Azael's Chains

Eyes

A fine tremble began at her bottom lip and mapped its way across her as she was pulled to standing, her feet stuttering on the floor in an attempt to gain a foundation. Her arms wove before her chest and the recently torn fabric there, but vices of hands spread them back to her sides. It did not ease the roiling of her body that he did not want to do this either.

His fingers drifted gently up her arms to cup her cheeks, tender anger flashing in his grey eyes. "Strip, kitten." Her head wanted to jolt to the sides in denial, but he held her firm. "If the Dark Lord desires a show, then we will give him one."

When she did not move to obey he sighed and cut the dress open with a line of his wand. It fluttered around her bare body, shaking with her fear, and his eyes drifted over her heatedly. With her back to the room only he and the Dark Lord could see her body clearly, but it was enough that she was under their eyes, shame rushing to her cheeks.

Deft fingers twisted at her nipples until they were tight peaks. "Beautiful," he murmured, trailing down her belly to dart between her legs. "Still wet enough, I think." Two fingers screwed into and she whimpered, turning her face toward the fire. The fingers pumped wetly inside her, leather boots sliding between her slippered feet when she tried to close her legs. "None of that, kitten, be a good girl."

"I never imagined you could be so gentle, Dolohov." Laughter followed on the heels of the elder Lestrange's mockery. "Were you similarly soft when you punished her?"

Antonin growled and snatched her hair in a twisting grip. He stood, fingers leaving her core to tear the remainder of her clothing from her shoulders, then pushed her cheek into the seat cushion. A sob choked her as she realized her bare backside was now on display and she tried to shrink in on herself, thighs cinching together uselessly.

There was no warning to the wicked thwap! that was his belt against her skin. She shrieked, hands darting back only to be smacked away.

"Hands over your head unless you'd like them split open." His voice was cold, ruthless, and plunged her into despair. She swept her arms beneath her head, burying tears against herself. Each successive lash of his belt she cried out in horrified shame, feet dancing over the floor as though she could escape, nails gorging into herself. When it ended, she flinched away from his hand smoothing over her welts to the great amusement of their onlookers.

"Does it hurt, kitten?" He lingered on the raised skin, voice dripping with cruelty. "I know, sweet girl." The belt slapped onto the floor as he dropped it in favor of pulling her knees to the seat of the chair. He laid one broad hand across the top of her arse and bent to murmur in her ear. "As much as I hate sharing even the sight of you in such a state with others, I cannot deny the pride that comes with owning this sweet little body as they look in lustful envy." His thumb circled around the tight ring of muscle and she jumped. "And they are envious, kitten." He kissed her throat before standing once more and soon the bulbous head of him was at her apex, pushing into her once more.

Hermione bit into her forearm to keep the pain of his intrusion silent. Her raw skin dragged at his length, already stinging from his previous entrance. Dolohov groaned, easing out to pump in and create space in her. "So tight again already, pet. So hot. Does that hurt, katyonok? " When she did not answer, he wrapped her hair around his fist and arched her body off the cushion. "I said, does it hurt ."

"Yes." The word creaked out of her throat, wobbling with the threat of tears.

"Were you biting yourself?" He chuckled, the thumb at her back sliding inside as she beat against the chair in futility. "I am happy to provide you with more pain, my sweet little whore. You only need to ask."