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The Game	By : Rikka Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 9212 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Game
- 1
Author: Rikka
The Game
Disclaimer: All character's are owned by J.K. Rowling. I make no money off this, nor do I claim to own anything other than the original prose.
Summery: This is not for kids. That being said, there's some mild bdsm, there's some violence, and there's some sex. Continue if you're interested.
She had first sought out the game after her fifth year at Hogwarts. She was bored with childish crushes, anonymous love letters and exploding Valentine’s. She wanted something more real. Something more...adult...thrilling...dangerous. With so much chaos around her, with constant anxiety-ridden escapades with Harry and Ron, and with Voldemort a constant threat over everyone’s head, how could a girl be satisfied with stolen kisses by the lake?
To be truthful to herself, it wasn’t really a game. She referred to it in that manner, mainly to keep the implications separate from herself inside her head. She realized she was playing with fire; and that’s what she liked. The thought of being caught, the thought of what people would say, would think, if they found out what Hermione Granger did when the lights went out...or stayed on, it didn’t really matter to her.
She had never told a soul she had the ability of wandless magic; why bring more attention to herself, she already got more than her share by being friends with Harry and being Little Miss Goodie Two Shoes at Hogwarts. This was how she, at first, got around the dress codes. A little concentration and her old Easter dress turned into a tiny leather skirt. A few more thoughts, and she had a silk corset and boots. Wrapped in her cloak, she took a taxi to a club she had heard of one evening the summer before her sixth year at Hogwarts.
Here she refused to be beaten-down Hermione. She wouldn’t be the person to rely on, the person to walk on, the person to always count on. That first night, she walked in like she owned the place, and the moment her cloak was shed, thrust into the arm of a boy waiting near the door, all eyes were on her. She swung her hips with the confidence of a woman who knows what she has got, and isn’t afraid to flaunt it.
She didn’t go home with the first who bought her a drink, or the second. She waited awhile, dancing, ignoring the glares from the other women in the club, enjoying the feeling of a hard body behind her, a hard body in front of her. Her hands slipped around and behind and she was touched and it felt so good to be touched that her skin was alive and she wanted to reach down her skirt and help relieve the growing tension that was building. No, she exerted control, this exquisite torture that was strange hands and bodies and mouths on the dance floor, hands over by the bar, until finally someone really caught her attention.
He hadn’t yet really approached her; their eyes had met a few times, but so caught up in the fervor of the music and drinks and tactile sensations that she hadn’t thought twice on him. That was before she noticed that other people seemed to be staying a bit away from him. They almost seemed...wary of him. And Hermione is one who always wants the biggest...challenge. And the largest...danger.
Instinct told her not to approach him, but to tease him. She found someone dancing within eyeshot of him and put on a show. Grinding, licking, biting, grabbing; first one partner and then the next until she wasn’t quite sure if it was all for show or not any longer. Finally out of her periphery she saw him advancing. She turned her back to him, raising her arms in the air and gyrating to the beat.
At first his fingers were gentle, sweeping her fingers down her arms, across her shoulders in to her neck and up into her hair. But then he wrapped his right hand in her hair, wrenching her around so she was up against the front of his body. His left hand immediately wove its way inside her skirt, grab her her ass painfully.
She bit her lip, but still did not look up at his face. Her eyes wandered around the periphery of the room behind him, taking in a few cages with couples, and triples, dancing in them. She felt his fingers slipping between her ass cheeks, pulling, telling, never asking with any gesture of his movements. Finally he gave her head a jerk, and she looked up into his face. He smirked at her for a moment, before lowering his face to hers.
She was expecting a kiss on the lips; she was mistaken. He licked his way down her neck, finding her collar bone and biting; hard. She moaned at this; pain upon her skin so electrified sent tingles all the way to her groin, and she thrust her hips against him, ignoring the yank her scalp felt, moving her hands along his back. Before she had the chance to untuck his silk shirt and feel his skin, he moved his lips to her ear and whispered, “time to go, don’t you think?”
It was a long night. She wasn’t a virgin, but the few boys she had experienced had nothing on this man. Each time she thought she was close to orgasm, he would switch tactics, frustrating her, taunting her. If her hands got too close to her own self, he would slap them away, twist them behind her back roughly and “tsk, tsk” her.
He pushed her head down on his cock, forcing her, gagging, to take him in as far as she was physically capable of, and just when she thought the burning pain in her jaw couldn’t get worse he would pull her back up and roughly thrust back into her, causing her to moan in frustration.
Finally frustrated past her breaking point, she started clawing at him, hitting at his chest, tears streaming down her face. He held his arms up as she scratched at his chest, leaving shallow marks that slowly trailed blood, until she tired herself out and sagged against him.
He pushed her down on the bed and bound her ankles, legs spread out, to the foot of the bed. He then tied her arms to the headboard, and walked away, out of the room, leaving her naked, her sensitive skin slightly cold, and with more pent up sexual energy than she thought possible. She tried to struggle against the restraints, but they only rubbed against her painfully.
A few moments later, he came back into the bedroom, concealing something behind his back. Slinking up to her, he said, “Just say when,” before lightly dragging a knife down her arm. She was so surprised that she actually cried out; he laughed at her, holding it up for her inspection before moving lower, to her legs. He drew a few patterns on her thighs, deep enough to draw blood but light enough to just sting with his touch afterwards, as he drew his fingers over his work before bringing them to his mouth. He then wove patterns on the insides of her wrists, and she tensed her muscles, starting to feel the pain before he thrust the knife handle into her while biting at her nipples. As if remembering something he had forgotten, after a few thrusts he abruptly pulled the knife from her, bringing it to her breasts and, almost delicately, as though it were a fine art, traced more patterns around her nipples as his empty hand worked between her thighs.
After a few minutes, he stood back, admiring his work. He rubbed both breasts with one of his hands, and then stroked himself a few times with it, leaving it wet with her own blood before crawling upon her and cutting the restraints. He flipped her over, pulling her ass towards him with a yank and a smack before sliding his cock into it. For the first time, Hermione thought perhaps she’d let him go too far; or he’d taken too much, the pain was not something she expected. But after awhile, she started to feel it, building from someplace deeper, and she started to keep in time with his thrusts instead of tensing before each one.
Yet as before, the moment she was used to one activity, he changed the game. He pushed her back onto her back, entering her from the front again. He once again started pinching and rubbing her clit, until her entire body was shaking from pleasure and pain and exhaustion, humiliation and domination and still he would not let her come. Not until she cried, begging to come did he allow her; and when she finally did, she cried out his name, and he bit her tongue.
“Never say a Malfoy’s name in vain, mudblood,” he stated, before pushing her off his bed.
Painfully she bent over to pick up her clothes, sliding them up over her cuts with care. Not wanting to spend any longer in the apartment than necessary, she wrapped herself in her cloak and left, opening the apartment door to dawn light.
She never noticed him twist on the bed to watch her go.
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The Game