Title: Memoirs of HJG, November 20—
Author: ldymusyc
Characters/Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Harems
Other Warnings: D/s, femdom, little bit of public sex
Word Count: 2200
Summary/Description: One entry from the memoirs of HJG. D— owes an apology.
Author's Notes: *flaily hands* I don't even know. Call it some sort of pseudo-Victorian-esque AU. A bit of a pre-plotting experiment for a long fic I've been outlining.




Nov. 20—

Received an owl from D—

I had intended to remove him from my salon after last month's rudeness, but had not yet got around to asking him for the return of my bracelet. Perhaps my subconscious knew better than my offended sensibilities, and expected that D— would make up for his actions. His letter was quite apologetic, and he offered to grovel for my forgiveness.

Naturally I took him up on the offer.

I watched in the bronze mirror over the fireplace as he approached my building, my private salon. He strutted, head up, arms loose, the powerful muscles of his legs propelling him along the pavement as gracefully as he flew. The sun gleamed off his hair, the long strands pulled into a braid that hung between his shoulders. I smile, teeth scraping my lip. Normally I loved running my fingers through those thick, pale strands, but tonight that braid gave me other ideas.

He stopped at the front entrance and held up his bracelet to the sheela-na-gig that guarded the door. She examined his bracelet with her bulging eyes, then acknowledged his permission to enter. She pulled at the stone lips of her carved cunt and the door swung open to admit him.

I rose from my chair, dismissing the vision in the mirror with a wave of my hand, and circled the room to examine the men gathered in my salon. N— and S— played chess at one side beneath the tall leaded windows, each naked and kneeling on a narrow ottoman, their hands bound to the corners of the table. S— leaned forward and took his bishop between his teeth, moving it to capture one of N—'s rooks. He spit it into a basket resting beside the table and glanced my direction. I applauded with the tips of my fingers, smiling at him, and he flushed a delicate, proud pink, his cock twitching against his thigh as he returned his attention to the game.

G— and F— each stood at attention either side of the fireplace, arms held at their sides, palms out and up. They weren't quite a matched set – G—'s flaming red hair hung longer, covering the sides of his head to his chin and disguising the ear damaged in a duel – but when both were solid hard and throbbing in the confines of their patience cages, they served as excellent bootmen. G— had requested permission to bear my dragonhide boots that day, and I was rather proud to see how steady he held them, their dagger heels dimpling his palms. Neither he nor F— displayed a single tremble, even when I slipped my fingers between the bars of their cages and pinched their scrotums each in turn. "Very good," I told G— in a low voice, and he lifted his chin with a smile.

Footsteps rang on the marble tiles in the corridor outside the open door of my salon, and I turned to face D— as he entered. He froze two steps into the room, staring at my collection of men. Staring at my collected attendants, staring at the proof that he was not the only man in my affections, had his posture stiff and his eyes hard. He knew he was required to share, of course, but I had always granted him the favor of seeing me alone before. I had granted him many favors in the past, but his rude behavior of the previous month had angered me beyond grace. "Darling," I said to him, my arms folded beneath my bared breasts, the open skirts of my gown swaying against my thighs. "Come in. You may kiss me in greeting."

The skin around his eyes tightened and he pressed his lips together. I could see the struggle in his face and the set of his shoulders. Either he obeyed in front of the others, or he turned around and walked away. If he left, I had already determined, he would never be permitted to come back. I waited in silence, watching him, all my men watching him, until he ground his teeth and approached me. He knelt, put his hands against my calves, and kissed the pink expanse of my mound, charmed clean of the thick curls that matched my hair. He kissed me in greeting, and when I widened my stance, he responded with months of experience and training, his tongue slipping between my slick folds to flicker against my clit.

I unfolded my arms and rested my hands atop his head as he kissed my cunt, the pale blond strands of his hair thick beneath my palms. His fingers moved on my calves, flexing and twitching with every slow, stiff lap of his tongue on my swelling clit. I looked down to watch him, then wrapped one hand around his braid and hauled him back. He yelped, struggling to keep his balance on his knees. "You have been naughty," I told him.

D— took a deep breath, his mercurial eyes flashing with annoyance and the pain of the tight grip I had on his hair. "I'm sor--" he muttered, and I slapped him. He stared up at me in open-mouthed shock, his cheek red with the print of my hand.

"You think one apology is enough for me?" I asked, tugging at his braid with each word. Without releasing him, I gave an order. "Strip."

He didn't move. I could see a muscle jumping in his cheek, hear his molars grinding together, but he did not obey. A murmur started near the windows, quickly halted when I turned my head.

I circled behind D— and pulled him upright, pressing his head to my stomach. The rest of my men watched, some with eyes full of curiosity, some with eyes full of spite. D— had long been my favorite, my chosen, and he had lorded it over the others with the full arrogance that had first attracted me to him. They were enjoying his chastisement.

He was not. I looked down to see if his trousers were straining, his erection obvious beneath the stretched material. The only strain I saw was in his face, his eyes closed until the lids trembled, his lips pressed together until the skin had gone bloodless and white. I leaned down, my hair brushing his shoulder. He flinched. I nipped his ear and murmured to him. "Will you not apologize properly?"

His breath came in small, soundless pants; his body quivered to make his clothing rustle. Several heartbeats passed before he responded, and that response was the merest, smallest shake of his head. I released his braid and stepped around him quickly, staring down into his face, my skirts blocking him from the view of the other men. I put one finger beneath his chin and raised his head.

He opened his eyes and my breath caught at the watery gleam in them. "Not here," he whispered, his lips hardly moving, his words barely audible over his tight breath. "Not like this. Not in public." He licked his lips and swallowed hard, his throat moving. His silvery eyes glistened and he closed them again, his lashes spiked as they held back water. He tried three times to speak, and finally managed one last word. "Please, H—. Dedecus."

I cupped his face, my heart pounding, my eyes wide as for the first time in his service he spoke his safeword. His cheeks were deep pink with the flush of humiliation, his skin hot under my palm. I scolded myself for allowing my anger to overrule my sense. I wanted his surrender, not his shame. I lifted my head and gave the coded command that released the bonds of all my other men. "Get out," I snapped, looking down into D—'s face. "All of you. Leave. Now."

Bonds rattled, furniture creaked. The men cleared the room within a minute, not one speaking, not one looking back. I knew they wanted to talk amongst themselves, gossip and whisper worse than debutantes at a ball, but I also knew they would not risk my displeasure by doing so. Only one man had broken the vow each gave when I placed the bracelet on their wrists, and R— had been banished for it. His status as my then-favorite had not protected him from my disappointment or from the disapproval of those who had remained true to their oaths. His business interests faded as my men refused to trade with him, his marriage prospects disappeared as their sisters and daughters were encouraged to look elsewhere. He left for the continent before dawn one morning, and for five years, his bracelet had been rusting in my dogs' kennel. None of the others wished to suffer similarly. None were fool enough to push me.

I had been fool enough to push D—.

I went to the chaise by the fireplace and reclined, watching him through lowered lashes. He still trembled, his eyes remained closed, but the tension in his face and the stiffness of his shoulders had eased. I wrapped one of my long curls around my finger as I looked at him. "I'm sorry," I finally said, my voice nearly as quiet as his whispered plea had been.

His head snapped up and he stared at me, his eyes so wide that even with the length of the room between us I could see the whites around the grey. I understood his surprise. Four years he'd been my favorite, and not once had he heard me apologize to anyone. I patted the edge of the chaise. "Come here, darling."

He got to his feet and crossed to me, sitting on the edge of the chaise and taking my hand. I squeezed his fingers and looked up to him. D— cleared his throat, his eyes locked on our joined fingers. "I will apologize," he said, his deep voice rumbling through me. "I'll apologize, I'll grovel. I'll do anything you ask. Just not in front of the others. Not in public. I'll crawl and beg for your pleasure, love. I won't crawl for their amusement." His jaw worked for a moment and when he spoke again, I closed my eyes at the pain in his voice. "I've served before, for someone who demanded that. It was ... unpleasant."

"Ah." I sat up and kissed his cheek, my arms slipping around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," I said. "It won't happen again. Will you be all right?"

"Yes. Thank you," he murmured, leaning against me. His hand fell onto my thigh and squeezed gently. "Would you like me to apologize now?"

I tilted his face toward mine, examining his eyes for any remaining signs of tension or embarrassment. I expected a great deal from my men, and expected even more from him as my chosen favorite, but I took care of them as well. I had no wish to hurt him further, but he met my eyes without hesitation or any lingering shame. Silently, he took my hand and pressed it to his groin, where his cock was firm and hardening. "I'm good," he assured me. "Ready and willing."

I laughed under my breath and lay back on the chaise, arching my breasts up and spreading my thighs. "Proceed."

He pushed the open sides of my skirts to fall over the chaise. This time his tongue on my clit was languid and relaxed, his movements gentle and deliberate. He kissed my cunt, mouthed and licked me until I could feel my body dripping for him. I reached down and tugged at his braid, pulling his head up. I repeated the order I'd given him before. "Strip."

He smiled and stood, pulling off his clothing with an impressive turn of speed. I stood as well, and pushed him onto the chaise. I straddled him, both hands wrapped around his cock, stroking it to full. I rolled his bollocks in my fingers, tugged lightly at the loose skin, and tickled my nails along his perineum. He clutched at the chaise, head back and throat taut. I purred when he finally broke and begged me to ride him, pleaded with me around grunts and moans.

I gripped his cock and guided him into my cunt, biting my lip to keep back a howl of satisfaction. It made him insufferable to hear me scream for him. Placing both hands on his chest, I flicked his nipples with my thumbnails. "You still need punished for last month's rudeness," I told him, panting between words.

He groaned and bucked into me. "Fuck. The apology wasn't enough?"

"No. I want more, darling." I raked his chest and grinned, grinding down on his cock. "You're not allowed to come."