in elaborate knots which held her tight in position, and the hardness on the chair grew into a solid oak phallus, long and suitably thick, which pushed hard against her anus and forced itself in, stretching her beyond recognition, pushing hard against the fingers already inside her, then sliding further and further inside until she felt like she was possessed by a demon that was taking her from the inside out. The sharp pain of the penetration curbed the rising tide of her initial orgasm, and Hermione was now filled to the brim, tied up and rocking helplessly against the wood in her arse. Crying, she begged for more, to be able to come, to be freed. In reply, the wood in her arse thickened, the fingers pushed further in till they touched her cervix, and blunt clamps appeared on the her labia. The feeling of a tight band being wrapped around her clit had Hermione in a fog, unable to think, only desperate to be fucked and to come. She didn’t have any other thoughts in her head, only this constant, continuous mindless need to come. Her desire was peaking, her magic was sweeping the room, and if she could focus on further than her feet, she would see the characters in the paintings fucking each other, their animals and exposing themselves and fucking trees and fruit and anything they could find. The statues too were engaged, as were the maidens and centaurs carved into the fireplace. The book that lay in front of Hermione was being bombarded with her magic and started floating in front of her. As she sensed it, she blearily opened her eyes and was shocked to see the book opening on it’s own. Inside was tiny writing that she couldn’t read and a image of a girl tied up in a similar position to Hermione on the same chair. At the bottom it said, a chair for anticipation. Set to keep the individual delirious for an hour before allowing orgasm, this piece is popular with adults training their children for sex magic purposes.

An hour, she has to be driven crazy for an hour, she’s never going to handle it, she thought. But I know it ends, so maybe I can, and enjoy it while I do.

The book turned a page, and there was a man who looked like Snape tying a woman up with a series of intricate rope patterns on a large bed, leaving her pussy and arse exposed and her heavy breasts criss-crossed with rope, her large nipples tied up and swollen. The Snape lookalike then slowly removed his cock from his trousers, rubbing the head all over her soaking exposed pussy and arse, smirking as she tried to rock herself on him. Hermione sobbed at the thought of being fucked by Snape, let alone being tied up and ravished. The book kept on turning pages, driving her closer to orgasm. For more than an hour the pages kept turning, picturing Hermione with everyone she knew, Harry and Ron, separately and together, any other Weasley, the men and women, fellow classmates, teachers, random people from magazines, her family. At long last, after the picture of Hermione being fucked by Snape, Sirius and Remus at the same time, one in each hole, all with nice long thick cocks, while Harry and Ron watched, wanking away, Hermione clenched her pussy so tight it hurt, the huge cock inside her fucking her, relentlessly ramming into her while she climbed higher and higher, tears streaming from her eyes as the sheer bliss she was anticipating took over her body. With an animalistic howl Hermione came, shuddering and arching her back, the chains the only thing keeping her from falling off the chair. In a flash everything disappeared, and Hermione felt hollow and bereft. Shaking, she curled up on the chair, grabbed her wand from the side table, cast scourgify and slept.

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