Author's Note: A note about the content and topic of this story:
Yeah, many aspects of this fic are very realistic and believable, but Hermione's family isn't really one of them. There isn't any realistic situation I can imagine where a parent engaging in bondage or D/s with their child could be healthy like it is portrayed here. I think that would pretty much always be abusive, if for no other reason than a child in that situation no matter how mature can't really have informed consent. Even if you have no moral problem with incest itself, a guardian engaging in sexual D/s with their dependent pretty much is always going to be a very bad thing for the teenager.
So then, why did I structure the story this way if I put so much care into making the other parts so realistic and true to life?
First, it's a matter of convenience. Of all the characters that are established to exist in Harry Potter but also blank enough for me to give this kind of lifestyle backstory, Hermione's parents are by far the most conveniently placed to take action and cause change immediately without me having to go through several chapters connecting my OC's with Hermione and Harry. It's also convenient that I can lean on some of the shared emotional history that would obviously exist between Hermione and them, as well as the inherent trust that would provide to Harry.
Second, it's a shortcut. A real D/s relationship generally takes time and effort to build the kind of trust that is really necessary for it. Not always, but for what I'm trying to do here certainly. There are several degrees of that which I don't have to explicitly justify because I made the character's Hermione's parents.
Third, it allows me to keep the characters purely nurturing even when engaging in extremely sexual activities with Harry and Hermione. Like I said, that kind of 'healthy' relationship isn't really true to life in a sense, but making a relationship this sexual between two people be based so completely in nurture instead of attraction would be very difficult to accept for most readers.
So while I think many aspects of this story are very realistic, I want to make sure everyone understands that this story should not be taken as an argument that doing this kind of thing with your children is okay. It would be abusive, criminal, and frankly heart-wrenching. We are only getting away with it here because this is a complete fantasy story about magic, and wizards, and so on; and because we all know that none of these are real people. Elizabeth and Michael, additionally, are not purely good people, they're flawed and have failings like everyone.
Elizabeth and Michael should not be taken as stand-ins for me, the author. While obviously a lot of things they talk about has to draw on things I know about from personal experience, they do say things and do things that I would disagree with.
Hermione waved goodbye to her friends, leaving the platform for the summer with her parents. She knew that the fiasco with rescuing Sirius, and all the things surrounding this last year, meant she finally had to explain to her parents exactly what had been happening at school the last few years. She'd done a good job of keeping the events of her life at school from her parents, but that couldn't continue. That's not how good girls behaved.
"Mum… dad…" she started as they got into the car.
"Yes, sweetheart?" her father called from the front, looking into the mirror as he began to pull out of the parking lot.
"I… you should punish me." Hermione's face began to blaze and she averted her gaze, but even so she could still feel the piercing eyes of her parents. A few seconds passed. "What we talked about, after first year and second year… I can't wait any more."
"Sweetie," her mom started slowly. "You know that's not something we'll let you decide until you're 15. We've talked about this."
"Why do you think you should be punished?" her father asked.
"I… I haven't been a good girl," Hermione said softly. "I haven't told you about the things happening at school."
Another few moments of silence passed, and then her mother spoke again.
"Well why don't you tell us on the way home?"
And so she did. Once she started recounting the tales of her experiences at school, and what had really been happening, she couldn't slow herself down. It was like a dam bursting where once the process was started there was nothing that could stop it.
Her parents listened in silence, only speaking up here and there to ask clarifying questions. By the time Hermione was finished, and they were approaching home, their faces looked uncertain and cloudy to the young witch. She'd hated the distance that these lies had caused between her and her parents, and even though she knew they would be furious, she was glad they'd told him.
"I think…" Hermione's mother, Elizabeth, started. She glanced at her husband Michael. "Sweetie, why don't you take your things up to your room. Your father and I will discuss this."
Hermione's head hung low as she mumbled an acknowledgment, and in a few seconds she had started inside the house with her things. Michael and Elizabeth sat in the front seats for a few seconds in quiet before Elizabeth finally spoke up.
"What should we do Michael? You know that removing her from the school would devastate her."
"Yes," Michael agreed, nodding slowly. "I'm more confused by her request. She wants us to punish her? I understand the feeling she's expressing, and why, but a part of me… Elizabeth, should we have tried to convince her this wasn't okay, this lifestyle?"
Elizabeth looked at her husband as if he were stupid.
"Michael, that girl is the most intelligent and mature 14-year-old girl that I've ever met in my life. Our daughter may have many flaws, but I don't think any of them were caused by of our lifestyle."
"We agreed though that we wouldn't allow her to choose this option until she was 15."
"That will happen in a few months while she's at school." Elizabeth paused for a moment. "Perhaps we shouldn't be quite as rigid about age. Michael, it sounds like she really needs us."
"Yes," Michael agreed. "But you know what this is like. If you make this kind of choice for the wrong reasons, it can be unhealthy. Plus, where will we find the right partners for her?"
Elizabeth scoffed at the question.
"Did you hear anything our daughter told us?" she asked. "Obviously it has to be someone she goes to school with, and it's equally obvious that the boy she mentioned, Harry Potter, is in desperate need of control in his life." She paused. "A part of me wonders if she brought it up to us knowing that it would benefit him. If she's not just doing this for his benefit, to give him that kind of control."
"So then you think we should agree?" Michael asked cautiously.
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "I do."
A long silence passed between them, and Elizabeth decided to explain further.
"Michael… you remember the conversation we had when Hermione first asked us for this, after first year?"
"Of course I do," Michael said with a wry grin. "Nothing will ever make me forget the intense discomfort of my twelve year old daughter trying to make a logical argument for being sexually dominated by her parents." He looked at Elizabeth more seriously. "Why?"
"Because, we agreed then that we'd reconsider if she was still having trouble with this after fourth year." Elizabeth's face turned to one of concern. "But did you hear what our daughter described about this last year? I know we said we'd make her wait one more year before reconsidering, but didn't you catch the things she was saying about this year, and the stress she was under?" Elizabeth paused. "Michael, Hermione dropped a class! She didn't even drop it, she quit it! She just walked out and never went back!"
Michael was silent but nodded slightly.
"Or," Elizabeth pressed on, "how about the incident with the broom that she was describing? After all the things we've heard about Harry, does it make sense to you that she pressed so hard on that? That she went behind his back on it? I can understand her concern and it was reasonable, but to do so without even really trying to convince him?" Elizabeth's face hardened. "Michael, this is what has been stressing her so much. All of these dangers, all of these things, protecting her friends, her boys. And that's on top of the normal academic drive and will to succeed that our daughter has always had. No wonder she's brought this up every single summer."
"I do see your point," Michael said, not sounding particularly happy about it. "But… it has to be you, Liz. I can't… I can't bring myself to engage in that directly with my own daughter. Do you think you're up for it? Can you handle it?"
"For our daughter?" Elizabeth replied. "For her, to protect her, to help her succeed… Michael… I will do anything."
Hermione sat in her room, wondering what her parents would decide.
I asked to be punished, she gulped. But the longer she thought about it the more sure she was of her request.
Hermione had not been raised in a normal house-hold. She knew this from a very young age. Her parents were somewhat affluent due to their professions, and they were also both highly intelligent people who loved learning and the search for knowledge. Those alone would separate her from many other families.
But it wasn't that which made her family so abnormal, it was the relationship her parents shared.
Since before she'd been born her parents had engaged in a very particular kind of sexual dynamic, one where there was an exchange of control and power. They had never hidden it from her, but they'd also never exposed her to it directly. At least on purpose.
Many would probably find it hard to believe that the righteous and independent Hermione has a mother who most of the time enjoyed being a slave to her husband. But that was the key, it had always been the key. Her mother enjoyed it. Her mother chose it.
Several of Hermione's opinions and tendencies had been shaped by this experience. She felt a strong appeal for authority, as it reminded her of the family she'd observed as a child. She felt driven to accomplish as much as possible, to learn as much as possible, because her parents had always taught her that choice was at the core of everything, and the more choices she had the more freedom she enjoyed. She despised non-consensual bondage of any kind, because to her it was a perversion of what made submission so beautiful: that the submissive was choosing to submit.
Without that choice… what did it matter?
The more informed the choice, the more beautiful the submission was in her opinion. It's one of the things that made her so proud of her parents. They were two of the most independent and intelligent people she knew, and the fact that they made the choices they did only emphasized that instead of taking away from it.
And that was the choice she wanted to make now. She needed that freedom. The freedom of giving up control and submitting. Of making one choice on her own that removed the burden of making many other choices at all.
Her parents had always answered her questions about the subject, and in many cases provided her with reading material to explore her questions in more depth. But they had always refused to let her observe them, saying that they were not going to allow her own emotional and mental development to be skewed in such a way. She had insisted once, several years ago, making a reasoned and impassioned argument, but they'd told her that she wouldn't be allowed that choice until she was 15. They hadn't pushed her towards this lifestyle, they'd just refused to lie to her about.
But she knew she needed this. She needed someone to reign in her increasingly manic moods, and she needed to give up the burden of some of the choices she was being presented with.
Many would probably think that growing up in such a family meant an early and constant exposure to the lewd and the sexual, but she'd actually never seen her parents in anything more revealing that rather modest swim wear. Again, on purpose.
But she knew what she wanted, and what she needed. And she knew what Harry needed too. He needed this from her, a thing to control and to use, and it was just good fortune that she needed the other side of it just as badly.
She was startled out of her thoughts as someone knocked on her door. It had to be her mother, the knocking was too gentle.
"Come in," she called out softly.
Elizabeth walked into the room carrying a bag, closing the door softly behind her, and sat down next to Hermione.
"You know what you're asking for, right?" Elizabeth finally asked gently.
Hermione considered the question. It was a fair one, but she'd had more than enough time and experiences to properly consider her decision.
Hermione had always, even from a very early age, observed some of the quirks in her parent's relationship. Her mother seemed to always defer to her father's decisions, and often looked down when he was explaining something to her. When Hermione had copied this behavior with her father around age six, Elizabeth and Michael had both explained to her that it was something some adults did with each other, but that Hermione should look at her parents when they were speaking so they knew she was paying attention.
"How do you know mum is listening, dad?" the small girl had asked. "She looks down."
"Your mum always listens to me princess," Michael had told her with a smile. "It's something special mum and dad share."
Hermione hadn't quite understood how it was different from what other parents shared until a few years later when she had stumbled upon a scene that clearly wasn't intended for her. School had gotten out and Hermione had headed straight home, which was extremely unusual. Nearly every single day Hermione stayed after class to go through books in the library, or talk to a teacher. But this day the ten year old girl had been tormented for her buck-teeth and wild hair by three other girls in her class. There had been a substitute, which the three girls had taken as license to be as nasty as possible.
Hermione had been worried that if she stayed after they might come and find her. She was already so isolated in school, really only seeking out the company of her teachers, that she wasn't sure how to deal with the girls if she had been confronted on her own. So she had fled the school as soon as the day was out, and arrived home nearly two hours earlier than normal.
Walking up to the front door she had already known something was different today, because both of her parents vehicles were in the driveway. Normally they stayed much later than this at their practice, which was another reason that Hermione normally stayed late at school to read. After she'd opened the front door and found the ground floor empty, she'd walked up the stairs curiously until she'd heard some kind of smacking sound coming from her parents room.
Worried they might be in some kind of trouble, Hermione had bounded up the last few steps approaching the door. As she drew nearer, she was able to hear her mother's voice after the last two smacking sounds.
"Thank you Master!… Thank you Master!"
Pushing the door open, Hermione had screamed at seeing her father holding some kind of device clearly meant to harm someone and her mother clearly being harmed. The scream had scared both Michael and Elizabeth as well, each letting out a startled yelp. Elizabeth, being bound, wasn't able to do anything, but Michael had taken a step towards their daughter.
"Stay away!" Hermione had shouted, taking a few steps back. The girl had been pleased to see that her father did indeed stop, and she'd been about to announce her intention to phone the authorities, when he'd reached down and started removing all of the restraints her mother was in.
This was confusing. Perhaps he knew he was caught out, and was giving up quietly? Hermione's eyes focused on her mother and only just now noticed that she was naked. Face blazing in embarrassment and horror, Hermione looked away. A few moments later she heard Elizabeth stand up free of the restraints, put on some clothes, and approach her.
"Come on sweetie, let's go talk."
Hermione was now thoroughly confused. Hadn't dad gone mad or something? She didn't see any other explanation for what she'd walked in on. But her confusion made it difficult for her to be decisive about action, and so she'd followed her mother down the stairs and into the kitchen where Elizabeth had started making some tea.
"Mom, what… you don't… should I call—"
"No, sweetie, I want you to listen," Elizabeth had told her. "But like any proper conversation, we will be having it over tea." Elizabeth turned and looked at her daughter for a few moments. "You're extremely intelligent, Hermione. I want you to spend the time the water takes to boil thinking through what questions you have, and what assumptions you're making."
And so, she did.
Her questions were numerous. Why aren't you angry? How long has this been going on? How could dad be an abuser? How had she never noticed? What were they going to do?
To Hermione's mind, there were only two answers to the first question: either her mother wasn't angry because she wanted what had been witnessed to happen, or because she was mentally abused and damaged enough to not understand what was happening.
But the second option was difficult for Hermione to accept, if for no other reason than the fact that the values driving Hermione's indignation were values that her mother had taught her. She couldn't come up with any plausible explanation for why her mother might have wanted what she'd witnessed to happen though. There was some critical piece of information that Hermione was missing, and it was driving her absolutely up the wall to wait for it. This was far worse than having to go slow in classes because other students weren't studying.
Ironically though, Hermione's frustration with having to wait had distracted her from the passage of time, and her thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth placing a cup of tea in front of her. It was herbal tea, and unsweetened. No sugar and no caffeine, the only kind she was allowed to have.
"Do you remember the talk I gave you a few months ago about sex, sweetie?" Elizabeth asked, drawing Hermione's attention. Hermione looked at her confused. That was quite the change of subject.
"What you just saw," Elizabeth interrupted again, "is related to sex."
Hermione was now too dumbfounded to be embarrassed by revisiting this horrifying discussion.
"What?" Hermione replied faintly. "But… dad had his clothes on, and he wasn't inside you, and—" Hermione snapped her mouth closed and looked away, just realizing what she'd said.
Dear Lord, Hermione thought. This is an awkwardness that will never wear off.
"There is much more to sex than the basics that I covered before, or that your classes did," Elizabeth explained patiently. "For adults, sex usually means the sharing of an intimate pleasure of some kind, often a physical pleasure."
"Pleasure!?" Hermione nearly shouted back. "He was hitting you! With… With some kind of whip or flog or—"
"Hermione," Elizabeth interrupted again. "I don't expect you to fully understand, but I was enjoying what you saw. Genuinely enjoying it. You don't have to know why, but please trust that I am being truthful."
That sobered Hermione's thoughts rather sharply. Neither of her parents ever lied to her. Sometimes they refused to give her full answers, but they never hid that fact either. Instead they usually explained the limitation of what they were willing to tell her. But they didn't lie.
Yes, but is she in her right mind? Hermione couldn't stop the thought from racing through her head again. How could the woman that taught me to be a feminist, the woman that taught me about equality… want to experience what I just saw?
"Because, sweetie, sometimes I just want to… be. To let it all go." Elizabeth took a sip of her tea. "Do you ever experience the pleasure of just… existing without any kind of worry?"
"Not really," Hermione answered with a frown.
"Can you imagine it?"
Hermione tried to. Having a period of time where all the stress, and pressure, and neuroticism, and expectation, and worry just weren't there. Her mind had honestly never considered the idea that being able to avoid all those things, even temporarily, might be possible. But now that she had she thought she understood why such a feeling might be worth a little physical pain. But how those two things were connected still didn't make any sense.
"How… does it do that? What I saw?"
Elizabeth looked at her daughter for several moments before standing up and moving into the kitchen. Hermione watched curiously as her mother opened a cupboard that she knew held the baking supplies. She reached up to the very top shelf and pulled out… books? Three books. Why had they been up there?
Because mum knew it was the only place in the house that a book might hide from me reading it, Hermione reasoned.
Elizabeth walked back and set the books down in front of Hermione.
"Go ahead and read these books, sweetie. They are far more complete in their explanation than I could hope to be. Once you've read them, I'll answer questions about the ideas."
Hermione nodded and collected the books, running up to her room.
Hermione lay in her dorm room bed panting, her mind working furiously over the fantasy she'd just finished having.
It had involved Harry, which was embarrassing enough on its own, and it also involved the only subject she'd ever learned about that she'd felt the desire to unlearn at times. About the type of relationship her parents shared.
This hadn't come out of nowhere, Hermione knew it wasn't as simple as following in her parent's footsteps, or the type of imitation that many children and teenagers went through. No, this fantasy had been triggered by a very specific event.
Not three weeks ago two boys had saved her from certain death when a mountain troll had made its way into the school. Though they were sometimes frustrating, and most definitely boys, they were now her best — and only — friends. She hoped at some point she could make friends with the girls in her dorm, but it hadn't happened yet.
The rescue, for that's what it really had been, had cemented their friendship with each other in a way that few things can except shared trauma of some kind. Thinking you're about to die was quite traumatic, she could now say from experience. But that alone isn't what had triggered the fantasy.
It was afterward when she'd run to the library. Hermione had already absorbed quite a lot about how magic worked and the types of ideas that were common in magic and among those who used it. After being saved it was with severe trepidation that Hermione had wondered at the magical implications of the event. She had only been a proper witch for a few months, but based on what she had experienced so far, she wouldn't have been surprised at learning she was now magically obligated to owe something to them for saving her life.
So she'd run the library and it had only taken her two days to find the entry on life debts. She'd breathed a sigh of relief after reading through the whole entry. It was nothing but a tradition, and the tradition was no longer observed anywhere. There was no kind of magical bond or force involved, and in the present day not even the most traditional families would observe the practice. It had been nearly two centuries since a formal life debt had been acknowledged, and the solution for that case had been the summary payment of one years wages.
Her mind had been playing fears through her head of this wondrous and integral part of her called 'magic' forcing her into some kind of slavery to two boys who were both nearly a full year younger than her. Even though they weren't even teenagers yet, Hermione's imagination had feared that it wouldn't take long before her modesty and pride were thoroughly violated in such a situation, and the prospect had caused absolute abject fear to course through her.
But there was nothing. Her magic wasn't going to betray her freedom or choice, and she could simply be a friend to them. An equal.
The fantasy though had been a vision into such a fate, but with a very different connotation. She had been feeling an urge, as she sometimes did now, and settled in to… relieve it. Casting a quick silencing charm (one of the very first spells she'd endeavored to learn), she'd let her mind drift and it had settled as it often did on something she had thought about that day.
Only in the fantasy she wasn't betrayed by her magic, she was offering herself to Harry in payment for his heroic efforts. He was the knight in shining armor, and she was his prize, and goodness it had been the hottest thing she had ever had a fantasy about. Her contented mind wondered at two things as she relaxed into her pillow, breathing softly: the first was why it had only been Harry, and the second was why it had been so appealing now when it had been so terrifying before.
She felt the answer to the first question was that Ron had been partially responsible for her being in danger in the first place. He'd apologized, and she'd accepted. True, it was Ron that had done the actual spell that knocked out the troll, but Ron's part in creating the situation in her mind made her feel more that they were even instead of her owing him anything personal. With Harry though, he'd thrown himself into danger with barely a second thought. Barely a first thought even. He'd just… acted.
The answer to the second question was more difficult to tease out, but she felt it must be related to the only difference she could tell between the two imagined scenarios. In the one she had feared, she was forced into the situation by her magic, completely and utterly at the mercy of someone else without any choice or recourse. In the other that she found disturbingly appealing, she was offering, even convincing Harry to 'claim his prize'.
She wasn't quite sure what exactly that difference meant, but it tickled a part of what she'd read a year and a half ago when her mother had given her those books. Choice was everything. There was a lot about those books, and her mother's answers afterward, that she hadn't really understood. But now she felt like she understood something about the difference that choice made at a much more visceral level.
When she got home for Christmas in a few weeks, she was going to read those books again. Perhaps this time she would understand more.
It had only been a week back from school, her first year completed, and Hermione was going absolutely crazy. Her study of the books again during the winter holidays had certainly given her a great deal of clarity about her fantasies, but it had also given her time to deeply consider the nature of what exactly she found erotic about it and why.
Hermione had so many things she wanted to be. She wanted to be involved in politics and making policy, which most would consider quite a precocious goal for a 12 year old. She wanted to prove that she could be as good as any pure-blooded witch or wizard, and on that count she was succeeding so far. She wanted to keep her friends safe and protected, and had discovered in her very first year just how difficult that might be.
These things all required an enormous amount of drive and effort from her. Study, learn, practice… study, learn, practice… study, learn, practice… It was absolutely exhausting, and she had started to find herself without the energy to do the simple things in her life after she had dedicated herself to the 'important matters'.
Taking care of her appearance had suffered greatly. It was never something she was overly concerned by, but her hair had fallen into an absolutely frightful state this year, and certain parts of basic grooming were sometimes being skipped because she just couldn't muster the drive to care about it all the time. She had been skipping showers here and there, sometimes skipping meals… the real alarm bells happened when she'd started skipping her teeth brushing. Not that she didn't have time, not that she was too dead tired, she just couldn't conjure the will to do it… all of her will was directed into the responsibilities she felt were more important.
Hermione thought of it like a resource. She only had so much will to spend per day, and when it was out that was it. Sure, she could do things, but often it was at the prompting of other people.
That's what was driving her submissive fantasies more than anything. More than her desire to mimic her mother who Hermione respected dearly, and more than a pure sense of power or lack of it. No, it was the ability to delegate her will to another person, to have that person carry the burden of 'everything else' that made it so appealing. In her fantasies, she could feel the complete release of tension that accompanied the idea of having a space that was completely separate from all the other things she dedicated herself to where she didn't need to make decisions or accomplish things. Where she could just be. But when that energy released, it was like all the other energy inside her released too, including all the sexual energy that her now developing body built up.
Hermione didn't need to be a slave like her mother was, she just needed… a relief valve. Scenes where she could let go, be an obedient little submissive, and recharge herself.
Unfortunately… or maybe it was fortunate, Hermione hadn't decided yet… her parents were the only people that she knew could help with this that she also trusted to help. While a part of her felt a bit perturbed by the prospect of doing anything sexual with her parents, there was a furiously independent part of her that balked at the idea of caring about that particular quirk. Her friends, and teachers, and even her parents themselves might not think she was capable of making such a decision at her age… that she couldn't truly choose or consent… but she knew fully what she was considering and why.
Besides, Hermione thought with a thrill, there was a certain… forbidden allure to doing something that was so frowned upon by proper society. Perhaps it tickled the part of her that wanted to thumb her nose at all the blood politics bigotry she had encountered, and the hateful ways her peers had treated her in primary school, but there was a kind of satisfaction in her mind at the thought of those people being bested by a girl who was also depraved enough to engage in the ultimate taboo of incest.
All of this is why she was standing at the top of the stairs, preparing herself to make a very odd request of her parents. She sighed and shook her head. There was nothing for it but to walk down the stairs and start, nothing would change until she did.
Entering the living room, her parents were seated and relaxing in the early weekend afternoon. She walked up in front of them and decided the best tactic was to just lay it out there without preamble.
Perhaps the hat was right to put me in Gryffindor…
"Mum, dad…" Hermione started, waiting until she had their attention. "I would like it if one or both you would be a Dom for me in limited sessions."
They stared at her, as if not really comprehending her request, so she pressed forward.
"I've been having fantasies about it since the holidays, and I just… I need it. I need to have a dynamic like this because I just don't have enough to keep pushing forward on everything at school on my own. I need that… release, and simplicity, and…"
Hermione trailed off, her well practiced words feeling feeble as she continued. This had been a mistake, maybe.
"Sweetie," Elizabeth said after a moderate silence, "I understand the need you're describing, but… I'm not sure that you really understand what you're asking for, and I'm also uncomfortable with… well, with being with my daughter in that way."
"Sweetheart," Michael said slowly. Hermione turned her gaze to his face and saw a visage of guilt and discomfort. "I'm… sorry." Michael looked away, anguish on his face. "I feel like we damaged you somehow, like what I did—"
"We talked about this dad," Hermione interjected. "That wasn't your fault, it was… it was mine, for being so nosy. Perhaps the two of you influenced this by at least introducing me to the basic concepts, but I'm certain that you didn't 'damage' me. Didn't the two of you explain to me that what you do isn't for everyone, but it's also nothing to be ashamed of?"
"And didn't you two also explain that sexual experimentation is a normal part of this stage of my life?"
"And wouldn't you rather help me with this than have me explore something as risky as submission with some random boy at school?"
"Hermione!" Elizabeth shouted, ending the girl's rant. "That's unfair and you know it!" Elizabeth turned to Michael for a moment and sighed.
"Princess," Michael said in almost a pleading tone. Hermione's conviction and determination wavered. Her father hadn't called her that in years, since she was a very little girl. "Of course I don't want you exploring this with some random boy at school, but I don't for a minute believe that the person would be random. You have so much time to explore this sort of thing, there's no rush to grow up in this way."
"Dad," Hermione said, much more gently than her near interrogation earlier had been. "I… I know. I'm not asking for this because I want to… be more mature, or rush things. I'm not in a hurry to grow up. I'm asking because… I really do need it. School, is so… stressful."
"Sweetie," Elizabeth asked concerned, "is something going on at school?"
"No," Hermione replied evenly, feeling dirty for using such a blatant lie, "it's just that magic is so much more work and stress than anything else I've ever done. I can't… I only have enough to push towards my goals, I don't have anything left for myself. I need someone else for that part."
"Don't you feel strange?" Michael asked, still clearly uncomfortable. "About asking us I mean? I can tell the magical world is quite different from ours, but I didn't get the impression that… sexual activity with your parents is something they would condone."
Hermione hesitated a bit.
"They… well, they are a bit more open about that sort of thing within the same family, but… you're right, it seems to be mostly limited to cousins. Still," Hermione pressed, "I'm not asking for that because you're my mum and dad, I'm asking because you're the only two I could trust."
Michael and Elizabeth were both silent for several seconds.
"Does that mean the fantasies you mentioned are about us sweetie?" Elizabeth asked. It was an admirable effort at being matter-of-fact, but Hermione could still detect the hint of unease.
"No… they're… well, they're not about either of you."
"Because," Hermione answered before the question was even finished. "I don't think he'd understand, and even if he did, he definitely wouldn't know how. Until… until that changes, I just need… I just need a session here or there. I'm not asking for the type of Total Power Exchange you have with each other, or for us to change anything outside of the sessions. You'll still be the same parents, I just need… that valve."
"You can't do this kind of thing and expect everything else to stay the same," Michael told her with a frown. He turned and looked at Elizabeth, and they seemed to agree to something, before he faced Hermione again. "Why don't you go upstairs to your room sweetheart, your mother and I will discuss this."
Hermione wanted to argue. She wanted to be here, to represent her request and make her case… but her protestations died in her throat at the look her father was giving. There was a finality to it. They wouldn't be deciding their answer with Hermione in the room.
"Alright," Hermione said, turning to leave. She paused at the doorway and looked back into the room. "I'm… sorry. For burdening you with this. I can tell how uncomfortable it's made you."
"Oh sweetie," Elizabeth replied with a truly warm expression, "no matter what it is, and no matter how uncomfortable it may be, telling us about what's bothering you is never a burden for us."
Hermione nodded and went to her room.
She tried to get some of her summer homework done, but she couldn't focus. She tried to read through a book, but frustratingly even that pastime failed her. So she simply waited. The seconds passed with an agonizing leisure that gave her far too many opportunities to reconsider if this had been the best idea. She was still confident in her request, but what if they said no and this changed things between them in way that not even magic had?
There was a soft knock at the door and Hermione looked up to find her mother standing in the open doorway.
"Hey there sweetie, how are you doing?"
"Alright," Hermione mumbled. She frowned. She hated how petulant and immature that answer had sounded to her ears.
"Sweetie, we don't doubt the things you've told us, but we're also obviously a bit uncomfortable with your request. So, we'd like to make a compromise: make it through on your own until you're 15, and if you still feel this way, we'll at least help you find someone."
Hermione's heart fell a bit at the answer… fifteen seemed so far away. But she was also intrigued.
"We both think that by that time you're much more likely to have a full grasp on what you want," Elizabeth answered. "And the summer you'll be 15 is after your fourth year. Fifth year is the one with the assessment test you mentioned, right?" Hermione nodded. "If you still need this from us that summer, for the reasons you talked about, then your fifth year will probably be unbearable without the kind of release you're asking for. Should that be the case, then we'll help you if only to maintain your mental health."
"And…" Hermione fidgeted. "And if you can't find someone for me?"
"Then…" Elizabeth paused. "Then we will at least consider the option you proposed. Do you think you can do that sweetie? Do you think you can find other outlets until after fourth year?"
"I'll… I'll try, mum."
Elizabeth patted her on the head.
"Yes mum," Hermione mumbled. "I know we've talked about this before, but… I can't change who I am mum. This is who I am."
"Very well…" Hermione turned and looked at her mother, whose face had become harder. "These are the rules, miss. First, you will obey any instruction from your father or me without hesitating. Hesitation will be punished." Hermione felt her face flush and her body tingle in excitement as her mother continued. "Second, you will maintain your modesty around your father at all times. You will only expose yourself to me, not him. Third, you will begin shaving." Elizabeth reached into the bag and pulled out a razor. "Both your legs and cunt."
Hermione startled, her face burning. For all that people might expect from having parents with such a lifestyle, she'd never heard such crude language from either of her parents.
"Um… I don't… have much hair down… there," Hermione said shakily.
"On your cunt, you mean?" Hermione blushed even more furiously. "Dear, if you choose to submit, that's what it's called. You don't get to hide behind euphemisms and elegant language any more." Elizabeth reached out, grabbing Hermione's jaw and forcing her to look directly and her mother. "Say it. Properly."
"I… don't have much hair… on my… cunt." Hermione was sure that her face was going to burst into flame.
"Good girl," Elizabeth said, patting Hermione lightly on the top of her head. "Fourth, you will no longer wear panties or a bra while at home, and you'll wear what we tell you to at all other times." Elizabeth stood up taking a deep breath. "Now, for your punishment that you requested."
She reached into the bag and pulled out a plug with a gem on the end.
"You will wear this at all times unless you are using the restroom or receive special permission from me or your father, you will be receiving 20 lashings this evening from me, and…" Elizabeth smirked. "You will need to convince Harry to take you on your own. We will give you no help with that."
Hermione made a strangling noise and looked up at her mother with wide eyes.
"But mum, I—"
She was cut off by a swift backhand to the face.
"Don't talk back, slut."
Hermione was startled, and anxious, and… excited. So excited. This is what she had been missing, what she had wanted for so long. The lack of it had been a constant source of stress and driven her into the wild panics and moods she was now well known for. She could feel warmth beginning to pool in her crotch, and she knew that she'd made the right decision.
Elizabeth leaned down, an amused and somewhat predatory grin on her face.
"Take off your clothes, get on your back, and spread your legs."
Hermione played the command over in her head once before starting to disrobe, hoping that she hadn't hesitated long enough to warrant an additional punishment of any kind. She glanced back at her mother as she disrobed, who seemed… pleased? At ease, perhaps.
In under a minute Hermione was in the position commanded, her whole body seeming to blush. No matter that this is what she wanted, she could not stifle the embarrassment that exposing herself like this generated. Especially to her own mother.
"Hmmm," Elizabeth's voice hummed, causing Hermione to jump. The sound had come from between her legs, she could feel the breath on her moist lips. "I can work with this."
She heard the noises of some kind of fluid being rubbed, and risked a glance down. Her mother was lubricating the plug. Elizabeth caught her daughter's eye and smiled again in that way that sent chills down Hermione's spine.
"Only I may insert it or remove it. If you need it removed, you must come to me and ask."
And with that, Hermione felt the sudden intrusion and her mother pushed the plug inside her. She screamed and moaned, a combined sound of surprise, and pleasure, and excitement, and pain.
Elizabeth stood and nodded.
"It didn't matter that we never involved you or influenced you. It didn't matter that we pushed you to be smart, to work hard." Elizabeth reached down and pushed a single finger inside her daughter's cunt, causing Hermione to squeak. "It didn't matter because you've always been a slut at heart, isn't that right?" Elizabeth pulled out her finger with a wet sound.
Hermione's words we cut off as the wet finger was pushed in her mouth. She closed her eyes and relaxed onto the bed. Yes, this had been the perfect decision.