Azael's Chains

Snow

A cool breeze teased around her body, prefacing the whine of the whip through the air. It laced over her flesh before she could wince away, drawing out a soft whimper. It didn't draw blood and she logically knew he wasn't lashing her as hard as he had before, but it still stole the breath from her lungs and drew sounds of pain from her mouth.

Another cut against her almost immediately and then he smoothed a palm over her back. It was hot enough to sear and her back bowed. "There we are, love. Such a good girl for me." He kissed a line down her throat before sinking teeth in without warning.

"Bloody..." Hermione slumped as he eased back, shoulder stinging down to the muscle he's ground in his jaws. When he drew back, she anticipated the delayed bite of the whip. Instead heavy leather thongs thudded across her welts. And while this hurt too, it was transformative, layering with the other pains to complete a tapestry of sensation.

The lengths thwacked against her buttocks and the backs of her thighs and Hermione danced on her toes. His carnal amusement trailed over her skin as the leather ends followed his trail around to her front. When her feet gained purchase again he kicked them apart and swung up between her legs. Hermione's eyes widened theatrically, head thrown back in a silent cry.

He battered at her breasts, her stomach, her thighs some more, sometimes only using the stinging ends of the flogger and sometimes using the lengths to their fullest. When she was shaking, adrenaline firing hotly through her, he circled back again and tugged her against his chest. "Is this what you needed?" he growled into the shell of her ear. "Hm? Is it?"

Hermione couldn't respond, light flicks of his arm scattering the flogger against her stomach again and again, its weight heavier than she thought possible.

"You needed me to take you down to my dungeon and string you up like a piece of meat." His fingers skimmed down to her center, playing between slit and bundle of nerves at the apex, in sweet concert with the thudding against her body. "You're wet for me. Do you want to see what happens to little girls who get wet from flogging?" Her head rolled back; he stopped flogging and the handle was against her navel, drawing down between her thighs.

"No--"

"Shhh." He held her lips apart and twisted the long handle slowly into her, stretching and squelching. "You're the victim here, kitten. Here for me to play with, remember? You asked for me to do this." He kissed tenderly down her jaw and sped the thrusts inside of her, braided leather handle catching on every part. "Didn't you? Didn't you ask for me to use you? Say it."

"Yes," she hissed from a tight throat.

"Look at that thick handle pumping inside you." Antonin's groan sent shivers across the back of her neck. "Such a pretty, hungry little cunt you have. Think you can come for me?" She shook her head and he nosed through her curls lovingly. "I think you can. Come on, be a good girl for me." He licked the fingers that had played at her clit and returned them, insistent circles speeding to curl her toes. It coiled her insides, building pressure that twined with abrupt friction of the toy handle.

"No, no, no," she stammered fitfully, each motion inflaming the welts on her back and stirring the unbearable pleasure further along. She could feel Antonin's starving gaze on her, feel his too-hot breath.

"But you don't have a choice. You're mine. Mine ."

It started in waves, muscles of her core clenching first, sending electricity to her toes and to tingle along her scalp. It crested with each pump of the handle inside her, and became painful as Antonin's fingers on her dragged it out, wrenching every ounce of pleasure from her until she was sobbing.

When his hands finally fell away, flogger tossed aside, she hung raggedly in her bonds. He spelled the manacles open and drew her against him, apparating them to his bedroom. He laid her out, massaging her wrists as he murmured praises into her hair, then he draped himself over her, thrusting inside and hissing at the warmth of her.

Opened to him, fresh from tears and pleasure, it felt good. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and let him spill dirty words into her ears, spilling himself into her and still not slowing his pace. Her moans were cut with choked sobs, too much heat running through her veins, too much electricity rippling her muscles. The pleasure was painful in its intensity, her nerves worn raw so it felt like his body was playing them directly.

Hermione scratched out her ragged orgasm in his flesh and just when she couldn't stand it anymore she lunged forward and sank her teeth into the smooth, salty flesh of his shoulder. Antonin groaned out his release, thrusting into her fluttering walls with long strokes, then rolled beside her.

She could count her teeth in the imprint on his skin; she trailed her fingers over the ridges curiously. They were straight, uniform, teeth her parents would have been proud of.

Fingers stroked through her sweaty curls. Antonin stared up at her with beaming adoration written in his soft smile. "How are you feeling, my love?"

The question made her blink, mind turning inward only to find a frozen wonderland; all was bare, cool, blank. It was like the fuzzy screen that appeared on the telly when it didn't have reception. "I'm fine." She ached, but those aches all existed on the surface of her being, and what laid beyond was calm as stone.

"Do you need anything?"

"No." A shiver ran over her cooling skin. "I'm cold actually."

Antonin propped himself on his pillows and raised an arm invitingly. "Come here and let me warm you up." He was warm as a cup of tea and she sank into him with a sigh, muscles relaxing where his body heat soothed them.

Being in pain, Hermione had learned throughout her time with Antonin, was exhausting work. Muscles cramped as they tensed with every flinch, adrenaline and endorphins flooded the brain, and sweat poured out. Afterward she nearly always fell into a heap and slept.

Tonight was no exception. A soon as she'd found a comfortable position against the larger body she drifted off; he was still running loving arms over her.

The snowy blankness that was a kindness of pain lingered over the next two days as though it had wrung her dry and the well of depth was empty, or frozen over, or something. It didn't really matter; she was safe from the demons of her mind.

Could Occluding be like this? I should learn, really learn . What she did usually was something like rudimentary Occlusion, but there was much more to the skill. Perhaps she could get Professor Snape to teach her someday. She'd discuss it with him when she could.

Around the end of the second night Hermione was starting to feel the cracks, but she buried it in the forest and smoke of his throat as he curled around her. She stirred against him in the morning as his chest shifted under cheek.

"You can keep sleeping, kitten."

Hermione shook her head, the idea of loneliness a burr in her sleep-addled state.

"You want me to stay with you?"

A nod as she murmured, "Bad dreams..."

Not bad like nightmares, but she could feel a gape, a yawn created by soft faces and familiar voices. Even the sweetest dreams of them opened up her sorrow like a blossom to their sun. She didn't want to sleep again, though she also wanted it more than anything.

Antonin's weight settled again beside her and he wiped her cheek from tears she hadn't been aware she'd cried. "Shush, love, it's alright. I'll stay." He pulled her into his arms as she quietly cried herself back to sleep.