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Ceding Control (formerly Goddess of the Moon)	By : Wimp36 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 272934 -:- Recommendations : 15 -:- Currently Reading : 23
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of its characters, premises, or related information from either the books or movies. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Last chapter before we get back to Harry, Luna, Ginny, etc...I got sidetracked. At least one more chapter before we get back to school (I have a few more ideas to play with). Next chapter should be up relatively soon, but it may be a bit longer after that.

Chapter 15 - Adventures in London

The next day was Christmas Eve. Hermione woke shortly after the first light of dawn crept through the curtains. She looked around her. The room was littered with dildos, whips, floggers, tangles of rope, gags, butt plugs, lingerie, and bits of the various costumes that she and her mother had worn for Cormac. There were also several empty wine bottles, the last dregs of Cormac’s whisky, and a nearly empty bottle of Calvados. To her left, Cormac lay snoring, his massive cock lying glistening on his bare chest. She looked to her right and saw her mother’s arm still shackled to the bed post.

Glancing down, she saw Jean. Her mother was asleep on the carpet, her head resting on her extended arm. Her hair was matted and tangled; her makeup was smeared lewdly across her face, where Cormac’s cum was still drying; her breasts, covered with hickies and bite marks, were spilling out of the top of the French Maid’s outfit that she had ended the night in; the skirt had ridden up to show her swollen red pussy, which was still oozing cum. A leather dog collar was fastened around her neck.

Hermione stretched slightly, taking stock of her own condition. Her ass and pussy were both satisfyingly sore. She could see red stripes from Cormac’s riding crop decorating her breasts, and could feel that there were more on her ass. Reaching up, she could feel that she, too, had been collared. She smiled.

Rolling over, she saw that Cormac was beginning to get hard. Knowing what he would expect, she crawled between his legs and took him in her mouth, feeling him swell quickly to full size. He came awake a few moments later with a groan.

“Morning, slut,” he groaned. Hermione purred around his cock; that word still sent shivers through her every time she heard it. He took hold of the back of her head and pulled her throat all the way down onto his cock. He used his hand to force her to fuck her face onto his cock faster and faster. A few moments later, he grunted and came straight into her stomach.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her on the cheek. His cock was still rock hard. “Go turn on the shower and get cleaned up. I’ll be in in a minute. Gonna wake mommy up with some anal first, though.”

Hermione traipsed across the bedroom and into the bathroom where she turned on the shower. As she waited for the water to reach the right temperature she heard a yelp from the other room and peered in to see Cormac pressing her mother’s face into the carpet as he drove into her ass. Grinning, Hermione stood under the hot water, letting it ease the soreness from her muscles, thankful as always that her parents had installed this American-style shower in their bathroom. The powerful jets of water and the hot steam filling the large glass cube were doing wonders for her aches and pains.

Cormac entered after several minutes leading Jean, now naked, on a leash behind him. Hermione could see her asshole was still slightly gaped. He stepped into the cubicle and dragged Jean in behind him.

“Both of you kneel in the corner,” he ordered, pointing to the far corner of the shower stall. “Faces together, mouths open.” They obeyed. Hermione shivered slightly as the cold air hit her skin now that she was out of the spray.

Cormac took hold of his cock and directed it at their faces before beginning to piss. Hermione swallowed her first mouthful obediently. She would never like the strong, pungent flavor, but she reveled in the submission and humiliation of being marked as property in this most primal manner. Jean, who had never — even in her wildest uni days — been pissed on, spluttered and tried to spit out her first mouthful. Cormac slapped his cock across her face.

“Swallow, bitch,” he ordered, before filling her mouth again.

“Swallow, mom,” said Hermione, swallowing another mouthful of her own. “It’s how you show your master that you appreciate his ownership.”

Jean swallowed and shuddered, but opened her mouth again for more.

When their shower was over, Cormac ordered Hermione to prepare breakfast while he went with Jean to Hermione’s room to release Albert. Hermione brewed tea, juiced oranges, and prepared simple mushroom omelettes while listening to the sounds coming from upstairs. She wondered briefly if Cormac took some sort of potion to allow him to fuck constantly, since he had cum twice already that morning and at least five times the night before.

At Cormac’s order, Hermione ate her own breakfast quickly before sinking to her knees under the table to slowly worship his cock. Her father was on his knees in front of Jean, offering a similar service. Above her, Cormac was addressing Jean.

“I’ll put you on the same birth control potion all the witches at Hogwarts take. I might decide to knock you up at some point,” Albert made a strangled choking sound at this, but Jean kept her legs clamped firmly around his head. Cormac ignored him. “But not for a while. I’ll probably pump a baby into this one, too” he added, patting Hermione’s head, “and make Potter raise it.” He laughed. “I’m going to take the slut into London with me today. I’ll send her home tonight. I’ve got a Christmas Ball to attend at the Minister of Magic’s residence, and I can’t show up with a mudblood.” He groaned, nearing his climax, and scooted his chair back. “Aim it at your tits, slut,” he ordered, and proceeded to coat Hermione’s breasts with his cum.

Twenty minutes later a chauffeured Rolls Royce was whisking Hermione and Cormac into London. Cormac lounged on the expansive back seat, sipping a glass of whisky while Hermione, kneeling on the floor, massaged his feet. She was dressed for the day in a tan overcoat, which covered the scandalously short blue dress she wore. The dress, which consisted of little more than strips of fabric wrapped around her body, cupped her breasts, left much of her back exposed, and ended a scant inch beneath the curve of her buttocks. Besides the dress she wore black fishnet stockings, black leather high-heeled boots which laced up to her knees, her collar — a band of dragon leather with a gold clasp engraved with the McClaggan family crest — and a large butt plug. There was no way she would be welcomed into any respectable establishment, but that was clearly not where they were headed.

The Rolls wove through the crowded London streets, clearly enchanted to evade any notice, and into a dingy neighborhood of seedy bars and cheap hotels. The car stopped in front of a small shop with blacked-out windows, a barred door, and a large “closed” sign.

“We’re here,” said Cormac. “Put my shoes back on. You remember what we’re doing here?”

“Yes, master,” said Hermione, obeying.

“Now, you’re going to be polite. I had to make this appointment special because of the holiday.” He clipped a leash to her collar.

The driver, a young woman with large breasts, long blonde hair, full lips, and ice blue eyes, opened the door for them. Hermione took in the woman’s attire, noting the collar around her neck: clearly one of Cormac’s slaves.

“Drive around for a while,” ordered Cormac. “I’ll call when we’re done.” He rang the bell, and a moment later, after a series of locks were unbolted, the door swung open. Hermione followed her master into the dim foyer and looked around. It was clearly a tattoo parlor, but, not the kind she had expected from the outside of the building. The walls were paneled in dark oak, the chairs were soft, buffed leather, and every surface was spotless.

A woman stood off to the side and then closed the door. She was a few inches shorter than Hermione and very thin. Her head was shaved on one side, her dark blue-dyed hair draped down the other side. She was wearing a white halter top, tight-fitting and artfully torn black jeans, and a pair of black combat boots. Her arms, neck, head, and chest were covered with intricate tattoos. She had studs in both eyebrows, a multitude of earrings, a ring in her nose, and a pierced navel. The shirt was thin enough to clearly show pierced nipples. Hermione was slightly startled to see that many of the tattoos bore magical meanings; a mixture of ancient runes, alchemical symbols, and incantations.

“You’re a witch?” She asked, astounded. The woman glared at her.

“Slaves should be silent unless spoken to,” she snarled. A wand was suddenly in her hand and she directed it at Hermione, who found her mouth stretched open by a painfully large ring gag.

Cormac tugged her leash hard, and she dropped to her knees.

“My apologies, Madam Noir,” he said, with a bow. “She’s a relatively new slave, and a bit of a know-it-all. She’s just starting to learn her place. I made this appointment so that we can help cement that notion in her head.”

“No need to apologize, Lord McClaggan,” said the woman, bowing back to Cormac, “masters are not responsible for the bad manners of their slaves, so long as adequate punishment is given.” She snapped her fingers and a large man, clad from head to toe in shiny black leather, including a hood that left only his eyes exposed, entered. “Take their coats.” The man did as he was told. A second figure, a small, heavily tattooed and pierced girl with a shaved head, dressed in a metal collar, black leather corset, leather booty shorts, and thigh-high boots entered behind the man. “Fetch Lord McClaggan a drink. You will entertain him while I work on his slave.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

Madame Noir led Cormac, who tugged Hermione along behind him, into the next room, which featured a large table in the center of the room. At Madame Noir’s direction, Hermione stripped out of her dress, climbed up onto the table, and found herself instantly spread-eagled, with manacles around each wrist and ankle. A small orb floated up to her pussy, where it began to vibrate, flooding her brain with pleasure to drown out the fear.

“Are we doing the full set?” She asked Cormac.

“Yes. And do it the muggle way. Some things are better done by hand.” He sank into an armchair and pulled the small girl into his lap.

Madame Noir summoned a tray of instruments, which hovered in the air next to her. After rolling Hermione’s nipples between her fingers, and giving one of them a bite, she took two pairs of forceps and clipped one to each erect nub.

“You have lovely breasts, my dear,” she said, gently squeezing them. “Breathe out when the needle goes in.”

With very little preamble she took two needles and drove one through each nipple. Hermione gasped in pain, but it was short lived: between the pleasure from the woman’s attention to her nipples and the buzzing of the device at her pussy, pain was a non-issue. The woman left the needles in momentarily before replacing them with two small gold rings.

Over the next several minutes she repeated the process for Hermione’s tongue, her septum, her navel, and her clit. The last piercing, more painful than the others, caused Hermione to briefly lose consciousness. When she came around, it was to the sensation of a tattoo gun at work above her mound. She moaned through her gag.

“Almost done with this one,” said Madame Noir absently. Hermione tried to see what she was writing, but couldn’t move her upper body. Cormac stood behind the artist holding her father’s camera. “Relax. I’ll show you when they’re all done.” Hermione rested her head back, beginning to enjoy the sensation.

Her work on Hermione’s pussy completed, Noir unshackled Hermione, bent her over the bench, and then reclasped her restraints.

“She has a very nice ass, too,” she observed, bringing both hands down on Hermione’s upturned cheeks. “You like this, don’t you, you little slut?” She ran a finger through Hermione’s sopping lips as the girl moaned and drooled around her gag.

The tattoo gun began to hum again, this time punching into the skin directly above Hermione’s ass. Cormac walked in a circle around Hermione, observing Madame Noir’s work. He knelt down so that his face was on a level with Hermione’s.

“This is it, slut,” he said, running a finger around the gag in her mouth. “I’m claiming you permanently. Every time Potter licks your cunt, he’ll have to remember who owns you. Every time a man gives you what you need, they’ll know who they’re borrowing you from.”

Hermione moaned.

“You want more cock, don’t you?” Asked Cormac. She nodded, desperately. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. “Beg.”

“Please,” she sobbed. Her words were garbled and hard to decipher around the gag, but it was the sentiment that mattered. “I need it! Please, master!”

He laughed that obnoxious, pompous laugh of his and slid his cock into her waiting mouth.

“I like the tongue stud,” he said to Noir, who was putting the finishing touches on her design.

“I’m glad you like it, Lord McClaggan,” she said. She put down the gun. “It’s done.”

Cormac pulled himself out of Hermione’s mouth and stood behind her.

“I like it,” he said, giving her ass a swat. “Let me see the front.”

Madame Noir unfastened the shackles again and flipped Hermione back over.

“Nice job,” said Cormac, tugging on Hermione’s new nipple rings. “I might bring her back for more at some point, but this is good for now. Shall we show her?”

The table tilted up and Hermione found herself facing a tall mirror. She could see the gold ball that decorated her tongue, the rings in her nose and nipples, the dangling jewel in her navel, and the jeweled stud on her clit. Lastly she saw, in ornate letters, the words “Pureblood Slut: Property of C.M” surrounded by a flowing design. She turned and looked over her shoulder. On her ass was an intricate flowery design. The stems of the flowers pointed towards the cleft of her ass and formed the words “Mudblood Hole.”

Cormac unclasped the gag from behind her head.

“Do you have something to say to Madame Noir?”

“Thank you Madame,” said Hermione, panting a little, and meaning every word, “I love it!”

“Maybe you should thank me more sincerely,” said the woman, kicking off her boots and unbuttoning her jeans. She slid them down her legs, which were as heavily tattooed as the rest of her body. She wore no underwear, leaving her shaved pussy on proud display. It was framed by tattoos of ornate columns which supported an ouroboros. She had four gold rings in each of her labia. Hermione was enraptured by this work of art in human form.

“Get on your knees, mudblood, and worship me.”

Hermione very nearly dove into the woman’s pussy, licking eagerly at her moist folds. Cormac stood behind Noir and helped remove the rest of her clothes, massaging her breasts and kissing her neck.

“She’s a good little twat licker,” said Noir, grinding herself on Hermione’s face, “but I could use some dick.” She spun and sank to her knees next to Hermione, taking Cormac’s cock into her mouth quickly.

“God, Noir,” said Cormac, “you give the best head of anyone I’ve ever met.”

The woman popped her mouth off his cock and began to kiss it up and down along one side. Hermione joined her, their lips occasionally meeting around Cormac’s girth.

“I can’t resist a cock like that,” said Noir, climbing back to her feet, “but now I need it in my cunt. You can lick my ass while your master fucks me.”

Noir forced Hermione back onto the bench and sat on her face, allowing Cormac to position himself at her entrance. As Cormac thrust into Madame Noir’s eager pussy, Hermione licked enthusiastically at the older woman’s asshole until Cormac’s balls tightened and came deep inside her.

The woman dismounted from Hermione’s face, and patted her on the cheek.

“Very good, mudblood. Thank you, Lord McClaggan. That was most enjoyable.” She began to dress. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I trust I will see you at the Minister’s Ball tonight?”

“Indeed you shall,” said Cormac, kissing the offered hand. “All right, slut. Get dressed. We’ve got one more stop before you go home.”

Back in the Rolls, Cormac directed the driver in a more fashionable part of London and the Ritz Hotel. As they pulled up outside of the glamorous location, Hermione felt her anxiety rise steeply. She was acutely conscious that she was far from dressed for a three star restaurant, but that was almost certainly their destination. A uniformed footman sprang forward as soon as the Rolls stopped, opening the door and offering his hand to Hermione. She accepted and tottered out onto the sidewalk. Cormac followed and lead her by the small of the back into the hotel.

“I was planning on lunching here anyways,” he said. “I hear the new chef is a genius. My dad’s a part owner, so I can always get a table…I think maybe a private room today. Consider this a Christmas present,” he sneered at her startled look. “I made enough off you in one week of glory hole duty to pay for the art and the lunch. Once the whole school knows that it’s you in there next term, I’ll make even more. I’d bet I can get a galleon a pop for Hermione Granger’s mouth. Five for your cunt.”

Hermione felt her pussy gush a little at this newest suggestion. Her reputation would be in ruins, but she hardly cared anymore.

“Thank you, Master,” she said as they passed through the rather grand entry doors, attracting a curious look from the footman holding the door. Crossing the lobby towards the famous restaurant, Hermione did her best not to gape like a country girl. She’d visited some very fancy restaurants in France with her parents, but this level of splendor was something she simply wasn’t prepared for.

“Good day, Mr. McClaggan,” said the maitre d’hotel, running forward to shake Cormac’s hand as they entered the restaurant. “Please, let us take your coats.” Two hosts came to take Cormac’s coat and scarf and Hermione’s over coat. There was a slight pause when her outfit was revealed, but the maitre d’hotel was clearly a consummate professional, and he recovered quickly, though his eyes lingered momentarily on her collar, clearly aware of what it signified.

“Would you care for your usual table, sir?”

“A private room today, Antoine,” said Cormac. “And let the chef know I’d like him to do the ordering for us today.”

“Very good, sir,” said Antoine, leading them to one of the private rooms. “I’ll be seeing to you personally this afternoon.”

White-jacketed waiters pulled out chairs for them before scurrying off. Moments later, the head sommelier appeared with a bottle of Champagne, followed by the maitre d’hotel with an amuse bouche. Hermione dug in enthusiastically, excited to try the food at the legendary restaurant, but simultaneously apprehensive about what Cormac had planned. His smirk promised trouble, which came when a waitress arrived to clear the second course. As soon as the door closed behind her, Cormac snapped his fingers.

“Under the table, bitch.”

Hermione gulped, though she had expected no less. She was sure, too, that Cormac knew he could get away with this. Placing her napkin aside, she slid off her seat and under the tablecloth. Cormac had already released his cock from his pants, so she immediately got to work, kissing her way along the shaft before taking him in her mouth, eagerly. She knew as she did this that the table was not quite large enough to fully conceal her, nor did the table cloth hang low enough. She didn’t care though. As always, once Cormac’s cock was in her mouth — or her pussy, or her ass, or her hand — her lust overpowered any sense of trepidation or reluctance.

“Don’t worry, slut,” he said as he fisted her hair to increase her speed, “the room is soundproofed, and no one in the dining room can see through the door.”

The door opened to admit the maitre d’hotel.

“Melon sorbet,” he said, ignoring the slurping sounds that he could certainly hear from beneath the table, “as a palate cleanser. I take it only one will be required. Your guest seems to be engaged at the moment.”

“Sure is,” came Cormac’s smug reply.

“Very good, sir. The sommelier told me to ask if you would prefer the ’72 Petrus, or the ’68 Latour with the main course?”

“Let’s do the Petrus. And take your time on the main course.”

“Very good sir.” The door closed, and the man left. Hermione’s pussy was on fire. She briefly took her mouth off Cormac’s cock.

“May I play with my pussy, sir?” She asked. Cormac peered down at her.

“Sure, but hike up your dress and stick your ass out a bit so Jean-Paul can see your cunt when he comes with the wine. And no cumming without permission.

Hermione obeyed, pulling up the hem of her dress and arching her back, lewdly displaying her pussy and plugged ass for anyone who might walk through the door. It opened a few moments later and Hermione heard an arrogant chuckle.

“Monsieur,” came the elegant voice of the sommelier. “The 1972 Petrus, as requested.” Footsteps approached and Hermione sensed the sommelier stand so that one of his feet was just below her sopping cunt. She hear him set several glasses down on the table followed by the sound of wine being poured. “A most excellent vintage. Enjoy.”

“I will, thank you, Jean-Paul.” Cormac’s voice was slightly thick, and Hermione could tell he was getting close.

“Can I cum sir?” She asked, once again pulling her head up off his cock.

“No. But I’m ready.” He seized the back of her head and forced her mouth all the way down to the base of his cock and back several times before cumming, with a satisfied moan deep into her throat. He pulled back, letting the last of his cum coat the inside of her mouth. He tucked his cock away and Hermione took her seat, frustrated at not having cum since early that morning, but satisfied in her master’s pleasure. At Cormac’s instruction, she showed him the last mouthful of cum before swallowing. She eagerly tasted the wine, letting the rich, floral bouquet mingle with the musky flavor of Cormac’s cum in her mouth.

Waiters entered the room a few minutes later to deliver the main course of seared duck breast with truffles, which was absolutely delicious, though Hermione’s mind was distracted by her need to cum. Cormac could obviously tell, and had stretched his leg across the table so that the toe of his shoe was teasing her lips and her new clit piercing.

When their plates were cleaned, Cormac ordered dessert and a glass of cognac.

“Antoine,” he said, when the dessert had arrived. “Would you ask Jean-Paul and the chef to step in please? I’d like to pay my compliments to the three of you.”

“Of course, sir,” said the maitre d’hotel with a lecherous glance at Hermione.

Antoine returned a moment later accompanied by the slim, elegant sommelier and a big black man in chef’s whites.

“Gentlemen,” said Cormac, leaning back in his chair, “that was a most excellent meal, wasn’t it, pet?”

Hermione blushed.

“It really was! Thank you all!”

“I think you should thank them more personally than that,” suggested Cormac. He glanced at the chef. “I’m sure Antoine and Jean-Paul gave you a hint of what was going on in here.” The chef grinned, before cupping his crotch. “I’m sure my slut would love to demonstrate her appreciation.”

“I never turn down an offer like that,” he said.

Cormac pulled out a cigar. Almost at once, Antoine, ever the professional, produced a crystal ashtray and a lit match. Cormac nodded his appreciation.

“Have at it, gentlemen. All three holes are open for business.”

The chef, displaying a brashness that was characteristic of many men in his position pulled out his cock, which easily matched Cormac’s in length, and edged him out slightly in girth.

“Down on your knees, girl,” he said, grinning as Hermione obeyed instantly. The other two men were disrobing now too, both carefully folding their clothes and hanging them over chairs. When the two Frenchmen had taken their places, Hermione brought her hands up to stroke their cocks. For the next several minutes she alternated between the three cocks in front of her, pleasuring one at a time with her mouth while keeping the others satisfied with her hands. Eventually, the chef, Marco, reached down and pulled up the hem of Hermione’s dress.

“I want some of that ass now,” he said.

“I’ll take her pussy then,” said Jean-Paul.

“Fine with me,” said Antoine. “Her mouth is very well-trained.”

They positioned Hermione on top of Jean-Paul, with his cock sheathed neatly in her pussy. Marco spat on her ass and then, with no further ado, rammed his massive cock past the ring of her asshole and began to pound her mercilessly. Hermione gasped at the incredible sensation of the two cocks rubbing together across the thin barrier separating her pussy and her ass. Taking advantage of her open mouth, Antoine shoved his cock past her lips and began fucking her throat with a vigor equal to that with which Marco was plowing her ass. Meanwhile, Cormac sat back at the table, puffing away on his cigar and enjoying his cognac as if seeing his lunch companion being fucked in every hole at once was a regular post-lunch entertainment.

The subject of Hermione’s expert oral skills, Antoine was the first to cum, filling Hermione’s mouth with his seed. Jean-Paul came next, leaving only Marco’s plundering cock un-sated. He lifted her off Jean-Paul’s cock and into the air, hammering his cock into her asshole with incredible speed.

“Oh, god!” Cried Hermione, trying to see Cormac’s face through a mask of tears and a mental fog of pleasure. “Master! Can I cum?”

“Sure thing, slut,” said Cormac.

Hermione’s whole body began to convulse as a world-shattering orgasm took her over. Her spasming and thrashing sent Marco over the edge, and he began to cum, sending pulse after pulse of hot cum into her now gaping asshole. He dropped her unceremoniously on the floor, sending a last few shots streaking across her face, which she unconsciously scooped towards her mouth, not wanting to waste a drop.

“Say thank you, slut,” ordered Cormac.

“Thank you!” Panted Hermione. Her dress was bunched up around her abdomen, one stocking had rolled down her thigh, her hair and makeup was a mess, and cum was leaking from both of her lower holed onto the plush oriental carpet of the dining room.

Jean-Paul, redressed now, approached holding out her buttplug. He held it to her lips and she obediently sucked on it before allowing the sommelier to slide it back into her gaping ass, which snapped closed around the familiar gold plug. Antoine, also redressed offered her a damp towel, fetched from a side table and gestured towards a mirror.

Hermione adjusted her dress and stockings, doing her best the appear presentable — or at least as presentable as she had been upon entering the hotel — before standing in front of the mirror. She dabbed gently around her eyes, removing the streaks of mascara and eye shadow. She dug in her clutch for her mascara and lipstick, touching both up as best she could. Antoine, who had produced a small comb from his trouser pocket, was attempting to put her hair in some kind of order. Behind her, Cormac, Marco, and Jean-Paul sat around the table, fresh balloons of cognac in hand.

“It really was an excellent meal,” said Cormac, touching glasses with the chef. “You’re doing excellent work here!”

“Glad to be appreciated,” said the chef. “Especially with a tip like that,” he gestured at Hermione with his glass. “Not a lot of time to spend prowling for tail when I work these hours.”

“Well, I can’t guarantee that I’ll bring you a piece every time I come in, but I’ll try to throw some your way when I can.”

“Much appreciated.” They clinked glasses again, and Marco drained his brandy.

“Better get back to the kitchen. No knowing what those lazy donkeys will get up to with me gone this long.” He left the room.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. McClaggan?” Asked Antoine, also standing by the door. He had done his best with Hermione, but she still looked decidedly well-fucked, and a noticeable trail of semen was running down one thigh.

“No, that will be all.”

“Very good, sir. I will fetch your coats. The lady had best cover herself before passing through the main dining room.”

“Not a bad idea.”

If the walk into the Ritz had been humiliating, the walk out was mortifying — though it still made Hermione hornier than ever…what was wrong with her? Her hair was almost passable, her makeup looked fine (if a little slutty for the Ritz), and the coat covered the mess that was her dress, but there was no disguising the glazed “I just got fucked” look in her eyes, or the slight wobbly limp of her stride, or the streak of white goo running down her boot that an observant diner might notice. Several of the waiters and waitresses smirked as she went by, and an old woman at a nearby table gave her a look of withering disapproval.

She climbed into the waiting Rolls Royce behind Cormac, surprised when he patted the seat next to him instead of indicating that she should kneel on the floor.

“Thank you, master,” she said, unprompted. “For everything.”

He laighed that boorish laugh of his and rapped on the divider.

“Back to Southend,” he ordered.

The drive back was uneventful. Cormac, subdued by a day of sexual exploits, wine, and liquor snored loudly in his seat. Hermione stared out the window, trying once again to wrap her head around the changes in her life over the last few weeks, absently fingering herself as she did. She drifted off to sleep as the car began to leave London behind. A short time later she woke to the driver’s voice.

“Southend on Sea, master.”

Cormac stirred and stretched.

“Good,” he said, “let’s get the slut home, so I can get to the Minister’s party.”

Hermione saw familiar shops and houses pass by the windows. Then, in a parking lot outside a shuttered arcade, she saw four boys who she recognized from her days in muggle school. All four were brutish, bullying types, who teased her mercilessly for her bookishness and her looks. Three of them had grown into well-built young men. The fourth had ballooned to mammoth proportions, but was clearly still their leader. The four boys were tagging the side of the abandoned building with lewd suggestions to any passing motorists, their own car, a dilapidated sedan, was parked nearby.

“Oh, god,” groaned Hermione, as soon as she recognized the idiots. Unfortunately, she’d said it out loud, and Cormac had heard.

“What was that, slut?”

“Nothing, master,” she said quickly, and unconvincingly.

“Not nothing, bitch,” he grabbed her collar in one hand and twisted a nipple in the other. She gasped in pleasure as her air was momentarily cut off and the new ring engorged her nipple. “What is it?”

“Those boys,” she said, seeing clearly where this was headed, and becoming increasingly excited by the prospect. “They went to my muggle school. They used to bully me.”

“Really…” said Cormac, clearly coming to the same conclusion that Hermione had. He tapped on the divider. “Pull in by those boys.”

The driver obeyed and the Rolls slid into the parking lot. The boys ceased tagging the building and looked ready to flee. Cormac hopped out of the car almost before it had stopped, waving cheerfully at the boys.

“Evening, lads,” he called.

“What’choo doin’ in this neighborhood in a ride like that?” Asked one of the boys — Derrick, Hermione thought — his speech slurred by his mouthful of chew. At the same time, the fat boy, Adam, pointed at the driver.

“Nice bird driving the car, ‘guv. She do anything else?” He elbowed a third boy, Carl, “bet she handles all kinds of stick, eh?”

Cormac leered.

“Tatiana is indeed a well-versed slut,” he observed, in his oiliest aristocratic tones, to cheers from the lads. “But I’m actually stopping in to drop off an old friend of yours. She recognized you while we were driving past, and wanted to spend some time getting reacquainted with you chaps.” He gestured. “Come say hello, slut.”

Hermione climbed out of the car tentatively. She could already feel a tingling arousal building in her chest.

“That’s never Hermione Granger!” said the last boy, a laconic Pakistani named Abdul, who had once glued a beaver tail to Hermione’s skirt, drawing increased ridicule over her large front teeth.

“It is!” Cried Adam. “Little Miss Know-it-all is back. That fancy private school toss you out?”

“Naw. I bet she gives the teachers a bit of the old…” Carl made a whistling noise and a rude gesture. “And they let her get away with anything.”

“Grew a nice pair of tits while she was gone,” added Derrick. “She your bird, mate? You just showin’ off?”

“No. She’s more of a toy to share with friends. I can’t be seen in social circles with someone like her. She’s just a common slut.” This was greeted with more laughter, high-fives, and rude comments. “I’m done with her for a while, and since she knows you gents, I thought you could entertain her for the evening and then drop her off back home by morning?”

“Happy Christmas to us, then,” said the fat boy. Cormac raised a finger.

“Just for one night,” he said. “And don’t damage the goods.” He grabbed her ass and whispered in her ear, “see you back at school, slut. And don’t worry, the clit ring has a tracker, and I’ll have Tati check in on you if you’re not back at your house by dawn.” He clearly registered her shock. “Can’t lose my revenue source. Oh!” He added, fishing in the backseat before tossing Albert’s camera to one of the boys. “Take plenty of pictures. Keep copies for yourself, but make sure the slut goes home with a few, too.” He gave her butt another squeeze, “She can send a few to her boyfriend for Christmas. Cheers!” He climbed back into the Rolls and sped back toward London.

***

By the time the gang dropped Hermione off in front of her parents’ house, it was the hour before dawn. They’d kept her dress as a trophy, leaving her in torn stockings and her coat, the pockets of which were filled with pictures of their debauchery.

They had started there in the parking lot, where she had sank willingly to her knees to pleasure them with her mouth as they recounted their taunts and pranks when she had been in school with them. Once they’d all cum — on her face, her tits, or down her throat — they loaded her into the car, where she’d been pulled onto the fat boys lap to perform a cramped lap dance, and drove her to a seedy hourly motel. They’d called several other students from their school, all of whom remembered, and resented, the buck-toothed know-it-all.

The remainder of the night had been a blur. Beer, vodka, pot, cigarettes, and cocaine had been used freely. Hermione was fucked in every conceivable combination (including with two cocks in her pussy together for the first time), had licked pussy, sucked dick, and licked ass. They’d produced a permanent marker and written degrading phrases all over her body. They finally finished the night by ordering her to kneel in the center of the room where all twelve boys took turns cumming on her face and tits one last time. After thorough documentation of her glazing, they, and the four girls who had come, had washed the cum off with piss. Finally, in the hour before dawn, they’d allowed her a quick, cold shower, before loading her back into the car and driving her home, which had been the opportunity for one more round of blowjobs.

It had been exhausting, humiliating, degrading, and at time excruciating. She had loved every second of it. She’d cum more times than she could count.

She fumbled open the front door of the house and staggered inside, headed straight for her bathroom. A sobriety potion, an invigoration draught, and a hot bath had her mind cleared and her body feeling as though she had spent the night in her own bed, not pinned to a musty motel mattress. She examined the writing on her body, with an appreciation for some of the creative suggestions, before wiping it away with a magicked cleaning rag.

Returning to her room, she dressed for the day in a pair of comfortable shorts and a cropped tank top. She collected the stack of polaroids from the previous few days and made her way back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She shuffled through the pictures, choosing a few of her favorites to send to Harry. She would keep the remainder as personal souvenirs.
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Ceding Control (formerly Goddess of the Moon)