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Hermione Granger was not one to typically get wasted after a break up. However, desperate times called for desperate needs.
That’s how she found herself traveling to the other side of London to get drunk in a muggle club, purse tucked under arm. In the dark hours of the night, Hermione stepped into the pulsating heart of the dancing bodies. Despite the vibrant lights and thick smoke, the stench hit her first. It was a heady aroma of alcohol and sweat.
Clad in a figure-hugging black dress that accentuated her curves, she blended seamlessly with the crowd. As the bass reverberated through her bones, Hermione surrendered herself to the music and ambience. Making her way past the dancers, she made her way to the bar and caught the bartender's eye. He was handsome and had a dark, rugged look about him. When she approached the counter, he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“What can I get ya, pretty?” He asked with a rough english lilt. Hermione smiled back.
“Vodka, please, straight.”
“Rough night?”
“Yep-” she said, sighing. The bartender was right, rough night indeed. She chuckled bitterly to herself, because "rough night" seemed like such an understatement. Here she was celebrating the end of a seven year relationship.
She took a seat on the barstool and watched as he got to work. The bartender behind the sleek counter exuded an air of effortless charm as he reached for a pristine bottle. His hands moved with fluid grace, a master of his craft. With mischievous eyes and a playful grin, he held three shot glasses in his hand, ready to give Hermione a proper show.
In the other hand, he lifted the bottle of vodka and spinned it high above his head, showcasing its clear liquid contents to the eager onlookers. Someone whistled. The glass glistened under the vibrant lights of the bar, casting an ethereal glow. As he began to pour, a steady stream of vodka cascaded down, dancing through the air like liquid silver, his hands moving with a confident flourish. He topped them off and ended by throwing a cloth over his shoulder.
“First few are on the house,” he smirked, sliding three shot glasses over the counter.
She took the first, threw her head back, downing it in a single gulp. The liquid fire burned through her insides, she choked down the urge to cough. It was warm, it was freeing. It seared away the remnants of the terrible week she’d had. She downed the second, and the third.
“Thanks,” she rasped out.
As reality receded, fading into a distant echo, she found solace in her little corner of the bar. It was a paradoxical freedom, a temporary detachment from the world; where nothing seemed real and everything held the promise of ephemeral bliss. She was beyond ready to pretend that the events that transpired before hadn’t occurred. She swivelled in her bar stool, watching lovers dance pressed up against each other.
She closed her eyes trying to clear her mind. She couldn’t help but think that if Ron were here and they were fine, they’d be having fun. She reminisced about the old times, when everything was new and exciting, when Ron was charming. At this time, they’d probably have headed to Harry’s house, there’d be wine, and everything would’ve been fine. She’d be dancing and singing with Ginny, playing stupid board games and sharing stories about Hogwarts. Chuckling at how they'd grown, exchanging glances and reliefs about how they had left the past behind them. Grown stronger, grown closer after all they'd been through. The tears stung her eyes.
Fuck, she was so sick of drunk-dialing.
For hours, she allowed herself to wallow in sorrow, drowning her emotions in the depths of her glass. But as the night wore on, a flicker of determination ignited within her. She was being stupid, drinking her tears away when Ron, frankly, wasn’t someone she should’ve been hung up on. They had moved in together after they had graduated from Hogwarts and at that moment Hermione wished she’d asked their best friend, Harry, what Ron was like as a roommate. She would come home late after working at the ministry, only to find pungent clothes strewed on the floor of their apartment. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t communicated, she had. The foul git had simply labeled her as both a housewife and a working husband. She sighed into her drink, bass pounding in her ears.
Fuck this, she looked good tonight and she would forget all the events that conspired the night before.
Setting her half-finished drink aside, Hermione made her way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the pulsating beat that resonated from the speakers. As she stepped onto the dance floor, the music enveloped her, its intoxicating energy coursing through her veins. The world around her faded into a blur as she surrendered herself to the melody, allowing it to carry her away on a wave of euphoria. The woman singing had a deep low voice, it was enticing and heady, urging her to move freely.
Her hair, usually tamed and orderly - neatly diffused-, now cascaded freely around her, an unruly mane of wild curls that mirrored the spirit within. The club lights danced in her eyes, illuminating the fire that burned within her soul. Her laughter mingled with the music, a melody of joy that echoed through the room, infecting others with the sheer elation of the moment. Her hands created grace around her, body moving with the pulsing rhythm. She couldn't help but feel grateful that she was free.
The world faded into insignificance. It was a moment of catharsis, a temporary respite from the realities of life. And with each movement, each sway of her hips, she forged a path towards healing, rediscovering her strength amidst the whirlwind of music and movement. She surrendered herself to the music's infectious beat. Her body moved with a natural rhythm.
As the music reached its crescendo, Hermione closed her eyes, basking in the pure ecstasy of the moment. She twirled faster, her arms drifting, and her body moving in perfect harmony with the rhythm. Sweat glistened on her forehead. She laughed unburdened, until strong arms wrapped around her waist, halting her.
She gasped breathlessly and moved to turn away but she was pulled flush against a body. Her laughter dissipated and made way for panic, she tried to struggle out of the grip. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the dark curls that tickled her cheeks. Pine, leather, smoke, the smells were awfully familiar. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as a powerful presence pressed against her from behind, melding their bodies together. The grip around her waist was firm, sending shivers down her spine. No, it couldn't be. Not when she'd just had her first taste of freedom.
“Well, you’ve certainly grown up, haven't you pet?” Hot breath graced the shell of her ear. The husky voice was startlingly clear despite the music, and as it registered, Hermione's heart froze in her chest, and she panicked. The world around her seemed to distort and warp, the vibrant lights and pulsating beats transforming into a disorienting haze. Her body went rigid, a torrent of conflicting emotions coursing through her. Recognition mingled with fear, desire entwined with trepidation. The grip around her waist felt suffocating, trapping her in a web of uncertainty. When the woman’s front pushed against Hermione’s back, she thrashed, attempting to break free from the confining hold, her movements desperate and frantic.
The lips hissed against her ear, and then harshly whispered, “Don’t run.” Twisting out of the person’s grip. Hermione looked back and gasped. She barely caught herself from stumbling.
“You- you’re supposed to be…” fumbled Hermione.
“Dead?”
There, under the dimmed lights of the club, stood Bellatrix Lestrange, a ghost wrapped in sin. She was bathed in a neon pink light, it cast an angelic glow on her. She smiled, sharp canines showing. A true vision of someone who clawed their way out of the pits of hell, victorious, if she’d ever seen one. Dark tendrils of hair framed her pale, ethereal features, cascading over her shoulders with an unrestrained wildness. Her lips, stained a seductive shade of crimson, curled into a wicked smile. Hermione almost fainted. The last time she’d seen the witch, Bellatrix had looked deranged, malnourished, and had rotten teeth (some were missing too). Nothing like the woman in front of her, who had pearly, full, white teeth. Long and curled eyelashes that framed her equally dark eyes.
“My, my, Weasel boy doesn’t know what he’s missing, does he?” she said playfully.
This Bellatrix exuded an aura of primal magnetism, a potent blend of allure and menace. Her still-lithe figure, clad in red silk that clung to every curve, moved with a feline grace that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. Her every step was a deliberate act of temptation, each movement an invitation.
As the club lights flickered and danced, they played upon Bellatrix's pale skin, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance across her features. The dim glow highlighted the delicate contours of her face.
Hermione's mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the impossible sight before her. Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who was supposed to be dead, now stood there, a haunting apparition in the midst of a muggle club. How could this be? Was it a trick of her own mind, a hallucination born from too much alcohol? It had to be. It had been a long time since she’d indulged but she had never been this much of a lightweight.
Bellatrix's eyes met Hermione's, gleaming with amusement. She studied Hermione, as if seeing through the layers of her being, and a wicked spark ignited in her gaze. The music throbbed in the background, its intensity matching the growing tension between the two women.
She looked so real. Hermione's heart raced, torn between intrigue and cold-hard fear. Hermione sighed, only one way to find out…
Hermione reached out to touch her jaw. Cautiously her fingers filled the space between them. Bellatrix made no move to curse or hex her, only stood there, lightly swaying to the music. Smooth, warm, soft skin made way at her fingertips, and Bellatrix smiled devilishly. Hermione gasped, her hand fell.
“I’m here Granger, in the flesh.” A mischievous smirk played on Bellatrix's lips as she leaned in, her voice a seductive whisper. "Surprised to see me, darling? I do love a good reunion on the dance floor."
“No!” It came out strangled. Fear instilled tears clouded her vision and her scar burned. Here in the south-east part of London, she hadn’t been expecting any wizardry, and so she hadn’t thought to take her wand. The absence of it only heightened Hermione's vulnerability in the face of Bellatrix's presence. The memories flooded back, unbidden yet vivid, causing her scar to throb with a painful intensity. The scar, a constant reminder of her encounter with Bellatrix during the dark days of the war, had haunted her dreams for years. She stepped back, away from the monster.
In her nightmares, she relived the cruel words that had been spat at her, the searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and the sheer terror that had gripped her as Bellatrix taunted, tortured, and touched her. It had been a mark of shame, a reminder of her blood status and the prejudice she had faced throughout her life. However, a few years after the war her dreams took a turn. Screams had become mingled with breathless gasps. Tears of pain had been tainted with tears of pleasure and she often awoke gasping, heart beating out of her chest, a slick heat between her thighs.
Dark red lips pouted playfully, “No?” she edged closer, Bellatrix’s perfume invading Hermione’s senses. “Oh muddy, you haven’t learnt anything at all have you?”
Having the murderess in front of her, however, was another matter altogether. This was not the Bellatrix from her dreams, this was the woman who hurt her. Tortured her. Here there would be no heartfelt apologies or sweet peppered kisses.
“You died! ” she hissed, “You were gone- are gone!” There, inches apart from her, Hermione felt every bit the scared teenager she was when she lay on the floor of Malfoy Manor.
Bellatrix's eyes bore into Hermione's, a glimmer of satisfaction dancing within them. A predatory smile played upon her lips. “Not quite.” She tutted, “and here I thought you were the smartest witch of your age,” she pouted mockingly again, plump red lips pursued together. “Perhaps they shouldn’t have been so quick to give away my title… don’t you know you have to mean it to kill someone, little witchling?”
Hermione suppressed a shudder.
“Do you really think ickle mother Weasley could kill me?”
Hermione could do nothing but stare, horrified at the nightmare come to life. True to her persona, Bellatrix circled Hermione. To onlookers it must’ve looked like a playful dance but Hermione saw it for what it was. Insurance. She wouldn’t be able to run. "That bitch couldn't kill a fucking fly."
“You’ve been here… all this time?” she wondered aloud.
"You never saw me, but I saw you," Bellatrix said, her voice laced with a dark amusement. "I watched as you clung to that Weasley boy, allowing him to hold you back from your true potential. Such a waste."
She took a step closer, smiling, white teeth on display.
"I knew that one day, you would finally get rid of him," Bellatrix continued, her voice dripping with vindication. "And now, here you stand, free from his grasp. It seems my patience has paid off." She sauntered closer, their fronts now pressed together. She gasped as she felt Bellatrix against her, cursing herself for not wearing a bra, for being too lazy to find a strapless one that would fit her dress.
She looked around, a man wolf whistled.
Hermione's heart raced, a strange blend of fear and exhilaration flooding her senses. She could feel the dark witch’s straining nipples through her dress, and she shivered, pleading her mind to rest in ignorant bliss that hers weren't reacting the same way.
Bellatrix’s hands slipped to Hermione’s waist, “Besides… he never deserved someone as pretty as you hmm,” nails dug into her skin. Hermione’s hips involuntarily jerked forward. Bellatrix eyes shone, delighted, and in stark contrast, Hermione’s cheeks burned with shame.
She let out a laugh, dark curls tilting back, “Besides it’s not like you wanted him either.”
"You were always destined for greater things, muddy," Bellatrix murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding music. "A mind like yours should never be confined to the ordinary. It's time to embrace the power that lies within you. I can help with that," she cooed, thumbs rubbing circles on the thin cloth.
Hermione met her eyes defiantly, “You’re wrong. I could never be like you.”
Bellatrix's sultry laughter filled the air, sending a shiver of both excitement and trepidation down Hermione's spine. She leaned closer, lips taking their vengeful place against her ear, her voice a sensuous murmur that danced on the edge of danger, “Who said anything about being like me? I’m just telling you about what I’ve seen.”
Hermione's head swirled with thoughts, eyes glazed over. Pulling back, Bellatrix cocked her head to the side, “You don’t remember?” She pouted dramatically. From her waist, Bellatrix’s hand moved up. Fingers walked from the slight curve of her stomach, towards her sternum, tracing where her ribs came together. The nails dragged against her dress, and she could’ve sworn she could feel them through the material. Her chest moved with the slight breaths she dared to take.
Past the neckline, fingers touched skin, leaving a burning trial of goosebumps in their wake. Her blunt red nails caressed Hermione’s chin. “I’m offended. So many nights in the weasel’s bed… holding him, touching him. But what does little muddy do when he’s out on work trips?”
Hermione’s eyes widened. Bellatrix grinned. Her thumb gently pried her lips. “That’s right pet. When he’s away, you whimper out my name.” Hermione pushed her thoughts away, burying the idea of using her tongue to suck the pad of the thumb. Before she could indulge, the hand disappeared, instead appearing on her arm. It fluttered over her scar, “No matter how many times you fucked him, you knew didn’t you?”
A gasp left her lips, and the claw-like hands dug into her wrist. Preventing her from moving away. The scar burned, seeming to welcome its creator. It was suffocating. “You knew that you would always be mine.”
The nails dug into the scar. Hermione cried out. She looked around desperately, nobody else seemed to have noticed. Her cry must’ve been masked by the music. “I’ve claimed you pet, you belong to me.”
Hermione averted her gaze, and tried to take a step back, only to have Bellatrix’s grip tighten and pull her back. She should’ve run when she had the chance.
“Oh no you don’t, muddy. If a woman makes you come that good for years, the least you can do is return the favour. You owe me!”
Hermione’s mouth fell open. All those times, all those dreams. Bellatrix had been watching. Images formed in her mind, Bellatrix watching from her window, the curtains doing nothing to hide her deeds. Bellatrix watching, hidden under the cover of night, from the armchair in the corner of her and Ron's shared room. All those instances she thought she'd seen- blamed on bliss-induced hallucinations... all those times?
"You want me, don't you, Hermione?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice a seductive melody that echoed in Hermione's ears.
Hermione's mind raced.
She was alone. Ron had left her, Harry had taken his side, there was no one left.
The music pulsed in the background, its hypnotic rhythm mirroring the pounding of Hermione's heart. In that moment, she made a choice – to abandon reason.
“Forget the nights before, I can see it in your eyes, muddy.” She was everywhere all at once, “Right now,” she breathed, “you want me.”
“ Yes ,” she whispered brokenly.
“That’s right darling,” Her words laced with twisted affection.
Bellatrix’s nails softened into a caress, and she pulled her into a hug, chin resting on Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m going to take such good care of you, muddy,” she whispered.
There was a feral energy about Bellatrix, an untamed wilderness that both intrigued and frightened Hermione. She was a predator, stalking her prey with a predatory elegance that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to meet her gaze.
Hermione's voice trembled as she stammered, "I- I can't just go with you." Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, her rationality fighting against the pull of Bellatrix's presence.
Bellatrix's lips curled into a wicked smile, her voice a low, seductive whisper. "Oh, but you can, Hermione." Her grip on Hermione's wrist tightened ever so slightly, a subtle warning.
Hermione's eyes widened in recognition, a mix of fear and curiosity flickering in their depths. Memories of twisted encounters and battles flashed through her mind, intertwining with a morbid fascination she had long suppressed. At Bellatrix’s permission, everything faded away.
“Come with me, pet, don't fight it,” her fingertips were dancing against her arm again. She nodded defeatedly, entranced. Then, Bellatrix pounced. Hermione knew she was done for when soft red lips met hers. Lips moved against hers languidly, giving her a chance to pull away. When Hermione did not, Bellatrix pressed against her more insistently. When sharp teeth bit into her bottom lip, Hermione moaned aloud. The lips pulled away and she almost groaned in frustration.
Dark eyes studied her, grim with fascination. She was a vision, dilated pupils, breath heavy. Hermione almost came at the sight. She must’ve looked similar because before she had the chance to pull the dark witch back in, Bellatrix tilted her head before capturing Hermione’s lips in a bruising kiss that was sure to leave her dazed.
Hermione’s hands instinctively grasped Bellatrix’s curls and tugged. She gasped at the filthy moan that Bellatrix let out. Hermione was about 100% sure her panties are ruined beyond repair.
“ Fuck , pet." It’s breathy and wanton. “As much as I’d like to make you repay me right here in front of everyone, nobody, nobody , gets to see you like this except me.”
Hermione moved her lips from Bellatrix’s and she smirked up at her wildly blissed expression.
"Come with me, pet," Bellatrix purred, her voice dripping with a dangerous allure. She leaned back slightly, her dark eyes locking with Hermione's, a magnetic intensity passing between them. "I have something special planned for us."
Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded mutely.
“Good girl,” Bellatrix husked, and for a moment Hermione’s world went dark. Heat pooled between her legs. Bellatrix's grip tightened around Hermione's wrist, a firm hold showing possession. Without a word, she began to lead Hermione away from the vibrant chaos of the bar. Once they were free from the sights and sounds of the club, without warning Bellatrix promptly disapparated on the spot, the sharp crack like thunder echoing against the lit up walls.
Hermione had only a moment to glance around the room, it seemed like a hotel - where she’d been staying to lay low presumably - before her thoughts were interrupted by the locking of a door. She turned back.
“Where ar-”
Hermione's voice trailed off as Bellatrix closed the distance between them in swift strides. Without a word, Bellatrix captured Hermione's lips in a searing, possessive kiss, cutting the question off. Her willpower crumbled as she melted into the kiss; moaning softly, she parted her lips to invite Bellatrix deeper. A dark chuckle resounded against her lips, as rough hands gripped her body with an unrestrained fervor. A shuddering gasp escaped Hermione's throat as her lover's touch grew more forceful, leaving marks of possession on her flesh through the layers of black satin. Sharp nails dug into her skin, adding a delicious pain to the pleasure.
"Mmm," Bellatrix groaned, her voice a sinful purr as she continued to explore Hermione's body with her lips and teeth. She trailed nips and bites along exposed skin, leaving a trail of sensations that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. Beneath the glittering statement piece adorning her throat, Bellatrix found a vulnerable pulse point, sinking her teeth into it with a savage hunger. Hermione's knees threatened to buckle under the overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure, but Bellatrix's grip held her steady.
With a devilish grin she pushed Hermione onto the bed and ran her fingers along the hem of the dress. “Is this what you wore for the Weasley boy, mm?”
Hermione's back met the softness of the mattress, and her senses were overwhelmed.
Hermione's breath hitched at the mention of Ron's name, her mind momentarily jolted back to the reality she was desperately trying to escape. The conflicting emotions tangled within her, warring against the waves of pleasure that coursed through her veins. She tried to ignore Bellatrix's question, her focus drifting away in a desperate attempt to detach herself from the memories that threatened to surface.
Bellatrix's grip tightened, a sharp reminder of her presence and control. Her lips, stained with the taste of Hermione's essence, curved into a dark smile against the sensitive skin of Hermione's neck. "Answer me, pet," she whispered, her voice laced with sadistic curiosity. Her fingers danced along Hermione's collarbone, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
Hermione's mind raced, searching for a way to evade the question. She was lost in a whirlwind of sensations, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring into a heady haze.
With a trembling voice, she finally admitted, "Yes, I... I wore it for him."
Bellatrix's chuckle sent a shiver down Hermione's spine, a macabre symphony that harmonized with their tangled desires. Her lips brushed against Hermione's ear, her voice a venomous whisper. “Then I’ll just have to rip it off you.”
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, “ Fuck ”.
Bellatrix let out a deranged giggle, it reminded her of her sweat-filled dreams.
Bellatrix straddled Hermione, her eyes filled with a feral hunger as she murmured an incantation. She dragged her finger down her cleavage, the dress came away at her fingertip. The fabric slipped away, baring Hermione's soul as much as her body. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as Bellatrix's hands roamed her exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
But then, as if a fleeting moment of unexpected tenderness pierced the darkness, Bellatrix paused. Her eyes softened, a hint of something almost vulnerable shining through the predatory gaze. A mischievous smile curled her lips as she brushed a strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear.
"This is okay, isn’t it?" Bellatrix murmured, her voice a velvet whisper.
Hermione laughed. Bellatrix was… asking permission. She grabbed the collar of her dress and pulled her down into a bruising kiss, “Fuck yes, please”.
When they pulled away, Bellatrix’s breathing was heavy and her eyes had never seemed so dark. “Fuck I should’ve done this so much earlier,” she whispered and leant back in. Bellatrix was perched on top of her, creamy thighs enclosing her, moving sinfully. She was a vision, dark curly hair, smudged red lips, and long lashes. It felt surreal. She could feel the gentle rocking movements on her thighs and was shocked at the heat that was radiating from the dark witch. Her attention was quickly pulled back to Bellatrix as she felt fingers running down over her exposed breasts.
Her back arched, pushing forward.
“Touch me!”
“So eager…” Bellatrix smirked. She kissed Hermione again. Then, Hermione let out a low moan as Bellatrix’s fingertips grazed the hardened nub, before pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. It stung deliciously, she closed her eyes at the sensation. Bellatrix’s lips worked their way along Hermione’s jaw, pausing once they reached her ear. She pinched a little harder, and then more so. To her surprise, Hermione didn’t push her away. Instead, her moans grew louder and she gasped arching up.
“Well, well, well, would you look at that?” she chuckled, “Muddy likes a little pain with her pleasure.”
“Fuck you Lestrange,” she managed to pant out, squirming.
“ Not yet ” she grinned, red lips shining.
She watched as Bellatrix swept her hair to the side, over her shoulder. As she felt Bellatrix’s mouth take in her nipple, all she could do was moan in delight. Head thrown back, Bellatrix bit down, she cried out. Hot, hot, red hot. Bellatrix was like an inferno, unforgiving.
Hermione’s hands found themselves tangled into the dark witch’s hair. She tugged, and just as in the club, Bellatrix moaned. Hermione almost came at the sound, it was deep and throaty, and she throbbed painfully. She circled Hermione’s nipple, with her tongue. The younger witch moaned and gasped under Bellatrix’s touch, pressing against her.
“Like that, do we, pet?”
“Yes! Fuck yes!”
She smirked, pulling back. She sat there, perched on Hermione’s stomach, proud as ever. Hermione whined instinctively then flushed scarlet, when did she get so needy?
“If you want me to touch you, you’re going to need to beg for it, filth.”
Hermione hesitated. If she wanted she could leave right now. Push Bellatrix off and make a run for it. But would she ever get this chance again? She had no home, nowhere to turn to. If she left now, she’d never see this dark goddess in front of her again. That wouldn’t do.
“Please touch me,” she begged, hands rubbing against Bellatrix’s red silk dress.
“You can do better than that,” she tutted, rocking her hips. Hermione groaned.
“Please Bellatrix, please fuck me,” Bellatrix stopped grinding against her.
“Oh yeah? How do you want me to fuck you, tell me muddy” A rush of arousal fled through her.
“Inside-” she gasped breathily as Bellatrix bowed her head to suck the tortured nipple into her mouth. “Inside me, please!”
Her free hand trailed down Hermione’s body, between her breasts, down the centre of her ribs, her stomach, and finally worked its way between her thighs. Bellatrix ran her fingers up Hermione’s center, causing a strangled moan to escape both their lips. Between the neatly trimmed curls, there were slick, warm folds. While sucking, Bellatrix looked up at her, batting her eyelashes. Hermione fisted her curls, she let out a sinful moan and tugged her bud. She released it with a pop and looked up at her, playfully wide-eyed.
“Inside?” Bellatrix trailed her fingers down to Hermione’s entrance. “To slide my fingers into this wet, warm cunt of yours, and fuck you until you beg me to stop?” She let her fingertips enter Hermione just enough to make her hips buck, and then pulled back.
“Tease,” she gasped out.
“Tease?” Bellatrix’s gaze turned hard. “What I’m doing to you doesn’t even come close to what you’ve done to me Granger.”
Her nails dragged against her stomach, “I had to watch helplessly as you fucked yourself, crying out my name.”
“Fuck!” Hermione pulled desperately at Bellatrix’s dress.
Bellatrix grit out, “You know nothing about being teased pet, do you know how hard it was not to fuck you as you came on your fingers, whispering my name?”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed out.
Bellatrix chuckled darkly, “Oh you will be.”
A strap-on was soon summoned to Bellatrix’s hips. Hermione gasped at its length. Bellatrix leaned forward over Hermione, causing her to groan in shock as she felt the silicone dildo press against her. Her head reached up in search of Bellatrix’s lips. The older witch kissed her, both hungry for each other.
Bellatrix melted into the kiss as she lined the toy up with Hermione’s entrance. Pulling away from the kiss, she braced her hands on either side of Hermione and pushed her hips forward.
“Oh...fuck...Bella!” Hermione moaned. She canted her hips forward, trying to get the toy in deeper. Bellatrix leaned her head against Hermione’s as she slowly filled the witch below her.
“More, please! More”
Bellatrix cackled in delight at the begging. She guided the black dildo back to Hermione’s entrance, pulling out slowly, causing the younger witch to moan and move her hips up, desperate for more.
“Like it?” Bellatrix said with a smirk as she felt Hermione’s nails draw down her back again.
“I fucking love it, please... faster!” Hermione gasped as she felt Bellatrix’s hip pick up pace. Hermione’s pleas and moans spurred Bellatrix on. She pushed herself up on her hands, her biceps tensed as she moved her hips faster. Hermione grabbed onto Bellatrix’s arms as her mouth opened in a wordless plea.
Hermione's walls tensed as her breathing quickened once again. Their hips were brought together as she cinched her legs around Bellatrix. The dildo effortlessly filled her as it went into her. Her hands were still bound above her as she groaned and gasped. Bellatrix kept Hermione guessing by shifting her hips back and forth and switching between short and long thrusts.
“Oh fuck, Oh fuck!” Hermione sobbed as she gripped the bedsheets. Bellatrix panted as she watched the younger witch lose control. A sheen of perspiration covered them both as they moved in perfect rhythm with each other, both of their orgasms building. Their hips flush enough, that every thrust caused Bellatrix to rub back and forth over Hermione’s clit.
“Bellatrix! Please!” The dark witch pounded into her, hard and fast, and Hermione screamed. It felt so good, she moaned, and met her thrusts. She was going to come soon, she was already seeing stars.
To her frustration, Bellatrix halted completely. Hermione cried out frustratedly. “What the fuck?” She rutted, trying to create friction for even a spark of pleasure but Bellatrix only watched her, smirking.
“Does he make you scream like I do?”
Hermione blanched.
“Does he?” Bellatrix started moving again, her hips rolling. The strap peeked out from under her dress.
“Does who?” she muttered, mindlessly.
“Weasley” she growled out, pulling out and pushing back roughly. One particularly deep thrust caused Hermione’s hips to buck violently.
“Did you scream out his name like mine?” Bellatrix shifted and suddenly the toy found a new angle. She moaned, it was all too much.
“Does he fuck you like this?” Bellatrix fucked her roughly, nails digging into her thighs. She would have crescent moon shaped marks, she was sure of it.
“No!” she cried, gripping the sheets, her knuckles an angelic white.
“No?” She mocked. Hermione got up and wrapped her arms around Bellatrix’s shoulder, shaking at the strength of her thrusts.
“No! Not him, just you!” Hermione clawed at her milky shoulders that flexed with effort. If Bellatrix wanted to fuck her roughly, she would leave her some marks to match.
“Fuck,” Bellatrix groaned. She pulled out completely and Hermione whined at the loss. Then she felt a sharp sting on her ass, “Crawl.”
Moving around the bed, Bellatrix had magicked off her dress and now sat against the headboard, dildo standing proudly up in the cool air. Obediently, Hermione crawled to her.
“Sit,” she ordered, “Fuck yourself for me darling.”
She sat there, hands on the headboard, inviting, smug. It was humiliating, an invitation for Hermione to fuck herself on Bellatrix, to use her, because she needed it. “Bounce on it like the good little slut you are. And then, only then, am I going to let you come”
Hermione stared, shocked, and then smirked with an idea. She straddled the dark witch and teased herself with the head of the toy, slightly pushing it into her entrance before pulling out to circle her clit again. Bellatrix’s eyes flashed dangerously before she lowered herself onto the fake dick. As it filled her, she moaned. Hermione straddled Bellatrix again and ground her hips down extra hard so the former Death Eater was sure to feel the push of the plastic against her own clit. She earned a tortured groan in response.
“Fuck, pet.”
She pushed the toy into herself and hissed at the immense pleasure it gave her to fuck herself all while Bellatrix watched hungrilly, guiding her hips. Hermione grabbed at her own tits, and threw her head back, giving her a proper show.
Bellatrix gently moved her hand back and forth against Hermione’s stomach causing the younger woman to grind down against her. Without warning, she thrust her hips upward.
“Fuck! Bella!”
“That’s right pet. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to.” She couldn’t deny how absolutely gorgeous Hermione looked with her eyebrows furrowed and her chest rapidly expanding and contracting, bouncing on her dick.
“Say it” Bellatrix hissed.
“I’m yours! Please!” Just as how it was when she’d fucked Hermione, her thighs started trembling and her moans became higher in pitch.
“Please what pet?” She slowed her movements again, and in that moment Hermione was sure she was going to combust. “Come on now darling, use your words.”
She tried to fuck herself, but no avail as Bellatrix grabbed her firmly by the hips and tutted, “Don’t make me punish you little mudblood”
Her scar ached deliciously.
“Please let me come,” she gasped. Finally , Bellatrix pushed in all the way and Hermione stifled a scream. She was pounding into her, rough and fast.
“What was that, pretty?”
“Please , oh please, let me come!” she cried.
“ I don’t know..” she hummed, cocking her head to the side with a mock pout.
“Bella-” Hermione began to protest but was cut short as a mewl escaped her parted lips as Bellatrix fucked her hard and deep. The ministrations sent a shiver up her spine and a warm rush of wetness to her center. Hermione fell forward in response.
And as Bellatrix pounded into her, she left kisses and bites all along her shoulders, Hermione came. She was a sight, golden skin glistening. Bellatrix came with a gasp. Bellatrix collapsed fully on top of the younger girl as the aftershocks of their orgasms coursed through their bodies. It amazed them both how well they fit together.
“Oh darling, you look so pretty coming around my cock like the whore you are” Hermione moaned and clenched around Bellatrix’s long dildo. Her head was tilted back, a picturesque vision, her thighs still trembling.
With a soft gasp, Hermione lifted herself off the dildo and out of Bellatrix's grasp.
Bellatrix looked at her smugly until Hermione tugged her away from the head board and pushed her back onto the bed. The sheets crinkled beneath them as Hermione straddled Bellatrix, her eyes smoldering with a newfound confidence. Their roles shifted, as Hermione took the lead, exploring the contours of Bellatrix's body with her hands and lips. Pinning her down with her body waiting, Hermione nuzzled her nose into Bellatrix’s neck, biting gently.
“Wha-What the fuck are you doing?” She gasped out as Hermione dragged her nails against her skin.
“Repaying the favour” she smirked.
___