Day 13 - Legilimency Play

Day 13 - Legilimency Play

Hermione sat at her desk, papers spread in neat stacks across the polished wood surface, the soft scratching of her quill the only sound in the room. The flickering light from her enchanted desk lamp cast long shadows across the walls of her private study in their home, and for a moment, the world outside seemed distant. She had been engrossed in her work for hours, lost in legal documents and case files, her mind too busy to notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere behind her.

But Narcissa noticed. She always did.

With an air of quiet elegance, Narcissa stood at the doorway, her gaze fixed on Hermione. A faint, knowing smile played at the corners of her lips as she observed her wife's rigid posture, her shoulders tight with the strain of concentration. It was late, far too late for Hermione to be working. But Narcissa had learned long ago that there was little point in trying to convince Hermione to stop. Instead, she had found… other methods.

Hermione didn't notice Narcissa's approach at first, too absorbed in the text in front of her to sense her wife's presence. But when the faint trace of a whisper brushed against her mind—a subtle, almost imperceptible ripple of magic—Hermione paused, her quill stilling in mid-air.

She didn't have to turn around to know what was happening. She could feel Narcissa's presence now, the soft but undeniable press of her magic against her mind, the familiar tendrils of Legilimency brushing against her consciousness like a gentle caress. It was a game they played often. One that Narcissa had perfected.

"Cissa," Hermione murmured, her voice steady, though there was an edge of warning in her tone. "I'm trying to work."

"Mm, I noticed," Narcissa replied softly, her voice smooth and velvety as she stepped closer, the quiet click of her heels barely audible against the floor. "You always work too hard, my love."

Hermione set down her quill, her brow furrowing as she straightened in her chair. She knew what Narcissa was doing. She could feel the subtle push, the way Narcissa's magic slid over her mind like silk, coaxing her thoughts in another direction, away from work. Narcissa wasn't just invading her mind—she was pushing.

"Narcissa," Hermione warned again, this time more firmly, her tone sharper. "I have a deadline. Don't start this now."

Narcissa's smile deepened, her fingers trailing lightly over the back of Hermione's chair as she moved behind her, her presence now palpable, her magic pressing more insistently against Hermione's mind. "You work so hard for everyone else," Narcissa murmured, her voice a soft purr as she leaned down, her breath warm against Hermione's ear. "But when do you allow yourself to indulge?"

Hermione stiffened slightly, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as she tried to block out the soft pull of Narcissa's magic. "I don't have time for indulgences," she muttered, her voice strained with effort as she tried to maintain focus. "And you know that."

But Narcissa wasn't listening. With a deft touch, her magic slipped deeper into Hermione's mind, nudging aside her defenses with an almost lazy ease. She didn't force her way in—that wasn't Narcissa's style. No, she preferred a more… persuasive approach.

A sudden rush of images flooded Hermione's mind, not her own but Narcissa's. She could feel them as if they were her own thoughts, invading her concentration, filling her head with scenes of heated kisses, tangled sheets, and skin pressed against skin. Every fantasy Narcissa had been harboring, every dark and private desire, poured into Hermione's mind with an unrelenting intensity.

Hermione's breath hitched, her pulse quickening as she gripped the edge of her desk. "Narcissa…" she muttered through gritted teeth, struggling to block out the images, but it was useless. The magic was too insistent, too intimate.

"Shh," Narcissa whispered, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear as her hand rested lightly on her wife's shoulder. "Just relax. Let me in."

The images grew clearer, more vivid. Narcissa's fantasies took shape in Hermione's mind—her wife's body arching beneath her touch, the sound of Narcissa's breathless moans filling her ears, the way her skin felt, soft and pliant, beneath her fingers. Hermione's heart raced, her concentration shattered as Narcissa's desires bled into her consciousness, overwhelming her senses.

"I know what you need, Hermione," Narcissa whispered, her voice a soft, hypnotic murmur. "I know what you want. Stop fighting me."

Hermione clenched her jaw, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she fought to regain control. "I'm working," she ground out, though the words felt weak, hollow.

"You won't be for long," Narcissa replied, her voice a silken purr. Her hand slid down to rest on the back of Hermione's neck, her touch firm but gentle, a reminder of her control.

Hermione tried to push back against the flood of fantasies, tried to block out the insistent press of Narcissa's magic, but the images were relentless. Narcissa was too skilled at this game, too practiced at weaving her desires into Hermione's mind. And worse, Hermione's own body was betraying her, heat pooling low in her belly as the images became harder to ignore.

Narcissa's fingers tightened slightly on the back of Hermione's neck as she leaned down, her lips ghosting over Hermione's ear. "I want you to stop pretending you don't want this," she murmured, her voice low and filled with dark amusement. "I know you feel it too."

Hermione's breath came in short, uneven bursts, her hands gripping the desk as the wave of desire hit her full force. She couldn't fight it anymore. Not with Narcissa in her mind, pushing all her fantasies into her head, making her feel every touch, every caress, as if it were real.

"Narcissa," Hermione gasped, her voice barely a whisper now, her resolve crumbling.

"Yes, darling?" Narcissa whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath Hermione's ear. "Say it."

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, her mind drowning in the vivid fantasies Narcissa had woven for her. "I can't focus."

Narcissa smiled, her fingers sliding down the length of Hermione's spine, sending a shiver through her wife's body. "That's the point."

Hermione's mind swam in the haze of Narcissa's magic, the vivid images becoming more than just fantasies—they were sensations. Every brush of skin, every moan, every whisper Narcissa conjured in her mind felt real. Too real. Hermione's breath hitched again, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of her desk, trying to hold on to any sliver of control.

But it was slipping. Fast.

"You're losing, darling," Narcissa murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You always try so hard to resist me… but we both know how this ends."

Hermione's pulse pounded in her ears, the soft, insistent press of Narcissa's magic clouding her thoughts. She tried to focus on the papers scattered in front of her, the work she had to finish. But Narcissa's influence was relentless, filling her mind with the taste of her skin, the heat of her breath, the way she moaned Hermione's name in those moments where all her careful composure slipped away.

"Narcissa…" Hermione's voice faltered, barely more than a gasp.

Narcissa chuckled softly, the sound a low purr of triumph. Her hand slid from Hermione's neck down to her waist, tracing lazy circles over her hip. "You can stop pretending now, Hermione," she whispered, her breath warm against Hermione's ear. "I can feel how much you want me."

Hermione gritted her teeth, her body stiffening against the wave of pleasure Narcissa's words stirred within her. She should push back. She should tell Narcissa to stop. But the weight of her wife's magic—filling her mind, her senses—made it impossible to hold on to the walls she'd tried so hard to build.

"I… I need to finish this," Hermione managed, though her voice was shaky, her resistance more of a formality now than anything else.

Narcissa laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. She knew she had won. Her hand slid down lower, teasing the waistband of Hermione's trousers, her touch both tantalizing and maddening. "No, darling," she whispered, her voice honeyed and smooth. "You need me."

The papers in front of the Gryffindor blurred, her vision clouding as the heat pooling between her legs became impossible to ignore. Her wife was right—she was losing. She couldn't hold on any longer.

And Narcissa knew it.

The older witch's fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath Hermione's waistband, her touch feather-light and delicate. "That's it, my love," she whispered, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear as her fingers moved with slow, deliberate pressure. "Let go. Let me in."

Hermione gasped, her body trembling under her lover's touch, her mind swirling with the fantasies Narcissa had planted so firmly in her head. She could feel Narcissa's magic moving deeper, taking over her senses, bending her will with each brush of her fingers.

"I should…" Hermione started, but the words died on her lips as Narcissa's fingers caressed her damp folds, brushing only lightly over her clit.

"You should what?" Narcissa challenged, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Be a good little wife and let me take care of you?"

Hermione shuddered, her body arching involuntarily toward Narcissa's touch. "I… I can't…"

"You can," Narcissa replied, her voice soft but filled with a dark edge of command. Her fingers pressed into her young lover, curling. "And you will."

Hermione's control snapped. The quill slipped from her hand, falling to the desk with a soft thud as she leaned back against Narcissa, surrendering to the older witch.

"Good girl," Narcissa purred. "Now, let's see what I can do to help you… relax."

Narcissa's fingers pressed deeper, curling harder as she found the rough spot that made her wife go wild. Hermione moaned, loudly, the deep rich sound reverberating against the walls.

"There you go, darling," Narcissa murmured, coaxing more gasps and moans from her wife. "Doesn't it feel better when you stop pretending?"

Hermione's grip on the desk loosened, her hands trembling as the last remnants of her resistance crumbled. She could feel the heat building inside her, spreading through her veins like fire, ignited by the soft press of Narcissa's fingers and the overwhelming flood of magic filling her mind. Her body reacted instinctively, hips tilting toward Narcissa's hand, seeking more of the touch she craved.

"Narcissa," Hermione gasped, her voice breathless, barely able to hold onto her thoughts as waves of pleasure rippled through her.

"That's it. You were always going to break, my love. You always do."

Hermione's chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes squeezing shut as Narcissa's fingers moved faster now, the teasing replaced by something more insistent, more demanding. The pleasure built higher, her mind clouded with a thick fog of desire, driven by the images Narcissa had planted in her head. Each image flared brightly in her mind—her body entwined with Narcissa's, their breath mingling, skin pressed against skin—until it became impossible to tell where her thoughts ended and Narcissa's fantasies began.

"You feel so good like this," Narcissa continued, her voice a low hum of satisfaction as she felt Hermione tremble beneath her. "So pliant. So perfect."

Hermione'sheart pounded in her chest, her entire body flushed with heat. She needed her wife to cool the fire rushing through her veins, to soothe the ache deep within her chest.

"You're mine, Hermione," Narcissa whispered, her lips grazing the shell of Hermione's ear, her breath warm and commanding. "I want you to remember that."

Hermione's mind was too fogged with pleasure to respond, too far gone to do anything but nod in wordless submission. Narcissa's grip tightened around her waist, holding her in place as her fingers moved faster, pushing Hermione toward the edge of release. "You'll come when I say, darling. Not a moment before."

Hermione's body shook as she teetered on the edge, so close she could taste it. Her fingers dug into the wood of her desk.

"Not yet," Narcissa commanded, her voice firm, her magic still pressing into Hermione's mind, keeping her on the precipice of release. "Not until I tell you."

Hermione whimpered as she fought to hold back, to obey Narcissa's command despite how desperately she wanted to let go.

Narcissa's hand slowed just enough to keep Hermione on edge, teasing her, drawing out the tension until every nerve in her body was alight with raw, aching desire. "So eager to please," Narcissa whispered, her tone filled with dark amusement. "That's what I love about you."

Hermione's hands shook, her entire being focused on Narcissa's voice, waiting, needing to hear the words that would allow her release.

"Now," Narcissa whispered, her fingers returning with a viscous pace, pressing hard into that spot against her inner wall that made her see stars. The command in her voice unmistakable. "Come for me, darling."

Hermione's body shattered under the force of Narcissa's words, the release crashing over her in waves so powerful they left her breathless. She cried out, her hands gripping the desk as her body convulsed, every muscle tensing as the pleasure tore through her, overwhelming her senses, drowning her in the intensity of it.

Narcissa held her tightly, her fingers still moving as she coaxed every last bit of pleasure from Hermione, her lips brushing soft kisses along Hermione's neck, her magic still wrapped around her mind like a lover's embrace. "That's it," Narcissa whispered, her voice filled with quiet satisfaction. "Such a good girl."

Hermione slumped against the desk, her body spent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the aftershocks of her release trembled through her. Narcissa's hand slid from her waist, her fingers trailing lightly over Hermione's back as she stepped away, her gaze lingering on her wife with a small, satisfied smile.

"Now, darling," Narcissa said, her voice still soft but filled with the sharp edge of control, "you can get back to work."