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Plenitude	By : HeavyMist Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 60689 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in Harry Potter belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I make no profit or money from this submission. I only own the plot.

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
- 27
Disclaimer : The characters and canon situations in Harry Potter belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I make no profit or money from this submission.

A/N: dear Readers, I will answer all your reviews on this link, on AFF forums :D

http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/43048-plenitude hermionelvoldemort/ Please Read Review and Rate? Enjoy :]

PS. Thank you hubby of mine for proofreading, beta’ing , all errors are mine, obviously;]

“Dialogue”

‘Thoughts’

‘Flashback’

Chapter 26: Bound to learn.

She was following him, as instructed beforehand, two feet behind him, to his left, all the way through, from his office’s interior door, leading into his bedroom, she stood in the middle of the empty space near the bed, waiting, again as he instructed, watching him take off his clothes!

“Look at me slave.” His husky voice intoned.

He started by taking off his shoes and socks, and now he was standing unbuttoning his green silk shirt, uncovering his chiseled chest and abdomen, not looking at what he was doing, but looking at her and explaining to her what was going to happen soon. A big lump took residence in her throat, it felt stuffed and dry, unlike another tight passage somewhere in her body, located south, between her legs, and for the life of her she couldn’t swallow, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. .

His velvety baritone was doing a number on her whole body, and mind! Confused she was, because deep inside she felt the need to rebel against this treatment. She was a human being, Merlin damn it! Her pride was taking one blow after another, yet her audacity was rattling the bars of the cage he was building around her. She did not want to be a captive, a war prisoner, and a slave, no matter how much her situation was dire.

What she came to know not two hours ago was a devastating blow, a total annihilation of her past, and now standing in the middle of the rubble, she felt so vulnerable, like a newborn lamb, which soon will be taken to the slaughterhouse!

To think Dumbledore was in reality the dark wizard that lead them all to their demise! Many died because of his treachery. Thanks to his scheming treason, she is now treated like Lord Voldemort’s personal toy. Her heart was having its fit, and possibly fit to be tied as well; nevertheless tachycardia was the result, all the same.

She wanted to weep and scream at the same time, but not in front of him, she wanted to bawl her eyes out because she failed. She failed to notice all the lies, to put a stop to what happened, to realize that something was wrong, utterly wrong, and because she failed to recognize the discrepancies Harry died! Pinpricks were torturing her eyes; the burning forced her to blink. Not now, she will cry later, for Harry and herself, after her punishment, she did not want Lord I-am-your-Master Voldemort to think she is crying for another reason than pain.

His stern tone brought her back from her gloomy thoughts to a gloomier reality.

“I see you are not listening slave. You will be punished for this as well. Another rule to learn, all of your attention should be on your Master, slave. You are here to please your Master, pleasure him, and do as you are told. That is your ultimate mission and goal in life now. You will strive to please your Master and be a good slave for him, by following orders….”

Lord Voldemort was undressing in front of her, while addressing her, she was ready to jump from the window behind him. Her eyes were moving fast from one part of his body to another, not knowing where to stop, she was feeling so awkward. Yes, she saw him naked before, when she was servicing him, except she was …well, busy and not paying attention to his nudity, …not that focused that’s is for sure, but now he was undressing deliberately before her, and forcing her to watch, and she so wanted to look anywhere but at him.

His knowing lopsided grin made unknown muscles in her abdomen contract brutally, skip the vaginal muscles, those were already exhausted, and sweating…profusely, since the Voldemortish strip tease started, and yet, her mind and heart were somewhere else, they were in hell!

Taking off the shirt, turning his upper body and throwing it on the nearest chaise lounge behind him, he turned and looked straight in her eyes, still a trace of his self satisfied impish grin gleaming in his dark red eyes. Contrasting with the rest of his stern features. He was dominance incarnate! She couldn’t look him in the eyes, he was intense, brutally so, radiating his lustful intentions, with every move, slow, intentional, creating another kind of torture, that clawed at her body. Her damned weak body that was reacting despite her fragile emotional state. That was possibly why he’s pushing her, cornering her, to abdicate. Conditioning!

Her eyes, of their own accord, followed every angle of his virile stature. She admired his torso. The abs and lateral tendons in the works, flexing under the smooth skin, the V shaped Crest of Ilium lateral muscles, along the rest of the 6 packs-abs which were being revealed, when he slid out his leather belt from the pants’ loops, throwing the belt to her, he said “hold this” then he resumed undressing and informing her of her new “duties”.

By reflex her right hand went up and caught the belt flying her way easily, she looked back at him, with each word leaving his mouth, she realized how bleak her future might become, no rephrase this thought, how bleak her future will be.

“Slave, when in Master’s presence, your eyes should always be focused on him, never straying, lest he gestures you a nonverbal order. Your thoughts should be of only Master, your needs should only revolve around pleasing and never disappointing Master. You need to endeavor to prove that you are a good slave, that the honor bestowed upon you by Master, when choosing you as his slave was the right one….”

He was studying her carefully, knowing how delicate her psychological state was, nevertheless, he took it as a good opportunity to hammer the words Master/slave in her brain, chew her ear with it, so that she associates him with Master, reflexively, in everything, without thinking, subconsciously. Then only she will feel, accept, act and subsequently thrive as his sex-slave.

It is a long delicate process he knew, and he was also aware of how much resistance she was putting now, though flimsy at best, especially after her blackout and what she discovered in the last couple of hours, but if he wanted to be a good Master for her, he cannot go back on his word, and not punish her as he said he will. This will translate as a sign of weakness in her mind. He already knows she was not absorbing all of what he was saying, but the recurrent use of the Master/slave words will be committed to memory, by the simple fact of repetition and that was good, seeing as she will need time to learn the rules, all of them.

He unbuttoned then unzipped his pants, let them slide down, allowing gravity to take care of the rest, pooling at his bare beautifully shaped feet, she noticed his manly, and trimmed toenails. Stepping away from the pile of garments, to stand in all of his 6ft 3” muscled magnificence, his groin bulky though covered by his black silk briefs.

She wanted to bolt when she saw both his hands pull down the last piece covering his modesty, his penis still not hard, at rest, looked bigger than it should be in its flaccid state, in her opinion, perhaps six inches, looking at it mesmerized, it throbbed and twitched a bit, under her gaze.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, fast, she did not want to think of how flushed her face was, her erratic breathing was following the stampeding beat of her heart, and the dryness in her mouth suddenly was drenched with a flood of drool. Now her calamity consisted of how to swallow as fast as the flooding saliva was permitting, or soon she would be dribbling all over herself.

Her whole body was now shivering, her skin covered with goose bumps, she was certain if she weren’t standing with her thighs glued together, her vaginal fluids would be pooling underneath her. To make matters worse, he was smiling, his arrogant grin she Oh so hated and at the same time, this same proud and confident gleam in his eyes flicked a switch in her limbic system, letting her instinctual awakening desire take over.

Walking slowly towards her, his flaccid penis following the movements of his thighs, either bobbing, or swinging, she blinked feeling her whole head about to explode, blood pressure too high for the microscopic capillaries of her brain, she snapped her eyes up, when he stood in his birthday suit looking down at her, he bent his head to her right ear and murmured, breathing warm wisps of air in that sensitive area “undress for your Master slave”.

She stood there looking at him, not a foot separating his unobstructed Greek god like shapely physique from her melting self. How could a mouth be drooling and dry at the same time? No, these are dry lips, she surmised, since breathing from her nose was not sufficient anymore, she had to breathe from her mouth as well, the air circulating in between, drying her lips.

Passing her tongue over said parched lips, made his grin grow wider, her eyes bulged out of their orbital sockets when she saw his right hand give his phallus a stroke, did she see right??!! The Dark Lord just touched himself, in front of her?! He drawled, pulling her back to an unclothed vision, with her naked eye, and soon to be naked -of- everything if his question was any indication “ Want help slave? Here, turn around Master will unzip your dress”.

Not waiting for her to comply, he laid both hands on her shoulders, turning her around, her back to his chest, he tugged his belt from her hands, that were clinging to it like a lifebuoy, in the middle of an ocean storm, throwing it on the bed. She was ready to collapse, listening to the particular sound of the zipper’s teeth separating, and the fabric covering her body loosening dangerously when the interlocking rows separated. She pressed her dress tightly to her bra less breasts, again her neck and ear region were submerged with a cyclone of whispering hot gasps of air, “Turn around slave and show master what he owns.”

She knew she couldn’t stall because she was already at 25 belt lashes, and she heard him adding another punishment, prattling about what she needs to do for Master, him, yet she couldn’t find the courage to go ahead and be as casual about her state of nudity. She never experienced nudity with another person present, adult that is. Add to it her feelings of inadequacy, she never felt at ease in her skin, mainly, it seemed like her skin didn't fit right!

She thought of herself as average, her body not that opulently gorgeous, she had long shapely legs, yes and decent breasts as far as size went, but she never thought of herself as sexy. Now he wants her to display her nakedness, because he said so. Or to put it, more correctly, following the restrictive rank, which she is now limited to, as a sex-slave, Master ordered her to!

This thought brought about an aching forlorn sensation, she couldn’t identify, she was losing her struggle, giving up to self-pity. How the mighty has fallen! The Gryffindor Princess made to regress into a sex-slave, a toy, she’s nothing! All of her being is now tethered to Master’s whims and orders, she does not count. Neither her intelligence nor emotions are preponderant.

Her tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, with not a whimper leaving her lips. An abyss was growing in her chest, right where her heart is, a howling bitter coldness filling it, and spreading…propagating…. Chilling her, to the last neuron of her brain, she wanted, no needed this comforting numbness.

How could she be aroused by his nudity and feel so dejected inside at the same time?!

His hot breath snatched her out of her train of thought, her right ear tingling, the sensitive skin surrounding it, prickling “ Next time slave when Master gives you any order, you will carry it out without hesitation or thought, or you will be punished. I will let it slide this time, you cannot handle added discipline at present.”

The stubborn witch! She was fighting him tooth and nail, and he cannot be harsh on her now, he needs to break her in and bring back, at the same time, her shaky self-image into the strong and willful woman that she is. Damn the cocksucker Dumbledore and his fucking Weasley whores!

It is going to be a very delicate process, to dish out punishments, and at the same time praise her and reward her, to mould her into the wonderful sub that she was created to be. He needs to push her limits slowly, yet she’s very fragile now, and the slightest wrong word or decision on his part might damage her already crumbling self-esteem irrevocably. He doesn’t want a doormat; he wants his feisty, intelligent courageous pet, relinquishing her control and will to him, freely. Inhaling slowly, he decided on the next step.

‘Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!’ The feathery touches of his fingers’ pads on her spine, light, and soft, akin to butterflies wings, barely touching her synthesized dermis, ignited a blazing inferno in the pit of her stomach, and like wild fire in a forest, gluttonous and insatiable, her body was engulfed in searing heat, melting the last of her dissolving resistance. Reflexively her thighs clamped together, sensing a gush of her vagina juices coating her vulva and seeping down.

His hands moved up from the small of her back to her tiny waist, and up some more, then back to her spine, a two hands synchronized dance, in an undulating circular movement, beneath the folds of the dress fabric, barely touching her electrified skin, drawing patterns, never touching any area more than a second, moving languidly, nearly at a tangent with her cutaneous sensory cells. The stirring particles of air, nearest to her flesh, were lingering after the soft brush of his ghostly fingers, transmitting impulses from the surface of her heated skin, to her nerves center, all through her spine, in light speed, and spreading to her limbs, forcing the lava in her sizzling vagina to gush out.

She couldn’t but arch her back, her buttocks touching his groin, a flimsy thin material separating her buttocks flesh from his penis. Her breasts consequently, following the curves of her body when she moved, lodged themselves in his waiting palms beneath the dress fabric. She was not even aware when his nimble-fingered limbs progressed to the front!

He cupped her lovely breasts, feeling her turgid nipples in the center of his palms, he kneaded her pert globes gently, increasing the pressure, sensing her goose bumps, he whispered praising words in her ear again and again “ beautiful slave…your skin is soft like silk…Feel how your lovely breasts are the right size slave … filling my hands …. “.

His right hand left her breast, went up to her mouth, he made her lick and suck this hand’s digits after another, then down again to her right breast, he repeated the process with the left hand. He continued his ministrations, on her now aching bosom, in circular motions around the stiff nipples, her saliva insuring a smooth lubricated path around her puckered stiff nubs. Using his thumbs and index fingers he twisted, pulled, tugged at her miniature rosy peaks, exacerbating her state of arousal, her neck’s muscles unable to hold her cranium weight up, she was now laying her swooning head on his chest, not reaching his shoulder, he continued his murmured praise of her body “my slave, look at you so tiny and gorgeous, petite and slender…open your eyes and look …”

She opened her eyes to be faced with a mirror image of herself leaning against Lord Voldemort, her green dress was loosened. He transfigured a full length huge mirror for her to watch what he was doing?! Despite her state she thought it was erotic. She could see his huge size surround her petite frame, the shape of his hands cupping her breasts under the green satin fabric of her attire.

She looked closely at her face, flushed with traces of tear tracks on her cheeks, her eyes were half-lidded, languorous, yet there was also an vague ache reflected in them. She looked at him, to notice how his hands were moving to her back and up her shoulders, until he reached the dress straps, he slid the fabric to her arms, but her hands instinctually went up to keep it over her breasts, trying to cling to the last shreds of what she possessed as will and control.

She had the ominous sentiment that if she relinquished this dress now, she would irrevocably lose her freewill and control over her own life.

The hypnotizing voice of her tormentor brought her back to the mirror reflecting their couple, he soothed, tone melodious, words salacious, intentions lustful “Do not hide your body from Master. Your Body was created for Master. My slave is dazzling…. Master will show you slave how exquisite you are…”

She couldn’t utter a word, breathing was an impossible feat at this moment in time, her eyes couldn’t care less if she tripped and kissed the floor, nose first, before her whole face. She was feeling him behind her, making the tiny hairs from the back of her neck, to the last hair that evaded the house-elves’ permanent waxing, stand on end, his body warmth surrounded her, while her eyes were locked on the couple in the mirror.

She was drowning; losing everything that made her …well, her! The dress finally was removed, leaving her in her birthday suit, and fluttered to the floor; she heard its silky whoosh and followed in the mirror its free fall to the floor, the fluttering green silk shifting shapes, like cigarette smoke, then it huddled and stilled.

Will she be free falling like her dress? A rag doll, floating, shifting aimless, bound to hit the reality ground hard, sooner or later.

“Look at you slave… Master’s eyes cannot get enough of you…never hide your superb figure from Master.”

With every word uttered he was touching her, describing her to her own buzzing ears and bewildered eyes. Starting from her hair down, his fingers combing through her luscious sleek and dark ringlets, reaching her neck and shoulders, going to her arms, sliding down to her hands, and bringing then up, entwined with his fingers to make her touch her breasts, and ribs, abdomen, waist and hips and thighs.

She was fascinated, looking at herself through his eyes, and her touch, then through her eyes and his touch, listening to him uncovering her secrets, undressing her fears and inadequacies, and like a snake shedding an old skin, he was forcing to shed her own distorted opinions of herself.

“Luscious hair sweet slave, Master will love to pull it …hard… while fucking you…you will love it slave…I am going to collar you, my pet, here around your small dainty neck…show the world Master’s perfect possession… See those sweet pink dusted nipples, Master has bought plenty of nipple clamps to adorn them… “

His whispered words were chiseled in her skin where he touched, tugged, caressed, kneaded, plucked, pulled, her nipples were bloated, connected as they were with her clitoris through the pudendal nerve, the throbbing of her ‘precious pearl’ became intolerable, fondling her sensitive breasts was now a delicious torture, she knew, yet knowledge was nothing compared to this hedonistic sensation. Her pelvic nerve carried the signals from her overtaxed vagina muscles, to her fuzzy brain; thus far, the result was more stimulation, more arousal, and more monsoons!

Each designated part of her coaxed body, was given full attention, reverence, painstakingly slow, her eyelids fluttered shut, drowning in his sensual miasma, giving up control to this wizard who knew her physical passwords into hidden files of uncharted desires and unspoken needs. Her breath was now coming in bursts, irregular, lungs and diaphragm out of synch, heartbeats in disarray; all of her body muscles languid except those vaginal walls in her lower abdomen, they were aching, exhausted from the sheer strain of repetitive contractions, spasmodic quivers and flutters.

Time and again his two hands and ten fingers massaged, probed, manipulated, rubbed, fondled, everywhere, simultaneously. She thought during a second of sobriety, that he had ten hands and one hundred fingers, wreaking havoc on every inch of her boiling blood, and sweltering flesh, with bristling lust, incrusting it in her insides, and poking her wants’ ambers with heated spikes, a violent carnal assault on her last degenerating decency defenses.

“Come slave”, he murmured when he decided she was sufficiently aroused, wrapping her tiny waist with his right hand, she opened her heavy lids, to see the mirror disintegrating with the image of their naked bodies, taking the belt that he threw a while back, on his way to the empty wall, at the back of his gigantic bed. Near the headboard, and the bedside table, he touched the wall with the palm of his free hand, a door appeared, and slid open, to show behind a Distributor.

He turned around and spoke softly to her “ Slave, this Distributor is wired to Master’s dungeon only. When Master asks you to wait for him in the dungeon or playroom, all you have to do is lay your hand on this wall and it will open for you, and take you directly there.”

They walked in the cubicle, the door slid close, two seconds later she was standing at the entrance of a huge room filled with weird furnishings, or what her still addled brain took for bizarre fixtures.

“Considering it is your first visit slave, I will allow you to look around and I give you permission to walk. Next time you come here, you will kneel near the door, as you do in my office, waiting for Master. Starting tomorrow, while you are in here you are not to stand up, until I say otherwise. You crawl. Understood slave?”

She shook her head in acquiescence, busy looking around her, eyes as wide as saucers.

Rich black velvet curtains obstructed the window wall. A big chest of drawers was placed near the entrance. The drawers, she noticed, were of different thickness, ranging from the thinnest like those found in jewelry boxes to those of standard drawers depth.

On her left four black thick wood columns, supporting an upper rectangular panel, fixed to the ceiling, similar to those found in his bedroom, with no curtains though, encased a huge bed with no footboard or headboard. The columns were adorned with the same stainless steel rings, fixed in all of them, on different heights, and sides!

The mattress was covered with a luxurious blood red satin sheet, no comforter, but tons of pillows encased in black and red satin pillowcases, made up for the rest of the bed linen. The wall behind the bed was an all-huge mirror. She observed the merely noticeable vertical lines at symmetrical intervals, and deduced there must be doors or closets behind it.

In front of the window wall covered by the black velvet curtains, a platform was located, made of a sizable granite slab, more like a dais, with a throne like chair positioned in the in the middle. The throne was a piece of superb carpentry; all made of black wood and upholstered leather. A pair of steel rings was fixed to the inner edge of the armrests facing one another; an additional pair was affixed to the front of the chair’s fore legs.

The right wall was covered with the same dark wood, she noticed they were closets’ panes, and paralleled to them, a St. Andrew's cross, like an X with shackles and chains on each of its four sides, was encased in sturdy and rock-solid thick wooden frame, bolted in the wooden floor.

Near the weird cross, placed a little to the back, a big rectangular hip high table fashioned of the same beautiful polished black wood, with upholstered black leather top, had shackles hanging on its four angles.

And stocks?! It consisted of a black heavy timber frame with holes in which the hands and neck could be locked. With fetters for the ankles to restrain the body completely, were affixed to the lower part that consisted of a thick and heavy wooden platform!

A weird solid timber bench was positioned to the left of the dais almost in the corner of the room, ‘playroom’, similar to those found in churches but smaller, with a very thin sitting board, the bench’s back was not straight. It was a 45’ degree inclined upholstered leather ledge, and again cuffs, manacles and fetters could be seen bolted into the wood on both sides, in the four corners.

Then there was a whipping post, this she knows because she perused once one of her father’s books about the old muggle slavery history and the punishments the poor slaves were subjected to. It was simple device, a column with a horizontal thick wooden bar on top, with cuffs to tie the hands, giving it a T shape. Lord Voldemort had the H shaped one, where both legs and hands could be tied to the whipping post, while the upper torso could be strapped to the middle horizontal piece, which in this precise one was wide to give maximum safety for the ribs, and also covered with upholstered leather.

Looking up to the ceiling her heart skipped a beat, there was a jungle of chains hanging with hooks, manacles, handcuffs and shackles dangling from some chains and ropes, some wired to caged pulley system, giving the ceiling a dungeon like eerie ambiance.

In the middle of the room there was an empty space, and a bit to the left a small sitting area, with a chaise lounge and a love seat, and a small round dining table for two.

“Come slave, time for your punishments” He lead her to the right corner of the room where the weird bench was located. She looked at it trying to figure out how was she supposed to sit on that very narrow wooden ridge, while another angled piece was occupying the space where her back, in theory, should be.

“Kneel on the bench slave” his husky voice made her look at him, still as naked as a Greek statue and as beautifully perfect.

She followed his orders, and then the tethering and shackling began. She was surprised that he was not using any binding spells; again Lord Voldemort proved how much he knew his little witch.

“Your Master wants to be in contact with your slave’s skin, touching you, and taking care of you, making sure of you safety…and …it is more enjoyable without using magic, the muggle way feels more intimate slave. You will understand the difference soon enough.”

She was resting her ribs and breasts on the inclined shelf covered with upholstered leather. Strapped to it by leather binds, to hinder her movements for safety purposes. Her wrists tethered to the sides, by steel handcuffs lined on the inside with some cushioning material, in a spread eagled fashion, with no give to move them freely.

Her bent knees were starting to ache already, seeing as there was no cushioning to the hard wood ledge. Her ankles were bound by cushioned steel fetters and solidly attached to the sides of the small bench, forcing her legs to spread wider than her shoulders width, hence her backside and vulva were exposed. Two straps wrapped around her thighs were attached to steel loops in the front to anchor her lower body, and secure her from moving and possibly injuring herself.

Checking her wrists cuffs, and ankles fetters, making sure that they are not tight, and cutting her blood circulation, then the fastened thighs. He explained the process again to her, in a stern manner, yet the lustful undertones were stoking her already heated core “I do not need to remind you of counting the strikes do I slave? Answer me”

“No Sir, I remember”

“Good. If you miss what happens?”

“You start over”

“Correct. Good slave” he commented caressing her exposed rear cheeks, and then asked again “So you understand why you are being punished slave?”

“Yes sir, I misbehaved and was rude to the Minister of magic.”

“Correct again, but you forgot something else.” He caressed her hair, and his right hand glided down the natural curvature of her spine, over passing the thin straps on her upper torso, and going all the way down to her tailbone, then his index finger went between her butts crack, touching her puckered sphincter, then moving to softly stroke her sodden labia majora.

“I was not listening to you sir, my focus was not on you sir”

“Good slave, so beautiful …you are so wet and eager for your Master to punish you. Alas slave this time it is not going to be pleasurable. 25 lashes from my belt slave, and I will add only 15 to them, for not listening to your Master, and making me repeat myself. See I am lenient with you today, I reduced your rightful 25 strikes ….Now slave, another rule, never beg during your punishments. Any words in the vein of please, stop and such will add automatically 5 strikes more to your tally. My slave will value Master’s discipline of her and be dignified during her punishments, contented with the honor bestowed upon her by Master. You have permission to scream, cry and weep, as much as you like, and believe me you will… Now …let’s start, shall we?”
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Plenitude