Day 5: Furniture Play/Pantyhouse

Day 5: Furniture Play/Pantyhouse

Hermione stood near the center of Malfoy Manor's elegant sitting room, her fingers nervously smoothing down her dress, the sheer pantyhose she wore clinging tightly to her legs. Narcissa had given her explicit instructions. She had even gone so far as to get the house-elves to lay out the stress and hosiery for her. She knew better than to disobey. Narcissa did not like girls who disobeyed. 

Narcissa sat on a high-backed chair, her legs crossed gracefully, her gaze fixed on Hermione with a look of quiet command. There was an air of ease in Narcissa's posture, but the intensity in her eyes was unmistakable. She was in control, and Hermione, though nervous, was ready to submit fully.

"Take off your shoes," Narcissa instructed, her voice smooth but carrying that unmistakable tone of dominance that always made Hermione's pulse quicken.

Hermione obeyed without hesitation, slipping out of her shoes and stepping forward, her feet now encased only in the thin, smooth fabric of her pantyhose. The cool air in the room sent a slight shiver through her, contrasting with the warmth of Narcissa's gaze.

Narcissa's lips curved into a satisfied smile as she gestured toward the floor in front of her. "On your knees."

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, but she moved without question, sinking to her knees on the plush carpet at Narcissa's feet. The fabric of her pantyhose glided smoothly over her skin as she knelt, the sensation making her breath catch. There was something deeply intimate about the act—submitting herself so completely, knowing that Narcissa held all the power.

"Good girl," Narcissa murmured, her hand reaching out to cup Hermione's chin, lifting her face so their eyes met. "Tonight, you'll serve me in a different way."

Hermione's pulse quickened at the words, her mind racing with possibilities. Narcissa's hand slid from her chin, trailing down her neck, her touch light but deliberate as she traced the edge of Hermione's dress, pushing it up just enough to reveal more of the sheer pantyhose beneath.

"I've been thinking," Narcissa continued, her voice soft but commanding. "You're quite eager to please, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing at the quiet intensity of Narcissa's gaze. "Yes, ma'am."

Narcissa smiled, a dark, predatory thing that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. "Good. Then you won't mind becoming a little… more useful to me."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she watched Narcissa rise gracefully from the chair. The older witch circled around her slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor, her eyes never leaving Hermione's kneeling form. She felt the tension in the air, the anticipation building with each passing second.

"Furniture serves a purpose," Narcissa said thoughtfully, her voice low and smooth. "It exists to be used. To support. And tonight, Miss Granger, that's what you'll be."

Hermione's breath hitched, a mix of nerves and excitement flooding her senses as Narcissa's words sank in. Furniture play—it was a concept she had only heard of in passing, never something she had imagined being part of. And yet, the idea of it—of becoming a silent, obedient fixture in Narcissa's world—set her heart racing.

Narcissa's hands skimmed over her shoulders, her fingers brushing lightly against the smooth fabric of Hermione's dress before slipping down to the curve of her waist. With a soft, commanding push, Narcissa guided Hermione to bend forward, her hands instinctively catching herself on the floor.

"Hold still," Narcissa whispered, her breath warm against Hermione's ear as she positioned her exactly how she wanted. Hermione's body trembled slightly as she complied, her body now bent over, her hands and knees supporting her weight. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but also intensely aroused by the way Narcissa was orchestrating every movement.

Narcissa stepped back, her eyes roaming over Hermione's body as if appraising her. "Perfect," she murmured. "Now, stay like that. You won't move until I tell you."

Hermione nodded, her heart racing as she fought to remain perfectly still, her mind already buzzing with the heady mix of submission and anticipation. She could hear the soft rustle of Narcissa's robes as she moved around the room, her movements calm and measured, as if she were preparing for something far more mundane.

The sound of fabric brushing against fabric made Hermione's breath catch, and she glanced up just in time to see Narcissa settling back into her chair—this time, using Hermione's back as a footrest.

The sensation of Narcissa's heels pressing lightly against her back, the smooth pantyhose of Narcissa's legs brushing against her as she shifted, sent a shiver through Hermione's body. It was an odd sensation, to be used like this, and yet it felt natural. She was here to serve Narcissa, to support her, just like the furniture in the room.

"Comfortable?" Narcissa asked, her voice laced with amusement as she crossed her legs, settling more of her weight onto Hermione's back.

Hermione nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Narcissa leaned back in the chair, her posture relaxed as she gazed down at Hermione, her foot tapping lightly against the small of her back. "You'll stay like this for a while, Miss Granger. A silent reminder of your purpose tonight."

Time seemed to blur as Hermione remained in position, her body motionless beneath Narcissa's feet. The pressure of Narcissa's heels against her skin, the soft sound of Narcissa's breath as she shifted, all of it created an odd sense of calm. It was as if Hermione's entire world had narrowed to this one purpose—serving Narcissa, existing solely for her use.

Narcissa's fingers traced the seam of her pantyhose as she spoke again, her voice softer now. "Do you know how perfect you are for this?" she asked, almost conversationally. "How easily you submit to me?"

Hermione's heart raced at the words, her body reacting to Narcissa's every movement, every word. She felt herself clenching involuntarily at the praise, her body betraying her need to please, to be useful.

"You're learning so quickly," Narcissa continued, her voice taking on that dark, satisfied tone once again. "I'm quite pleased with how well you're responding. I may just keep you like this for longer than I originally planned."

Hermione's muscles trembled slightly beneath the weight, but she remained still, her mind focused on the pleasure she felt from the praise, from the submission. The heat of her own arousal was becoming harder to ignore, but she knew better than to ask for relief. Not until Narcissa decided it was time.

After what felt like an eternity, Narcissa finally shifted her feet, the movement slow and deliberate as she slid them off Hermione's back. Her hand reached out, gently lifting Hermione's chin, making her sit back up on her knees.

"Now," Narcissa murmured, her eyes gleaming as she inspected her handiwork. "You've done so well. Perhaps it's time I give you a different use."

Hermione's heart raced at Narcissa's words, her body still thrumming with a mixture of tension and arousal as she knelt at Narcissa's feet. She had been still for what felt like hours, submitting completely to Narcissa's control, and now… now something else was coming. She could feel it in the air—the shift in Narcissa's gaze, the subtle edge in her voice.

Without another word, Narcissa rose gracefully from her chair, her movements slow and deliberate as she crossed the room. Hermione's eyes followed her, curiosity mingling with the slightest hint of apprehension. There was always an element of the unknown with Narcissa, and that was part of what made these moments so exhilarating, so terrifying.

Narcissa stopped in front of a small cabinet in the corner of the room, her back to Hermione as she opened it. Hermione could hear the soft clink of metal against wood, and then, with a slow, almost languid movement, Narcissa turned back to face her, holding a sleek, silver knife in her hand.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, a sudden rush of fear flooding her system as her eyes locked onto the blade. Narcissa's expression was calm, almost serene, but there was a glint in her eyes—something dark, something dangerous.

Narcissa's lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she saw the flicker of fear in Hermione's eyes. "Nervous, are we?" she asked, her voice low and silky as she approached, the knife glinting in the firelight.

Hermione swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as Narcissa came closer. She trusted Narcissa—she did—but the sight of the knife in her hand, the cool, calculating way she held it, sent a shiver down her spine.

"Lean forward," Narcissa instructed, her voice calm but commanding. "On your hands and knees."

Hermione hesitated for only a moment before complying, her heart racing as she bent forward once again, her palms flat on the floor, her knees supporting her weight. The fabric of her pantyhose clung tightly to her skin, and the vulnerability of her position sent another wave of anticipation coursing through her.

Narcissa's footsteps were soft but deliberate as she moved behind Hermione, her hand trailing lightly down the curve of her back, her touch a sharp contrast to the cold edge of the knife Hermione knew was in her other hand.

"You trust me, don't you?" Narcissa asked softly, her breath warm against Hermione's ear as she knelt down beside her, the knife now visible in the corner of Hermione's eye.

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione whispered, her voice shaky but certain. "I trust you."

"Good." Narcissa's voice was a purr now, dark and filled with satisfaction. "Then don't move."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she felt the cool blade of the knife press against the thin fabric of her pantyhose, right at the curve of her ass. Narcissa was slow, deliberate, as she slid the blade lower, down between Hermione's thighs, teasing the material without breaking it just yet.

Then, with a quick flick of her wrist, Narcissa sliced through the fabric, tearing a hole right at Hermione's center. The cold air hit her bare skin, making her gasp as she realized how exposed she was now. The fabric still clung to her legs, but the hole left her open, vulnerable.

"There we are," Narcissa murmured, her voice thick with approval as she set the knife aside, her hands moving to part the torn fabric, revealing Hermione's slick heat. "So eager. So ready for me."

Hermione's body trembled as she felt Narcissa's fingers brush against her, teasing her, tracing the edges of the torn fabric before slipping between her folds. The sensation was sharp, intense, and Hermione couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips as Narcissa's fingers slid against her slick heat.

"You're dripping for me," Narcissa whispered, her tone dark and possessive as she let her fingers slide deeper, exploring Hermione's wetness. "I knew you would be."

Without warning, Narcissa pressed forward, thrusting three fingers deep inside Hermione, filling her completely in one swift, deliberate motion. Hermione gasped, her body jerking at the sudden intrusion, her hands gripping the floor as she tried to steady herself.

"Stay still," Narcissa commanded, her voice sharp as her fingers began to move inside Hermione, thrusting deep and firm. "Furniture doesn't move."

Hermione moaned, her body trembling as she fought to remain still, her muscles clenching around Narcissa's fingers with every thrust. The sensation was overwhelming—Narcissa's fingers filling her, stretching her, claiming her in a way that made her head spin.

"Feel how good you are for me," Narcissa whispered, her fingers moving faster now, her other hand gripping Hermione's hip to keep her steady. "You're taking all of me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Hermione gasped, her voice breaking as the pleasure built inside her, the slick sounds of Narcissa's fingers pumping in and out of her filling the room. "I—please, ma'am…"

Narcissa's fingers curled inside Hermione, hitting that perfect spot deep within her, making her body clench tight around her. "Please, what?" Narcissa asked, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she thrust harder, deeper, her grip on Hermione's hip tightening.

"Please don't stop," Hermione moaned, her body trembling with the need for more, for release. "Please, I need—"

"Shh," Narcissa whispered, her fingers moving even faster now, pushing Hermione right to the edge. "You'll come when I tell you. And when you do, I want to hear you scream my name."

Hermione's entire body tensed, the pressure building inside her as Narcissa's fingers thrust deep, filling her completely. The torn fabric of her pantyhose clung to her thighs. She was on the verge, teetering on the edge of release, her entire world narrowed to the feeling of Narcissa's fingers and the sound of her voice.

"Come for me, Miss Granger," Narcissa growled, her fingers curling inside Hermione, hitting that spot that made her entire body shudder. "Now."

And Hermione couldn't hold back any longer. The orgasm tore through her, blinding and intense, her body clenching hard around the older woman's fingers as she cried out, Narcissa's name spilling from her lips in a desperate, broken moan. The release was overwhelming, every muscle in her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Narcissa's fingers slowed but didn't stop, milking every last drop of pleasure from Hermione's trembling body as she leaned down, her breath warm against Hermione's ear.

"Such a good girl," Narcissa whispered, her voice rich with satisfaction. "You take everything I give you so beautifully."

Hermione collapsed against the floor, her body spent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away. Narcissa withdrew her fingers slowly, her touch lingering for just a moment before she straightened up, her expression calm and composed as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"You may rest now," Narcissa said softly, her voice gentle but still carrying that quiet command. "We will continue this when you wake."