Pretty When You Cry

    'Harry Potter' is copyright J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner. Bros. Entertainment and associated parties. I have no rights and make no claim to any.
    This is an X-rated PWP. It consists of scenes of a young man and a young woman having sex. If this is not to your taste, illegal in your area of residence, or you are underage, please hit the 'delete' key NOW.
    This piece was written for the Hermione Granger Fuh-Q-Fest, and is based on Scenario 40: "Hermione is a powerful witch in the public eye but (your choice)'s bottom (submissive) behind closed doors."

I brought my hand down hard on the warm bottom across my lap with a loud, satisfying THWACK.

"T-twenty-nine! Thank you, Master."

I ignored the sob in her voice and inspected my handiwork almost clinically. Hermione's bottom was a warm, rich red, and must have felt as if it were on fire. It wasn't the only part of her that was; the knee of my pants was absolutely soaked.

Running my hand lightly over the peach-soft and hand-warmed skin, I carefully aimed and made my final stroke.

"TH-THIRTY! Master, thank you!"

Restraining her from sitting up, I held out my hand and said softly, "Accio body lotion." The bottle of scented cream flew the few feet from her bedside table to my hand, and I began the equally pleasant task of rubbing it into the skin I'd so recently abused.

Naturally, my fingers slipped down further and stroked against her sex as well. I ignored her gasps and soft cries as I gently touched her there, ensuring that whatever edge had been lost from her arousal was returned. My own cock leapt against her belly as she squirmed. "Hold still," I chided gently.

"Master..." her voice faltered and trailed off into a gasp as I rubbed the cream into the curves of her bottom.

"Now," I said, after a few moments. "Have you learnt the lesson yet? You're not to associate with Malfoy."

She tilted her face up towards me, so I could see her expression. The gleaming trails of tears down her cheeks and her wide, cinnamon eyes contrasted with the mulish set of her lips. It was actually quite arousing -- but then, at this point, almost anything she did would have been.

"Master, this slave can't help it!" she declared. "He's Head Boy. As Head Girl, this slave has to work with him."

I felt a surge of anger and squeezed her clit roughly. She cried out and two more tears shook loose from her eyes. "Then I'm just going to have to spank you again when you do. You belong to me."

Her jaw set and jutted out. "Master, this slave can't--"

I hauled her up roughly and kissed her, cutting off her words, and then shoving her down onto the bed. "You -- belong -- to -- me," I declared, punctuating each word with a kiss.

She moved and winced, the rough cotton of the sheets rubbing against her sensitive bottom. I felt a pang of remorse that was swiftly drowned by another surge of heat from my cock -- her wriggle had pressed her dripping quim against my still-clothed erection.

"I--"

"Uh-uh," I said quietly, frowning. "Slaves do not have the right to put themselves forward. And impertinent slaves get punished, remember?"

She swallowed. "This slave... this slave is sorry that she has offended, Master."

"Good," I said, idly fiddling with her nipples. Soft and pink, I enjoyed the way they would stiffen and swell as I stroked them. Very pretty, and as responsive as she was. She cried out as I flicked one of them. "Be quiet," I ordered her, flicking the other. "Do not scream, groan, whimper or wail."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Indeed," I said, barely paying attention to her consent, being far too absorbed in her breasts. The way her pulse pounded through the veins visible through the translucent, delicate skin was fascinating, as was the way she would respond to the lightest touch there. Yes, I really would have to try her with the nipple clamps one of these days. She would weep and protest, of course, but one day when she was particularly wilful... well. They wouldn't harm her permanently, of course -- I'd never inflict lasting harm on my Hermione -- but they would definitely make her realize my displeasure.

Then again, I sometimes think Hermione must have a little bit of a masochistic streak. She knows very well what I do and do not tolerate in her behaviours, and sometimes she skates very close to the edge. Although that may be her way of attempting to assert some independence in our relationship. I don't bother anymore myself; I have accepted that I need her, and this thing we have between us fulfils our mutual needs.

It started about halfway through Sixth Year. After I'd realized at the end of Fifth Year that I'd been manipulated by everybody from Dumbledore on down, I'd started getting a bit obsessive; hardly anything was within my control, so I became exceedingly fanatical and possessive about what was. Then Hermione's parents were murdered, and she went into shock for a while. She just couldn't gather the will to make any kind of choice. I took to making all her decisions for her, from the food she would eat to the amount of time she'd spend studying. If I towed her to Quidditch practice she'd just sit in the stands and watch. Ron made a few trenchant comments about 'mother-henning' but he had been just as worried as I was.

Ironically, with Hermione to look after, all the other little quirks I'd developed faded away. She did, in time, come back to herself, but she'd never been a leader, and the part of herself that needed guidance was now at the fore. I, whom she trusted, had been in control of her, so when she wanted to be controlled, she turned to me. And I needed to control something... our mutual need grew, merged, and became something far bigger than its parts.

Pulling my jeans and boxers off and parting my robes so that my lap was bare, I carefully picked her up -- she was tiny, only 5'2" to my admittedly less than earthshaking 5'10" -- and set her on my lap, carefully adjusting my cock to align with her sex. I rested the head just inside her body, a lovely little niche that I knew from delightful experience would be soft and warm and welcoming. Already moist from being played with, then spanked, and then played with again, Hermione moaned softly as I deliberately paused.

There was a knocking on the door.

"Do not let that person know I'm here," I ordered her, pushing in deeper.

Hermione nodded. "Who is it?" she called, her voice remarkably even.

"It's me, Hermione," Ron's voice came through the door. "Have you seen Harry? He's not in the common room, the dorm, or the library."

She cast a despairing glance over her shoulder at me. I simply nodded once at her, and curved my hand forward, over her hip, and began flicking at her clit.

"I haven't seen Harry since dinner," she lied, the grimace on her face belying the smoothness of her voice. "And he's definitely not hiding under my bed. He'll probably come to bed in a couple of hours." She opened her mouth, breathing out hard to disguise the gasp when I pinched her clit.

"Convince him not to come in," I whispered, licking her earlobe, something that was guaranteed to set fire to her nerve endings.

"I'm studying right now -- you can come in and join me while you're waiting--"

"No, no, that's okay," Ron said hurriedly.

"Good girl," I murmured in her ear, nipping it.

"Well, goodnight then! Don't study too hard now, all right?" Ron's voice faded on the last few words, obviously hurrying away to escape the dreaded homework monster.

I smiled. "Good girl," I cooed gently into her ear. "Now, how shall I reward you?"

"Harry, I need...."

I stopped dead. She moaned in desperate, unsatisfied need, and her quim fluttered around my cock, tempting me to forgo discipline and just bury my cock inside her body again and again and again. But.... "I believe I have told you before," I hissed, and I felt her stiffen in reaction to the ice of my tone, "that you do not have the right to refer to me by name, or yourself in the first person."

"Master," she whispered, "Master, this slave is sorry... Master, please forgive this slave that she forgot her place."

"Should I?" I mused, and reached down with the hand that wasn't strumming her clit to pinch her freshly-spanked bottom. "You have been most disobedient today. First, you had no time for me this morning. Then, you had an unscheduled meeting with Malfoy that you neglected to ask my permission for. And finally, you have been impertinent tonight. Twice."

She moaned again as I ran my fingers up from her bottom to her waist and then used my arm to pull her back onto my cock, till my balls were being tickled by her pubic hair. She gasped, though I couldn't tell if it was from the pressure of my cock so deep inside her or the fact that the suddenness of my action had driven all the air from her lungs.

"Master," and the ache in her voice went to every single possessive nerve I had, "this slave is sorry.... This slave will accept any punishment that her Master chooses to administer."

Still, I couldn't help but draw it out a little more. "Is my slave truly sorry for her disobedience...?" I teased, and I knew she could hear the lightness in my tone.

"Yes, Master," her voice soared, "this slave regrets her disobedience -- OH MASTER!!" as I sped up the touch on her clit and, to send her over the edge, bit her earlobe as I pinched her nipple.

Her quim spasmed around my cock, fluttering around my flesh like a warm, wet, silken butterfly made of steel. I felt the drawing motions of her internal muscles attempting to suck up the semen I hadn't loosed into her body yet.

I pulled out of her and rearranged her body on the bed, facing up. Lying down beside her, I delicately combed her hair away from her face with my fingers.

Waiting until her lovely cinnamon eyes fluttered open, I asked, "You okay?"

"Mmmm," she agreed, and before she could do anything, I rolled on top of her, pulled her legs apart, and shoved myself in, as deeply as I could go. The roughness of the cotton had been painful for her with only a few wriggles; with my weight pinning her down so there was no way she could get away from the cloth, and my thrusts moving her across it, it must have been as if her bottom had just been thrust into a pan of boiling water.

As the tears started from her eyes, she gasped the unanswerable question, "Why?"

I did not pause, even as a hundred answers flashed through my brain. Because you like it -- because I want to -- I don't know why....

I bent down and kissed her, thoroughly and passionately. "Because you're so pretty when you cry."