Day 14 – Revenge Sex/Degradation/Mirror Play

Day 14 – Revenge Sex/Degradation/Mirror Play

Hermione stood in front of the full-length mirror, but her focus wasn't on her own image. It was on Narcissa—Narcissa, kneeling in front of the mirror, her pristine, elegant facade shattered by the reality of her submission.

"You always thought you were better than me, didn't you?" Hermione's voice was calm, almost cold, as she reached out, her fingers curling beneath Narcissa's chin and forcing her to look at their reflection. "Pure-blood, aristocrat, Malfoy wife," she continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "But look at you now."

Narcissa's blue eyes met hers in the mirror, wide and filled with a mixture of defiance and shame. She was gagged, a leather strap buckled tightly around her head, keeping her silent, her lips stretched around the gag. Her cheeks were flushed, her body bare except for the delicate black lace lingerie that clung to her like a final shred of dignity. But even that was fraying. Hermione's magic had already torn through the lace in several places, leaving Narcissa exposed, vulnerable, and at Hermione's mercy.

"Do you think I've forgotten?" Hermione continued, her voice low as she leaned down, her lips brushing against Narcissa's ear, making her shiver. "What you did during the war? What your family did?"

Narcissa's gaze faltered, her eyes darting down to the floor for a moment, but Hermione's fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to keep her gaze on the mirror. "No," Hermione murmured, her voice growing darker, more dangerous. "You don't get to look away."

Hermione straightened, her eyes still fixed on the reflection in the mirror as her other hand moved down, tracing a line along Narcissa's exposed back, her fingers trailing lightly over her skin, teasing but not gentle. It was a touch filled with control, with power, and Narcissa's body trembled under it.

"You may not have killed anyone directly," Hermione whispered, her voice soft but sharp as a blade, "but you stood by and watched. You let it happen. And now you think you can pretend you're innocent?" She scoffed, her fingers digging into Narcissa's skin hard enough to leave faint red marks. "Not today, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa whimpered softly behind the gag, her body shaking as Hermione's words cut through her, each one a reminder of the power Hermione held now. The war had changed things. It had given Hermione the upper hand—a position she hadn't forgotten. Bellatrix was dead, and with her gone, Narcissa was the next best thing. She might not be the one who had tortured Hermione, but she was close enough. Close enough for Hermione to feel the satisfaction of revenge.

"You know," Hermione continued, her fingers trailing down Narcissa's spine until they rested at the small of her back, "you were so sure of yourself. Of your blood, of your position. But now… now look at you."

She let her fingers trace the waistband of Narcissa's delicate lace panties as she pulled them down. Her magic hummed softly in the air as she prepared for what was coming next. "How perfect do you feel," Hermione mused darkly, "knowing you're on your knees for a Muggle-born?"

Narcissa's breath hitched, her body stiffening at the sharp, degrading words. She whimpered again, but the gag kept her silent, her only response the faint trembling of her body as Hermione's words hit their mark. Hermione smirked at the reaction, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she pressed her fingers just a little harder against Narcissa's skin.

"That's right," Hermione purred, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as her magic sparked to life, a shimmering glow surrounding her hand as she conjured the magical strap-on. "You're not so perfect anymore, are you, Narcissa?"

The magical strap-on formed slowly, shimmering as it took shape in front of the mirror, and Hermione stepped back just enough to allow the full effect to sink in. The strap-on glistened with the sheen of magic, larger and more imposing than anything real, and it pulsed faintly as if alive. Narcissa's eyes widened in the mirror, her body trembling as she realized what was about to happen.

Hermione's gaze never left Narcissa's reflection, her eyes filled with a dark, unrelenting hunger as she stepped forward, pressing the magical strap-on against Narcissa's exposed entrance. She didn't push in yet—not fully—but the pressure was enough to make Narcissa's body tense, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts around the gag.

"Look at yourself," Hermione commanded, her voice like ice as she grabbed Narcissa's hair, yanking her head up to force her to watch. "I want you to see what you've become."

Narcissa's eyes locked onto the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of fear and shame. She could see the way her body trembled, the way her breath hitched as Hermione pressed harder against her, the magical strap-on teasing her folds, threatening to push deeper at any moment.

"You were always so proud of your blood status," Hermione continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "Always looking down on people like me. And now look at you—about to get fucked by the very thing you despised."

Narcissa whimpered, her body trembling with a mixture of fear, shame, and—though she would never admit it—desire. Her reflection in the mirror was a twisted parody of the woman she used to be: elegant, refined, always in control. But now? Now she was nothing more than a toy for Hermione to use, her body bending to the will of the very Muggle-born she had once considered beneath her.

"Tell me, Narcissa," Hermione whispered, her voice soft but deadly as she leaned down, her breath hot against Narcissa's ear. "How does it feel to know that this is what you've become?"

Narcissa's body shuddered, a soft moan escaping from behind the gag as Hermione finally pushed forward, the magical strap-on sliding inside her with a slow, eased motion. Narcissa's eyes squeezed shut for a moment, her body tensing at the sudden intrusion, but Hermione's grip on her hair tightened, forcing her to look.

"Don't close your eyes," Hermione growled, her voice low and commanding. "Watch."

Narcissa's eyes fluttered open again, her gaze locking on the mirror as Hermione began to thrust, her movements slow at first, almost teasing. The reflection showed everything—the way Narcissa's body trembled, the way her breath hitched with each thrust, the way her pale skin flushed with heat.

"You like this, don't you?" Hermione whispered, her voice filled with dark amusement. "You pretend to be so perfect, so untouchable. But deep down, you wanted to be a slut."

Narcissa whimpered, her body betraying her as the pleasure began to mix with the shame, the degradation only making it more intense. Hermione's thrusts grew harder, her hand gripping Narcissa's hair tighter as she forced her to watch, the sound of their bodies moving together filling the room.

"Say it," Hermione demanded, her voice sharp as she slammed into Narcissa with more force. "Admit it. Admit what you are."

Narcissa's moans grew louder, muffled by the gag, her body arching toward Hermione's thrusts despite the shame burning through her. Hermione watched her in the mirror, a cruel smile tugging at her lips as she saw the way Narcissa's body responded, unable to hide the truth any longer.

"You're nothing," Hermione growled, her thrusts relentless now, the magical strap-on pulsing inside Narcissa with each movement. "Nothing but a whore for a Muggle-born."

Narcissa's body tensed, her head falling forward as the degradation finally broke her. The shame, the pleasure, the raw humiliation of it all—it was too much.

Hermione smirked, her grip on Narcissa's hair tightening as she leaned down, her lips brushing against her wife's ear once more. "Look at you," she whispered, her voice soft but dripping with disdain. "Pathetic."

Narcissa trembled under Hermione's grasp, her eyes glazed with a mixture of shame and arousal as she was forced to watch herself in the mirror. The degradation in Hermione's words cut deep, each one slicing away the layers of aristocratic pride she had so carefully maintained over the years. But it was the pleasure—undeniable, raw, and humiliating—that had her body betraying her, responding to every thrust, every cruel word.

Hermione's gaze stayed locked on the reflection in front of her, watching the way Narcissa's breath hitched, how her pale skin flushed deeper, the sweat beading at her temples. "I know you feel it," Hermione hissed, her thrusts sharp and precise, the magical strap-on filling Narcissa with unrelenting force. "I can feel how wet you are."

Narcissa whimpered, the gag in her mouth stifling her desperate moans as her body continued to react against her will. The sight of herself—kneeling, bent over, submitting to a Muggle-born—was almost too much. Her lips stretched around the gag, her eyes burning with shame as Hermione continued to fuck her, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge she didn't want to admit she craved.

"You pretended for so long, didn't you?" Hermione's voice was cold, but there was a hint of satisfaction in it as she tugged harder on Narcissa's hair, forcing her head up higher so she couldn't escape the sight in the mirror. "Pretended to be above all of this. Pure-blood. Untouchable. But deep down, you wanted this. You wanted to milk my strap."

Narcissa's eyes fluttered, her body arching back toward Hermione involuntarily as the strap-on hit just the right spot inside her. Her hands clenched uselessly at the floor, her body trembling with the effort it took to hold back, to keep some shred of control. But there was none. Not anymore.

Hermione's lips curled into a dark, twisted smile as she watched the way Narcissa's body betrayed her. "You're nothing but a filthy slut for me now," she murmured, her voice low and dripping with contempt. "For a Muggle-born, no less."

The words hit hard, and Hermione could feel the way Narcissa's body tensed, the shame flooding through her with every degrading syllable. But beneath that shame was undeniable arousal, the kind that Narcissa couldn't hide no matter how hard she tried. Her breathing came faster, her moans growing louder despite the gag, her hips starting to move in time with Hermione's thrusts.

Hermione chuckled darkly, her grip on Narcissa's hair tightening. "Look at you, Narcissa," she commanded, her voice filled with icy control. "I want you to see exactly what you've become."

Narcissa's breath hitched, her eyes flicking back to the mirror. The sight was obscene—her body shaking with each powerful thrust, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her face flushed, mouth stretched around the gag. She looked utterly wrecked, a far cry from the composed, untouchable woman she had always been.

Hermione's hand slid from Narcissa's hair down to her throat, her fingers wrapping around the delicate column of her neck, squeezing just enough to remind Narcissa who was in control. "You're mine now," Hermione whispered, her voice dark and possessive. "You'll do whatever I want, whenever I want. And you'll love every second of it."

Narcissa whimpered again, her body shuddering under Hermione's touch, the mix of fear, shame, and raw arousal pushing her further toward the edge. She hated herself for it—for the way her body craved the release that Hermione was driving her toward. But she couldn't stop it.

Hermione's thrusts grew harder, more deliberate, the magical strap-on pulsing inside Narcissa with each movement, stretching her, filling her completely. "Do you feel it?" Hermione hissed, her fingers tightening around Narcissa's throat. "Do you feel how perfectly you take me?"

Narcissa moaned, her body arching back into Hermione's thrusts as her breath came in shallow gasps. Her hips moved in time with Hermione's now, desperate, her need overwhelming any remnants of pride. She was close—so close it was almost painful—and Hermione knew it.

"Pathetic," Hermione spat, her hand releasing Narcissa's throat only to slide down her body, her fingers trailing over Narcissa's flushed skin until they found her swollen clit. She circled it slowly at first, teasing, drawing out Narcissa's agony as she pressed deeper inside her with each thrust.

Narcissa's body jerked, her hips bucking involuntarily toward Hermione's hand as she felt the pleasure building higher and higher. But Hermione's grip on her was unyielding, keeping her on the edge, never letting her fall over.

"You don't deserve to come," Hermione growled, her fingers brushing lightly over Narcissa's clit, just enough to keep her trembling, aching for release. "Not after everything you've done. But I'm going to make you, just to see how far you've fallen."

Narcissa's moans grew louder, her body shaking as she fought to hold herself together, but Hermione's words only pushed her closer to the brink. The degradation, the control, the relentless thrusts—it was all too much. Her mind was spinning, her body betraying her completely.

Hermione leaned down, her breath hot against Narcissa's ear as she whispered, "You're nothing without me."

With a final, hard thrust, Hermione's fingers pressed against Narcissa's clit, sending her tumbling over the edge. Narcissa's body convulsed, her eyes squeezing shut as a muffled cry escaped around the gag. Her release hit her like a tidal wave, overwhelming her senses as her body shook, her muscles tensing and trembling with the force of it.

Hermione didn't stop. Her thrusts continued, relentless, pushing Narcissa through the waves of pleasure until she was shaking, her body spent and exhausted.

Finally, Hermione slowed, pulling back just enough to watch Narcissa in the mirror. The sight of her—flushed, wrecked, broken—was exactly what Hermione had wanted.

"Look at yourself," Hermione whispered, her voice soft but filled with cold satisfaction. "You're mine now. You'll never be anything more."