Her Bound Heart Chapter 13.

Content Warnings: Fisting, CMNF, Squirting, Teasing, Spanking, Overstimulation.

Twenty-One Years Later:

Lily Emma Potter (Lils to her friends) strode into her father’s study, her arms full of files.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?” Harry asked without bothering to look up from the letter he was reading. He was well used to his eldest daughter simply barging into his office and demanding something by now. The girl had gotten his messy black hair and green eyes, her mother’s genius, and unfortunately for her parents, her namesake’s spunk. Needless to say, James and Lily Potter were proud grandparents.

“Where’s mum? I need her help in sorting out my internship applications.”

“She’s out with your godmother. They’re having their weekly brunch thing.”

Lily nodded and turned to leave, pausing at the sight of the massive stain on the tattered rug beneath her feet. To her knowledge, her father had never bothered to change the rug (which, as far as she knew, had been a fixture of his office since before her birth). Neither he nor her mother tried to get rid of the stain either, something that would have taken less than a minute for people as accomplished in magic as they were.

“Should I get you a new rug for your birthday?” Lily asked, staring at the stain. It looked strangely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place what had caused it.

“I’m not changing this rug, darling.”

“Why?”

Harry simply shrugged.

“You and mum did something on this rug, didn’t you? What, you declare your undying love for her while the two of you cuddled by the fireplace?” Lily asked with a smirk. It was just like her sweet, sappy father to do something like that.

“Something like that…” Harry mumbled, trying not to think back to the night he’d first accepted the fact that he wanted Hermione to be more than just his sugar baby…

                                                           ---

Harry tried his best to stay awake as the Minister’s Undersecretary droned on and on in her sickly sweet voice. Three full hours into the session and they hadn’t come up with a single workable solution to the problem in front of them.

They had, however, gotten empty platitudes from Cornelius Fudge who had tried to downplay the severity of the incident before scurrying out under the guise of briefing the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry doubted the Minister ever had any intentions of taking questions from Wizengamot or addressing the concerns of the worried and outraged members in any substantive way, but he seemed more than happy to leave Dolores Umbridge behind to gaslight them all with her sugary sweet voice.

The woman made him want to chop off his ears. He didn’t know why, but he neither trusted nor liked her. She seemed too sweet, too nice, too harmless on the surface, and Harry knew such people rarely survived in a post as cutthroat as the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. There was another persona lurking underneath the surface, and Harry hoped to never meet that person. In a just world, neither she nor Fudge would hold power, but a corruptible Minister and his stooges suited just about everyone seated in the room with him, which meant Fudge had sailed to reelection every single time easily and without much effort.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat, wishing the woman would just shut up so they could have a more substantive discussion.

“This is Wizengamot, son,” James whispered, chuckling quietly. It was almost as if he had read his son’s thoughts. He leaned closer even though they were surrounded by allies, seated as they were in the middle of their bloc. “The building might be on fire and they’ll spend six hours debating on how best to put out the flames.”

“Can’t believe you left the family business for this,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Susan was fast asleep in front of him, and even her Aunt was struggling to stay awake.

“The Potter legacy isn’t just the business, son. There must be a Potter in Wizengamot too, securing not only our future but that of our community as well. Would you rather they give my seat up to someone like Lucius Malfoy?”

“No,” Harry conceded.

“Besides, I know the business is in safe hands.” James grasped Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

Harry blushed, still unused to praise from his father. There had always been a tragic distance between them since he was a child. They’d both lost their glue, their anchor and neither had been prepared for a life without her. He loved his father and he was sure the man loved him, but he did not want to imagine the pain he must have felt every time he picked up his son only to see the bright green eyes of his dead wife peering back at him.

“Is Frank okay?” Sirius asked, glancing at his old friend. Harry shook himself free of his reverie and turned his attention to his mild-mannered friend’s father. The ex-Auror was seated in the very front of their faction, glaring daggers at Umbridge.

“Would you be okay if the woman who tortured your wife to insanity just escaped from prison and the only suggestion the Minister and his cronies can come up with is to involve Muggles to hunt her down?”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Sirius murmured. He’d never had much of a head for politics, leaving the minutiae of actual policy and deal-making to his best friend. He much preferred to take care of the flashier side of the job, the hosting of Balls and Banquets and Parties where opposing politicians were plied with alcohol before the adults settled into a backroom and conducted the business of running the government over cigars and cognac.

“It does if you look at it from Fudge’s perspective,” Harry muttered, massaging his throbbing temple. The scar on his forehead had never truly left him even as he grew up and the circumstances of its creation mostly faded from memory. All he remembered from that night was a flash of bright green light and a high-pitched scream, both of which he actively tried to repress as much as he could. Still, his migraines had only gotten worse and more frequent over the past few months and nothing he tried, no potion, salve, or charm suggested by the best healers of St. Mungo’s worked. Only Hermione’s gentle massages provided some comfort. He tried to limit them to his worst days, when all he could do was rest his head on her lap in a room completely devoid of light. He had no desire to worry the poor girl or have her run herself ragged trying to take care of him. “His next election is in six months. If he admits the severity of the situation or gives even a hint of credence to the rumors that the dementors are in open revolt he runs the risk of being tossed out on his ass and replaced with someone who is actually competent,” Harry muttered, turning his gaze back towards Amelia Bones.

“He may be generally incompetent and thoroughly corrupt, but when it comes to politics there are few who can play the game better than him.”

Harry nodded at his father’s observation. He didn’t need to be a seasoned politician to appreciate the fact that it took extreme skill and deft maneuvering to keep the Minister’s chair for nearly two decades, even during times of relative quiet and peace.

“Do we have the votes to replace him?” Harry asked.

James glanced across the aisles to a tall, thin man with gray hair and a monocle who was quietly conversing with the blonde girl seated next to him. Cyrus Greengrass acknowledged him with a small nod before turning back to continue his conversation with his daughter. “We’re close. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

“Someone else can go to Albania, father.” Harry frowned. As much as he shared his father’s sentiment, they couldn’t let their desire for vengeance stand in the way of doing what was right. “You and Sirius need to be right here, whipping votes. Throw parties, throw orgies, do whatever you need to do to get the votes we need.”

“I don’t trust-”

“I’ll go.” Harry turned, looking his father squarely in the eye. He stared his father down without flinching. “You trust me, don’t you?”

James nodded. “What will Hermione say?”

Harry was prevented from answering by Tonks slipping in through the back door. The pink-haired Auror hastily climbed down the steps to their level, walking in between two rows of seats to stand behind Harry’s chair. She bent to be as close to his ear as possible, his voice barely above a whisper, “The alarm at your apartment was triggered five minutes ago.”

Harry kept a straight face even as his heart jumped into his throat. Hermione. “Who did you send?”

“No one. The Minister has locked down the DMLE for our ‘colossal failure’. No Auror is allowed to leave their post or the Ministry until he’s done briefing the Muggle Prime Minister. Apparently, he intends to address the entire department after that.”

Harry cursed under his breath. He got to his feet, ignoring the attention his sudden movement drew. Even Umbridge paused for a second, glaring at him with pure hatred in her eyes before she continued speaking in her sugary sweet tone.

“Thanks, Tonks,” Harry muttered once they were out of the chamber.

“I can come-”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “There’s no point giving Fudge an excuse to fire you. We’re going to need as many allies as we can get in positions of power for the fight to come. I’m afraid this is only the beginning.”

“What’s going on?”

Harry turned to see his father and godfather walk out of the chamber with confused expressions.

“Bellatrix or one of her minions are in my building. The wards should slow them down but I need to go right now.

“Isn’t it empty?” Sirius asked.

Harry shook his head, his breath hitching. “I sent Hermione back to the apartment. I thought she’d be safer there,” he murmured, forcing himself to stay calm even as his voice cracked slightly.

James glanced at Tonks, weighing his options. Getting approval for Auror support would take too long. While there was still a chance they’d catch the escaped convicts, he had no desire for his future daughter-in-law to suffer the fate Alice Longbottom had. “Tonks, go in and tell Amelia what happened and where we’ve gone,” James said, pulling out his wand. Sirius copied his actions but also reached out to pat Harry’s shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s go.”

Harry nodded, sprinting down the heavily carpeted hallway to the lifts. He jammed the button of the one that was closest, practically wrenching open the doors when it arrived. They piled into the elevator and Harry pushed the button for the Atrium as soon as the doors were closed.

“Override the charm. This lift doesn’t stop until it reaches the Atrium,” Harry said, pointing his wand at the bewildered lift operator. His voice was deathly calm, but both James and Sirius noticed the slight tremor in his hand.

“I... I can’t just…”

“It’s either that or I turn you into a frog and feed you to my owl,” Harry growled, pushing aside the fringe of hair that covered his scar to reveal his identity. “And trust me, nobody here is going to try and stop me. So get to it.”

The man nodded nervously and pushed his wand into the circular hole at the very bottom of the panel, muttering a quick spell. The lift shot upwards, speeding past every floor without stopping until it screeched to a halt at the topmost floor.

Harry ran across the Atrium, his feet pounding against the polished marble floor. He ignored the stares of everyone he ran past and the scowls of the people he pushed out of the way, making his way to the toilets that would allow him to exit the boundaries of the wards around the Ministry building as fast as his feet would take him.

James and Sirius were right behind him and all three crammed into the first empty cubicle they could find. They took a deep breath as Sirius pushed the flush to activate the charm that would whisk them to the Muggle side of the entrance.

Harry dashed out of the building, roughly pushing through the small crowd of Ministry workers waiting for an empty cubicle. James and Sirius were right behind him and all three skidded to a halt in the grimy alleyway next to the Ministry. It was dark, secluded, and completely deserted, and the chosen spot for most Ministry employees to apparate to and from work. Harry grabbed his father and godfather’s hands and squeezed them as hard as he could, the entirety of his mind focused on getting them all to his building.

For the first time in his life, Harry broke a rule he himself had set. Instead of apparating to the alley next to his building like he usually did, he instead landed right in the lobby. It was thankfully deserted, but the absence of the Muggle doorman only increased Harry’s worry. He’d never known his building to be so quiet and empty.

Harry glanced at the stairs, discarding them as a viable option within seconds. Turning up to a duel breathless was a surefire way to lose before the fight even started. All of them piled into the elevator as soon as the doors opened and Harry repeatedly jammed the button for the top floor, irrationally hoping it would make the creaking clunker go faster.

He ran out of the lift the minute it shuddered to a halt on their floor. The door to his penthouse was shut, but that in itself wasn’t any reassurance. He doubted Bellatrix or any of her other deranged compatriots would practice their heinous craft without precautions.

He ignored the urge to just kick down the door and instead pointed his wand at it, scanning it for traps and hexes. When he found none he looked back at his father and godfather, only to receive terse nods in response. Their wands were raised, ready to confront any threat that lay behind the door. Harry unlocked it and pushed it open silently, his eyes scanning his empty and quiet living room.

He quietly padded into the room, alert for any sudden movements and unexpected attacks.

Feet. His heart stopped in his chest when he spotted a familiar pair of legs behind his couch by the bookcase. All the lessons his father and Moody had drilled into him were forgotten in an instant. He lowered his wand and ran over to Hermione, caring only about her life and safety.

She was sprawled out on the floor on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned and looked up at him in confusion. Harry released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He wordlessly grabbed her hand and pulled her up to her feet, ignoring the urge to tear open her blouse and check her body for injuries. She seemed fine, yet his heart refused to calm down.

“Ha- Mr. Potter! What’s going-”

She was cut off by Harry enveloping her in a bear hug. He pulled her into his chest, tightening his hold around her body as an involuntary sob of relief escaped his throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked hoarsely, reluctantly pulling away from her. He didn’t notice James and Sirius watching them with huge smiles on their faces or the fact that Patricia had emerged from his study sporting an identical grin on hers. He grabbed Hermione’s chin and tilted her face towards the window, using the sunlight poking through the pulled blinds to examine her face for signs of injury.

Hermione nodded.

“Why were you on the floor?!”

Hermione frowned. He had never sounded this worried or upset in all their months together. “I was studying star charts. They’re enormous so Patricia suggested I charm them to stick on the ceiling and emulate traditional stargazing,” Hermione explained, pointing to the celestial charts that covered the roof of the room.

“What’s going on?” Patricia asked.

“The alarms were triggered. Given recent events, we thought you and Hermione were in danger,” James explained. He tucked his wand in his cloak. “That doesn't seem to be the case.” James raised an eyebrow. Patricia responded with an expression of innocence that didn’t fool anyone in the room.

“Maybe they tried to breach the wards but didn’t have any luck?”Sirius suggested, shutting the door behind him. The lock engaged automatically, turning on the protective charms that guarded the apartment.

“Could be,” Harry mumbled. He cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled away from Hermione, his cheeks warm. “You sure you’re alright?” Harry asked, needing that one final bit of reassurance before he left her side.

“Mhm.”

“Well, today has officially sucked,” Sirius muttered. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it onto the couch. The man wasn’t one for formality and dress codes, not even in the Wizengamot. “Hey Shortie, mind whipping me up a Margarita?”

“It’s barely past noon, Padfoot.”

“Great! And here I was, worried all this politicking was going to force me to take up drinking in the morning.”

James and Harry both rolled their eyes at the man’s antics.

“I-I don’t know how to make a Margarita Mr. Bla-Sirius,” Hermione stammered, her cheeks pink.

Sirius shrugged. “No worries Shortie, I’ll teach you.” He threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulder, letting her lead him to the kitchen.

“He doesn’t know how to make a Margarita either.”

Harry snorted. “He’ll probably blow up my kitchen brewing up some unholy concoction.”

“Guess I better go help them.” When Harry raised an eyebrow, James sighed. “Today’s session is officially a wash. The real business will happen once I gather the adults in that room for a meeting. I might as well destress with a drink.”

Harry nodded, watching his father amble into the kitchen.

“You’re holding Morrigan’s Book of Poisons,” Harry murmured once it was just him and Patricia in the living room. He didn’t bother turning around, knowing she was standing right behind him.

“One of our researchers needs it for the antidote he’s working on. Since you’re the only person I know who has a copy, I thought I’d grab it for Tomas while I’m here.”

“The book was on the bottom shelf of my safe. The safe that is connected to the wards around the apartment.”

“Is it? When did this happen?” Patricia asked, feigning ignorance.

Harry rolled his eyes even though the woman couldn’t see him. “I told you I wanted to upgrade the wards around my safe. You booked the appointment with Bill and his team last month, Tricia,” Harry said dryly.

“So much has been happening, it’s hard to keep track of it all. Oh, well, you can deduct the cost of a new safe from my next paycheck. I blew the door off this one to get the book.”

“Is that why you did it?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“Why else? It was imperative I get it as soon as possible. Tomas is on the verge of an impressive breakthrough and I had no idea how long you’d be tied up in Wizengamot.”

Harry finally turned, looking at his secretary with raised eyebrows.

“Perhaps I did it because I’ve known a certain young man since I used to babysit him and I know when he needs a tiny push to see what’s obvious to everyone else,” Patricia admitted with a small smile.

Harry blushed. He didn’t need to have to ask her to clarify what she meant. She, his father, and godfather had all watched his embarrassing display of affection. “I would have done the same for the rest,” he mumbled with red cheeks.

“I highly doubt you’d have hugged Tommasina Delacour or Romilda Vane after rescuing them from danger,” Patricia said bluntly. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hug any of your sugar babies before Hermione. Her, you hug every time she drops by the office to see you,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“I hug Susan,” Harry shot back, knowing he was grasping at straws.

“One, Susan was never your sugar baby. Two, she doesn’t count. You’ve never tried to deny that you care about her.”

“I don’t-” Harry paused. Try as he might, he couldn’t make himself say the words. “It doesn’t matter. Hermione’s going to become a great lawyer, find the perfect man, and live a happy life. I’m just a speed bump in that journey, Tricia.”

“Have you ever stopped and considered that the ‘perfect man’ you’re talking about might be you?”

Harry didn’t have an answer to that, so he simply huffed and stomped over to the kitchen to join the others.

                                                                    ---

Harry’s Study, Later That Evening:

Harry looked up from his desk at the timid cough. He had kept the door to his study open, a part of him still afraid of being too far away from Hermione. He still hadn’t fully gotten over his worry for her safety, and for now, even a shut door felt like an insurmountable distance.

He smiled at the sight of her standing by the doorway wearing one of his shirts, fidgeting nervously. The large white t-shirt hung loosely from her body and ran down to her thighs, acting more like a nightgown (which was exactly how she had taken to using the shirts she stole from his closet) than a normal shirt.

“You know, you’re not allowed in my study only when I’m not home. And the only reason that rule is in place is because I have a few dark artifacts scattered around in this room and I don’t want you accidentally hurting yourself,” Harry murmured, beckoning her over.

“It’s your space. Feels rude to just barge in. You knock every time you enter my bedroom even though you don’t have to,” Hermione pointed out with a happy smile. He was her dominant, her sugar daddy. Per their contract, her body and time were his, and he could have them whenever and whenever he wanted, but the respect with which he treated her always caused her heart to flutter. He was perhaps the first person after Ginny and some of her brothers to truly treat her as an actual person.

Hermione padded across the soft carpet on bare feet, leaving her slippers by the door. She ignored the plush chairs on the opposite side of Harry’s desk, choosing instead to kneel on the thick rug next to him. She rested her head on his lap, sighing softly.

He hadn’t ordered her to kneel and she doubted he had expected her to do it. At the start of their relationship, the rules, the rituals, the pain had felt strange and terrifying.

I’d much rather kneel by his side than sit comfortably in a chair far away from him, Hermione reflected, thinking back to how much the months spent living with him had changed her.

One day, when she had the time, she’d sit and figure out how he had managed to make her both more submissive and more confident.

“Shall I give you a galleon for your thoughts, princess?” Harry teased, his hand slipping into her brown curls. He tugged on the purple scrunchie holding it in place in a simple ponytail, pulling her hair free from it, and letting her curls fan around on his lap.

“What if I want a kiss?”

“That can be arranged.” Harry tugged on her hair to pull her up to his level, gently pressing his lips against hers for a chaste kiss. Hermione moaned into his mouth, submitting to him without a fight. His tongue darted into her mouth as he deepened the kiss, his strong arms effortlessly pulling her tiny body closer to his chair. His tongue pushed against hers, coaxing it into a playful duel.

“M-master!” Hermione moaned, freezing the minute she realized what she’d blurted in her aroused state. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with worry.

He was frozen in place, his gorgeous emerald eyes staring at her in shock.

“I-I’m sorry! I know the rules explicitly say I’m not to use it and titles other than sir but I was just reading a book and there was this cute girl and it was so hot and it was on my mind-” Hermione rambled, panicking. It wasn’t a simple mistake that he could forgive after he punished her. He had placed it in their contract as a hard limit, and she had just breached it like it was no big deal. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her big brown eyes begging for forgiveness.

She gulped when he stood, certain he was about to throw her and her belongings out on the street. Instead, he gently grabbed her wrist and led her to the middle of his study. He sat down on the soft rug that covered the floor and pulled her into his lap, an arm wrapping around her slender waist. He pulled her back flush against his chest and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“As adorable as the thought of you kneeling next to me every evening while I work is, it’s quite difficult to have a proper conversation with you in that position,” Harry murmured calmly, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

She obediently raised her arms over her head to allow him to take off the shirt she was wearing, leaving her completely naked on his lap. Completely naked that was, with the exception of the red, fuzzy snitch-patterned socks she wore.

“Y-you’re not upset?”

Harry didn’t bother answering her question directly. “Do you know why I tell my sugar babies that titles other than ‘sir’ are hard limits for me?” He locked his feet around her ankles, slowly pulling her legs apart.

Hermione shivered in his arms as a gust of cold air hit her slick pussy. She had long ago resigned herself to being as wet as a leaky faucet whenever she was around him.

No wonder Ginny teases me that I always smell of sex these days, she thought, biting her lip.

“Don’t bite your lip darling or I’ll actually be upset,” Harry murmured, his fingers gently tugging her lip free from her teeth. Hermione blushed. The thought of the ease with which he had taken charge of her life caused a gush of arousal to seep out of her slit and stain his dark trousers.

“Do you need me to repeat my question, Miss Granger?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know, sir,” she said softly.

“Master and other more… amorous titles suggest a level of intimacy I have never wished for with my sugar babies,” Harry explained honestly. “They also imply a degree of control over my submissives I’ve not cared to exercise. Sir is impersonal. Sir is fun,” Harry murmured, his calloused fingers gently tracing the puffy lips that guarded her core.

“I-I understand,” Hermione moaned, struggling to stay coherent. His thick finger had pushed inside her pussy and was moving up to her clit, and she could feel the now-familiar tug of Subspace threatening to pull her under. “It… it won’t happen again, sir.”

“I want it to happen again.”

“S-sir?” Hermione blinked, confused. He wanted her to do it again? Why? So he could punish her for breaking one of his limits?

“I want that control over you, Miss Granger,” Harry whispered, glad she could not see the heavy blush coating his cheeks. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage before he continued, “I crave that level of intimacy. I can’t get you out of my thoughts. I don’t want you out of my thoughts,” Harry growled. “I want to go to sleep with my arms around you. When I wake up, the first thing I want to see is your pretty face.”

“I-I’ll wake up an hour earlier to make sure I’m-”

“No,” Harry murmured. “I want you to sleep with me. Every night.”

“A-are you sure-”

SMACK!

“AH!” Hermione groaned at the harsh slap to her breast. Her eyes flickered down for a second, glancing at the pink handprint blooming on her creamy skin with pride. The marks on her skin were symbols of her connection to him, and she wore each and every one of them happily.

“Are you questioning my order?”

“N-no master,” Hermione answered with a huge grin. “I’ll move into your bedroom.”

“Our bedroom,” Harry whispered.

“Our bedroom,” Hermione repeated shyly.

His thumb pressed down on her clit and he began to massage the sensitive nub. “Only if you want to. If you’d rather have your own bedroom I’d completely under-” Harry started, suddenly overcome by doubt.

“Master?”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

Hermione tilted her head to look up at him. She pressed her lips against his for a gentle kiss. “I would love to.”

“Then, I suppose you calling me ‘master’ is fine,” Harry whispered. He slowly increased the pace of his rubbing, toying with her.

Hermione moaned loudly, her lips parted and tongue lolling out as she panted for breath. She nodded, blushing heavily. “Master,” she whispered, bucking her hips to get more of his fingers in her.

“‘Sir’ is great too,” Harry murmured, grazing his nail against the delicate bundle of nerves he was massaging. He pushed two fingers inside her tight pussy, her walls fluttering around his digits as they were stretched.

“Sir!” Hermione groaned, completely out of it. In her fight with Subspace, the latter had won, and she was floating blissfully, untethered by any concern except pleasing her dominant.

We have to be the perfect little princess for him.

Hermione nodded, agreeing with the voice in her head.

“But you know what I love more than anything else? You know what’s truly divine?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Hearing you moan my name,” Harry whispered, pumping his fingers in and out of her dripping womanhood furiously. Her slick arousal coated his fingers and ran down his arm, staining the white cuff of his shirt. Her juices streamed down her bare legs, dripping down to stain his trousers and form a large damp spot on the rug below them. “I want to hear you, princess,” Harry growled, fingering her tight slit, his fingers pistoning in and out of her aching core. He added a third finger inside her, her walls burning as they were stretched to their limits.

“H-harrry!” Hermione moaned, squirming in his lap as her lover pushed a fourth finger inside her pussy. It was now impossible for him to move inside her and he paused for a second, slowly rotating his digits to coat them with her arousal even as he gently pushed them deeper into her throbbing core.

“From tomorrow, you’re going to take off your clothes, fold them neatly, and place them by the door the minute you’re home. You are to wear what I’ve picked out for you when we’re alone in the apartment,” Harry murmured, kissing her sweaty temple. “I want us to start a new life…style together,” Harry added, ignoring the blush coating his own cheeks.

Why was it so hard to just tell her what he wanted?!

He pushed that thought deep into the back of his mind, ignoring it in favor of concentrating on the naked cutie squirming helplessly on his lap. His thumb finally left her clit and slowly slipped inside her gaping pussy. He closed his fingers into a fist and Hermione watched with huge eyes as his arm pushed deeper inside her. The rough cuff of his shirt brushed against the soft skin of labia as he lazily pistoned his fist in and out of her.

“I swear it’s going to be a week of spankings for you, you disobedient brat,” Harry growled, tugging her lip free from her teeth.

“HARRY!” The scream she had tried to stifle spilled out of her mouth. The coil of tension in the pit of her stomach had tightened to unbelievable levels yet she stubbornly held on, the part of her that hadn’t yet completely surrendered to him not willing to bear the embarrassment of coming all over his pants and the rug of his office.

“I’m going to ruin you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione shuddered at the dark chuckle. She believed him. The scary part was… she wanted him to ruin her. She needed him just as much as she needed air.

Trying to resist her dominant was a futile battle. His lips pressed against her ear, whispering sweet filth even as his fist pounded her pussy. In total submission, Hermione Granger found liberation.

“Harry… HARRY… HARRY!” She screamed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as the tension building up in her core exploded. She squirted all around his fist, soaking his shirt sleeve and trousers. Her juices seeped into the rug below them, forming a massive stain that he would refuse to clean, leaving it as a reminder of the day their lives changed.

An exhausted Hermione slumped against Harry’s chest. She watched him gently extract his gleaming fist from her sore, aching gaping pussy, her eyes staring at the massive thing in disbelief.

How had she taken something so big? There was no way she would be able to walk come morning.

But then, she mused with a tired giggle, his cock is massive too.

She flushed as he opened his palm and wriggled his fingers, casually wiping them clean on her breast.

“Are you alright?” Harry whispered, grabbing her chin and tilting her head up to kiss her gently.

Hermione nodded, too tired and too deep into Subspace to speak. She simply enjoyed the floaty freedom of her current state, and the happiness that being under his care and control brought.

Harry wrapped his arms around her tiny body, pulling her into his chest. “I’m sorry if I… I can get carried away…”

“It was perfect,” Hermione whispered hoarsely. “You’re perfect.”

Harry blushed, remembering Patricia’s words from earlier in the day.

“Today was a bad day?” Hermione asked, her fingers lazily tracing the firm muscles of his chest.

“No day that ends like this can be called a bad day, princess.”

“But before?” Hermione pressed. He’d been stressed when she walked in, and while she prided herself on being excellent stress relief, she wanted to help him in other ways too.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted with a sigh. “It was pretty horrible.”

“Tell me about it?” Hermione asked, yawning cutely.

“It’s a long story.”

“I like stories.”

Especially when it’s you who’s telling them.

“Well. I suppose it all started nearly twenty years ago when a Potter fell in love with an amazing woman. Some people say she was the smartest witch of her generation…”

Notes:

I mean, I did say things would be happening to help these idiots realize they love each other. I wonder how ballistic Harry will go when he learns Hermione's tragic backstory. He loves Hermione so much, it's so wholesome. This story is strictly Harry/Hermione but in the chapters they go to a kink club, do you think they occasionally have a friend or even a couple (Susan/Daphne) join them for play? I have ideas, but would love to hear your thoughts on it.