Entry tags:

femslash, fic, smut, umbridge/hermione

Fic: Toad the Wet Sprocket, Umbridge/Hermione, NC-17
Title: Toad the Wet Sprocket
Author: foreword
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I play.
Pairing: Umbridge/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bloodplay, D/s
Summary: Umbridge teaches Hermione a thing or two.
Author's notes: A million thanks to atrata for the wonderful beta and support!

For my darling cursescar ♥, as assigned to me for the girls_today Fall Femmeslash Fest.

***

Detention.

The word had rolled off her tongue like a drop of honey, and filled Hermione with indignation. She knew her cheeks were as red as could be, and she wasn’t sure if it was the anger, the embarrassment, or the shame.

She was so ashamed.

But the squat, toad-like woman only smiled at her (and really, it was more of a grimace) and returned to her reading, expecting the class to follow her lead. Hermione conceded defeat, her (rather sore) arm dropping to her side as she opened the book she’d already finished.

She was exactly on time for her detention, and Umbridge looked irritated, but smiled nonetheless, her girly voice sugary-sweet.

“Come in and have a seat.”

The kittens blinked at her, moving around listlessly in their china prisons, and Hermione did as she was told, folding her skirt neatly beneath her and taking a seat in front of the desk, eyes darting to the blank parchment in front of her.

Umbridge watched her in silence, an accomplished-looking smile teasing the corners of her mouth. Hermione’s face was red again, but she held her head high.

“Do you have lines for me to complete, professor?”

A look of glee flitted across Umbridge’s expression, but it passed so quickly that Hermione wasn’t sure she’d really seen it.

Umbridge hurried around the desk to Hermione, leaning up against it and smiling down at her, a definite note of accomplishment in her expression.

It was then that Hermione noticed the quill in her hands.

She got a very cold feeling in her stomach quite suddenly, both the expression of rapture on the older woman’s face and the sinister-looking quill bobbing with the excitement of her stubby fingers making Hermione worry quite a bit.

She swallowed as the quill was offered to her, moving to sit on the edge of her chair to reach the parchment on the desk in front of her. Umbridge remained where she half-stood, half-sat, her legs almost brushing Hermione’s arm as she realised something was missing.

“Professor—"

Her cheeks were red again and she knew it, but the toad only looked smug, folding her hands in her lap in what was more of a mockery of a lady than anything else.

“Don’t dawdle, now.”

Hermione resisted the urge to grind her teeth.

“You haven’t given me any ink.”

And there it was, that flash of victory in her expression saying everything.

“I think you’ll find you don’t need any.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of this at all, but she could do little but obey. She raised the quill shakily, glancing up at Umbridge for instruction.

“I want you to write… about what a terribly naughty girl you are.”

Hermione’s expression darkened and she opened her mouth to object, but Umbridge raised an eyebrow in warning.

“Write it. ‘I am a bad little girl.’”

Hermione scowled but turned back to the parchment and pressed down savagely with the point of the quill, only to drop it and cry out in pain, clutching her hand. When she prised her fingers away, however, there was no mark of any kind.

Umbridge ‘tsked’ quietly and Hermione stared dully at the back of her hand. Her mind raced, and the first solution to come to mind was that she ought to go straight to McGonagall.

But now the toad-like woman was leaning over her, and Hermione didn’t remember her moving from the desk, but suddenly a pudgy hand was reaching around her to lift the quill.

“Are your little hands too sensitive? That’s fine. That’s fine.”

She was cooing into Hermione’s ear and Hermione closed her eyes so that she could breathe. She wanted to throw up.

She could hear the woman breathing, little laboured breaths that warmed her neck in short puffs while the quill tickled the inside of her wrists. She opened her eyes to find Umbridge watching her.

“You may continue,” she said, as if it were some sort of treat. Hermione accepted the quill with trembling fingers, not sure she could move, realising she wouldn’t be going to McGonagall.

She pressed down much more gently with the quill this time, the point barely brushing the parchment, and bit back a gasp at what felt like fingernails scratching along her inner thighs.

No writing appeared on the parchment, however, and with a laboured, excited breath, Umbridge wrapped her fingers around Hermione’s, pressing the quill hard against the parchment as she etched the words. Sharp pain cut through the haze of the surreal scene before her and Hermione wondered vaguely if she’d pass out.

There was certainly writing on the paper now, dark red letters forming the obscene lines Umbridge had selected for her. Hermione’s thighs felt wet and sticky with blood as she pressed them together, trying to keep the blood from spilling as she continued to move the quill. Umbridge, satisfied, released her grip on Hermione’s hand and propped herself up on the desk to watch.

I am a bad little girl.

Tears started to sting her eyes but she was determined to not let them fall, to not let Umbridge win. She was starting to feel dizzy and high and she wondered, perhaps a bit too frantically, how much blood she’d lost.

She wasn’t expecting the sensation of wiry curls tickling her knees, because she hadn’t been watching Umbridge, hadn’t seen her drop to the floor. But now there were chubby, clammy hands on her knees and Hermione’s hand shook, blood splattering across the parchment. Umbridge apparently paid this no mind, as Hermione suddenly felt her skirt being shoved up her thighs.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’

I am a bad little girl.

Her hand continued to move, as Hermione focused on the writing, trying to ignore the pain of the quill slicing through the skin of her thighs and the new sensation of a tongue tracing the letters she’d carved into her skin, a hot wet mouth over the fresh wounds. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening.

I am a bad little girl.

Umbridge was licking her inner thigh, pausing to suck on a quickly-fading wound, her bristly hair brushing past Hermione’s knees as she moved further up her thighs, situating herself between Hermione’s legs. She could see Umbridge’s hair just out of her line of vision and she took a deep breath, trying to refocus her attention on her writing.

I am a bad little girl.

Umbridge was worrying a wound with her tongue and Hermione closed her eyes, her fingers tight around the quill as she realised the writing wasn’t fading anymore. She continued, however, the quill moving as if of its own volition, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to stop. She didn’t think she could, at least not until Umbridge told her to.

But now Umbridge was pulling her mouth away, and the cool air surprised Hermione with the realisation that she’d been enjoying the sensations Umbridge had been creating with her tongue. A firm, wet, heat on the cotton of her knickers shocked her out of this realisation, and she almost jumped as Umbridge began pushing against the fabric with her tongue. The brief pressure against her clit through the cotton caused her to bite her lip, blood splattering across the parchment as her hand shook. She focused all of her energy on making even, shallow strokes with the quill, all too aware of the pain that would come with bearing down too hard.

Stubby fingers skated over her thighs, brushing the wounds, as Umbridge continued to run her tongue along Hermione’s knickers, pausing to suck and press with her tongue where the cotton was already damp.

Hermione used her remaining will-power to refrain from tightening her legs around the woman at this, shutting her eyes tight and halting her movements with the quill. This shouldn’t feel so right. She shouldn’t want this. But Hermione didn’t want her to stop.

Fingers brushed her wounds again and then the delicious heat was gone. Hermione opened her eyes slowly, swallowing as she looked down at Umbridge. She watched, fascinated (and somewhat horrified), as Umbridge raised a bloodied finger to her lips, shoving it in her mouth and sucking at it. Hermione was so focused on the stubby finger disappearing into the older woman’s mouth that she dropped the quill, her hand trembling slightly. Umbridge narrowed her eyes and pulled her finger from her mouth, still stained a washed-out looking red.

“Such a bad little girl, aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded dully, trying not to squirm in her seat, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment at her own arousal. She tried to speak, but only stammered, finally closing her mouth again and looking down, staring at her bare knees and thighs. She could see the red, sticky mess the blood had made along the insides of her thighs and she felt tears resurface again, but she blinked them away.

There was movement, and Hermione looked up to find Umbridge standing again, fingering the quill lovingly before setting it back down on the parchment. She took Hermione’s hand in her own clammy palms, stroking it softly and cooing. She offered Hermione a sickly-sweet smile and reached out to brush her hair away from her face.

“There, there, child. Just a little know-it-all, aren’t you? Can’t stay out of trouble, can you? But you’ll try to do better now, won’t you?”

Hermione swallowed hard, nodding quickly. Something stirred in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t focus on that now. All she knew was that she’d have to do better. She wanted this woman’s approval, as much as the thought disgusted her. Umbridge had offered her pain and pleasure tonight, and she’d do anything to receive the latter again.

“Could you please –"

The rest of her sentence caught in her throat, and Hermione’s eyes widened in terror of what she had almost asked. She didn’t want this, did she?

But as she tore her gaze away from the other woman to stare at the tacky china, she realised that no one would ever know.

Umbridge wasn’t going to let her off that easily, however, and she stroked Hermione’s chin softly, leaning forward to bring her mouth to the girl’s ear. Hermione closed her eyes, and stubby fingers slid across bare thighs again.

“Please what?”

Hermione flushed and shivered slightly, though she couldn’t determine why.

“…finish.”

Her voice was weak and soft, but Umbridge had heard her. She snorted against Hermione’s ear and then the warm breath was gone and Hermione opened her eyes to find Umbridge fingering the quill again, eyes narrowed as she watched her.

“And what have you done to deserve it?”

Hermione swallowed, blinking and looking down again, fixing her gaze on her thighs. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was. Hermione had never disappointed a teacher before.

“I – I am a bad little girl.”

Her voice was shaky, and she gripped the arms of the chair as she stared down at her lap. Umbridge lowered herself to her knees again, and Hermione noticed for the first time that her little black bow had been knocked askew. She found it necessary to focus on this for some reason, and she almost missed the fact that Umbridge was still gripping the quill in her small, clammy hands.

It was rather hard to miss, however, when the light touches of a feather were skirting over her wounds, up past the wet cotton of Hermione’s knickers and over her rumpled grey uniform skirt.

Umbridge tugged on her shirt next, and Hermione winced, closing her eyes as she felt buttons break free. She’d have to mend it later. She’d have to mend a lot later.

The feather dusted over her stomach, tickling her skin and making her jerk slightly. She bit down hard on her lip, digging her nails into the arms of the chair and hoping she wouldn’t be punished for that. Umbridge clucked her tongue in disapproval but continued moving the quill up, until she was brushing it over the satin of Hermione’s bra.

Her nipples were uncomfortably hard against the material and she swallowed hard at the light touches, her eyes still shut tight. She squirmed slightly at the ache between her legs and hoped this wouldn’t continue for much longer.

Umbridge didn’t make her wait for long, mouthing one nipple through her bra as she raised her free hand to the other, the quill dropping down across Hermione’s skin again to brush against her knickers. They were soaked through. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever been so humiliated before. Or so turned on.

She felt the quill brush against her skin on its way to the floor, and Umbridge’s small, chubby fingers, now free of the quill, were tugging on wet knickers. Hermione opened her eyes at this, swallowing hard, her fingernails still digging into the chair.

Umbridge pulled away and looked up, a smug expression on her face, as her fingers brushed against the wet material more forcefully. Hermione did her best to bite back a moan as forceful fingers brushed against her clit, but she knew she'd made a sound.

“You’re such a bad little girl.”

Hermione flushed and released her grip on the arms of the chair, trying to will her arousal away as Umbridge finally stood, the sudden absence of her touch making Hermione ache. She wore a grim expression and placed her hands on her hips as she stared down at Hermione.

“Stand up.”

Disobedience never crossed her mind. Hermione stood shakily, averting her gaze from Umbridge and wondering what would come next. A clammy hand, wet with Hermione's own arousal, took hold of her arm, pulling her away from her chair, and then Umbridge was taking her seat, arranging herself comfortably and looking up at Hermione expectantly.

“Naughty girls deserve spankings.”

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing deeply before she nodded and crossed the space between them. She paused, unsure of how to proceed, but Umbridge helped her, tugging her hard by the forearm so that Hermione stumbled forward, falling awkwardly onto her lap. Umbridge’s hands gripped her sides, and Hermione found her face suddenly and surprisingly close to the floor, her arse in the air.

There was a sudden coolness then, as Umbridge shoved her skirt up and tugged at her knickers, pulling them down around her thighs. Hermione barely had time to prepare herself before she felt the sting of a hand across her bum, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She certainly didn’t have time to prepare for the second slap, which was harder than the first. At the third slap, she couldn’t help but squirm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been spanked, and she certainly didn’t remember liking it, but as Umbridge brought her hand down again, Hermione squeezed her thighs together as much as she could manage, squirming at the feeling of heat and pain and penance.

Umbridge laughed, a short, girly, gleeful giggle and she smoothed her hand over the raw spot, murmuring soothingly to Hermione in a girlish voice that Hermione couldn’t focus on.

Suddenly there was a finger brushing her cunt and Hermione snapped to attention, forcing herself to keep her gaze focused on the floor below her and resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, her body tensing involuntarily. Umbridge clucked her tongue at this and Hermione winced as her hand came down hard on Hermione’s bum once again. Hermione’s legs relaxed obediently at the reprimand, her arse tingling and sore and hot. She found herself breathless in the next moment as Umbridge slipped one fat finger inside her. Hermione closed her eyes and shifted, moving her hands to grip the side of the chair she was bent over. Her thighs felt wet again, but not with blood, and she flushed with humiliation. Umbridge knew she was enjoying this. She was bad.

Hermione wriggled slightly, trying to create friction that wasn’t there – Umbridge’s finger was slipping in and out of her cunt easily now.

She shouldn’t have moved. She realised that before the hand came down hard again, the same spot stinging with embarrassment and shame. Hermione gripped the chair tightly, promising herself she wouldn’t move again, wouldn’t disappoint. She couldn’t help gasping, though, when suddenly two fat fingers were being thrust into her cunt. Her arse was still hot and stinging from where Umbridge’s hand had left its mark, her damp panties were still clinging pathetically to her thighs, and the fabric of Umbridge’s skirt was rubbing roughly against her clit as Umbridge thrust into her again and again.

Hermione tried not to cry out as she came, shuddering against Umbridge and spasming around her fingers, her own hands still clinging desperately to the chair.

When it was over, and Hermione could feel the cool absence of Umbridge's touch, she slid ungracefully off of the chair, hastily tugging up her knickers and straightening her skirt. Umbridge eyed her coolly and Hermione found it difficult to look at her, insteady focusing on her damaged blouse.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

Hermione nodded, swallowing thickly and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You may go.”

Hermione nodded again and glanced up at Umbridge for approval before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

It didn’t take long for her to work out how useful essence of murtlap was.