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Chapter Text

The shop looks rather innocuous: wooden door, colourful glass sheltering the inside, a neon proudly announcing ‘Ropes & Ties’. Hesitantly, Hermione steps inside, triggering a small bell placed over the door, and quickly realises that the insides of the shop would have looked ordinary too if it weren’t for the ropes displayed on the shelves.

There’s nothing sexy about those ropes. They are stacked in arrays of colours and thinness over the shelves, clearly in a specific order; Hermione can only imagine what they would look like on someone’s body. They look innocent.

She hesitates, staring at the flyer in her hand and considering cursing Pansy Parkinson to the seventh hell. Why did she even come here?

“Are you here to buy ropes, darling?”

Hermione jumps, turning to face a man leaning against the counter. He’s wearing black clothes, his hair tied in a low ponytail and a shit-eating grin.

“Are you Mr Black? I’m here for the voucher.” She holds up the flyer, her face burning up. The man regards her quietly, eyes skimming over the voucher before he nods.

“You must be Hermione. Call me Sirius. Let’s go to my office.”

Hermione starts moving before she even realises it, the soft lure of command turning her body into a puppet following the beckoning of its master.

“What about the shop?”

“Let me worry about that. Come.”

The office doesn’t really look like a typical one. There’s an oak table with a few chairs, a few mannequins—some of them tied with intricate rope patterns that make Hermione shiver—more shelves stacked with ropes, and weird machinery on the ceiling and the walls.

“Sit. May I offer you something to drink?”

“Er—coffee would be nice.”

Hermione sits down on the edge of the seat, carefully watching both the shop owner and the room. Something about this place has her on edge—whether it’s magic coursing through the air or the charisma the man carries himself with.

“Milk or sugar?”

“None, thanks.”

The owner brings two cups decorated with honeycombs to the table, passing one to Hermione. She enjoys the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the warmth bestowed upon the cup; holding it also allows her to hide the shakiness of her hands.

“So, Hermione—tell me why you’re here.”

“My friend Pansy sent me. She bought the voucher for me, so—”

“The real reason. You didn’t have to take up on her offer, yet you came. Have you tried the ropes before?”

“No.” Hermione feels warm. Too warm. “I came because I’m curious. I read everything there was to read about them, watched, ahem, a few videos, and I—well. I wanted to at least try.”

“What are you seeking to experience?”

“I don’t know? I’m curious about people experiencing freedom while being tied up. My friend said I’m a control freak and I could use some loosening up under the right hands, so—I got curious.”

“Ah. So you’re seeking freedom, too.”

“I just want to understand. I don’t get how being tied up can make people feel free.”

“It’s hard to imagine if you haven’t experienced it yourself. Are you willing to try?”

“Yes, but—”

He tilts his head, regarding her quietly. He’s leaning his elbow against the table, completely relaxed—no wonder, it’s his kingdom.

“But?” he prompts when she still doesn’t finish her sentence.

“I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to expect.”

“I understand. How about we start slow? You’ll get acquainted with the ropes first and see if you want to continue. How does that sound?”

“Good.” Hermione clears her throat since it comes out like a squeak. “It sounds good.”

“Good girl. Do you have a safe word?”

“Bookworm.”

He chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm. “Good. Use it anytime you feel uncomfortable. We’ll stop and check in to see if we’re continuing, adjusting or stopping. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Sirius puts away the mug and gets up. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Uh—yellow?”

He nods, only to start looking through the shelves.

“Take off your sweater. You can keep the rest of your clothes for now.”

Hermione hesitates while facing Sirius’ back. In theory, that’s precisely what she came for—and hell, she expected to be completely naked during the whole session. Sirius is offering her some mercy, but it still makes her blush when she reaches to take off the sweater, remaining in her violet t-shirt, one of her favourites, and her jeans.

Sirius comes back with a coil of yellow rope, then quietly appraises Hermione. His eyes slide around her body, and for some reason, it feels nice to have his full attention.

“Stand there.”

He nods his head towards the middle of the room, and Hermione obeys, shivering—either out of anticipation, fear or the command. Or all three. She turns to face Sirius who approaches her slowly and hands her the rope.

“Feel it. Play with it.”

“I thought you’re the one to play with it on my body?”

“Oh, I got a sassy one.” His lips turn up. “I need you to loosen up first, hence you getting to get to know the rope on your own. Go ahead, touch it. Explore. See how it feels against your skin.”

Hermione slowly extends her hand to touch the rope hanging from Sirius’ hands. It’s surprisingly soft, moving through her fingers like silk. She gathers more of it, feeling the weight and the intricacy of the yellow coils. They are thin yet strong, impossible to break even with sharp tugs. Hermione can’t help but wonder how much force would be required to tear them apart—she wouldn’t be able to do this on her own, surely. Once she’s tied, she won’t get free. Not on her own, at least.

Then she experimentally loops the rope around her hands a few times, loosely enough to be able to uncoil it. To her surprise, it doesn’t feel bad. Quite the contrary, she enjoys the smooth touch of the ropes against her wrists.

She raises her head to look up at Sirius. He’s significantly taller than her, but she’s not overwhelmed—instead, her curiosity is even magnified. He’s crossed his arms, but there’s no ounce of impatience on his face; if anything, he’s quietly watching her, waiting for her to grow comfortable. She appreciates it.

“How does it feel?” he asks, smiling softly.

“Good. They are nice to touch.”

“Do you want to continue?”

“Yes.”

He nods, taking the ropes back from her hands and she feels her heart stalling while he circles her steadily like a predator.

“Are there any particular areas you’re not comfortable with me touching?”

“I—don’t think so? Why?”

He’s behind her now, and while she’s tempted to look at him, she keeps her head straight.

“I’m going to be touching you quite a lot today all over your body,” he whispers into her ear, “and I don’t want to cause discomfort. If anything is off-limits, I won’t touch it. So, tell me. Anything you want me to stay away from?”

“No.”

She just wants him to finally touch her, no matter where.

“Any injuries I should be aware of?”

“I still have sore arms after I went to gym yesterday, but otherwise no injuries or anything like that.”

“Alright. Thanks for telling me.” His fingers linger at the nape of her neck before he gathers her hair into his fist and tugs her head down. It’s not forceful, but rather delicious. “Now close your eyes.”

Hermione obeys, her eyes slowly closing. To her surprise, it’s not the rope touching her, but Sirius’ hands venturing down the column of her neck and straying to explore her skin. He moves his hands over her neck first, then towards her arms, exploring the naked skin and lingering for a longer while in the area that’s still sore after her yesterday’s training. His touch is firm but gentle, making Hermione melt right under his fingers.

She’s never expected a stranger’s touch to be this nice. When she ventured inside the shop, she was fully prepared to be scared, maybe even repulsed, but not—

Not getting hot.

Sirius’ hands end up on her waist, and she has to lean across his chest to keep her balance.

“Still good to continue?”

“Yes,” she rasps out.

Sirius hums—the sound courses through her body—and his warmth leaves her. She struggles to keep her eyes closed.

“You can look.”

He’s standing in front of her now, taking a hold of both her hands—her wrists are small enough that he can keep them restrained with one hand.

“I’ll tie your hands and arms to give you a taste,” he says softly, looking into her eyes. “If that feels good, we’ll see about progressing further the next time.”

“There will be another time…?” she can’t help but ask, anticipation coursing through her veins.

“You have three meetings booked,” he notes, amusement lacing his words. “You can come back for the next session if you like the first one.”

“Do your clients often come back for the rest of the sessions?”

“I rarely give sessions like those anymore,” he smiles at her, positioning her hands so that he can start tying her up with a simple loop. “So no, they don’t.”

“They… don’t? What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know? Pansy had to really beg to get this voucher. I usually teach people how to tie other people. I rarely tie them up myself. Keep still.”

Hermione feels an array of strange feelings stirring up in her gut.

“How did she convince you?”

“By being persuasive and obnoxious, mostly. She accosted me after my class, telling me there’s ‘this girl you would absolutely love to tie up, control freak, sassy and smart, your favourite type’, and I got curious especially since Pansy rarely begs.”

Hermione blinks. “Did you tie Pansy too?”

“Heavens, no,” he chuckles. “But I taught Neville how to tie her up. She was glorious once she shut up. Now focus and watch.”

With that, she’s forced to look back at her hands, the rope coiling around them like a yellow snake. Somehow, Sirius has already formed a few loops, binding her wrists together. Then she watches the rope wrap around her limbs even further, up to her wrists, building over an intricate pattern. It looks like yellow flowers blooming upon her, painted with firm yet gentle strokes of Sirius’ hands. She becomes mesmerised with the movements binding her tighter and tighter, and she feels herself relax completely despite the restraining.

“Aren’t they too tight?”

She shakes her head, and he pauses.

“I need your words, darling.”

“‘m fine.”

He assesses her carefully, a brow raised, before he continues his ministrations.

He’s not in a hurry, slowly inching up, and pulling her further into him. He has a hold over her with his yellow rope, bound and at his mercy, yet unafraid. Surprisingly enough, she enjoys not being in control for once—he’s the one tugging and moulding her to his will. When he’s done, his marks intricate and binding, he brushes his hands over her arms and elbows, admiring his work.

“How does it feel?” he asks, his voice deeper than before—as if he was impacted by the handiwork, too.

“Good,” Hermione whimpers. “I want more.”

“More what?”

“The ropes.”

“You like them, hm?”

Sirius traces his hands back to her forearms and her neck, smirking down at her. For some reason, that smile undoes her the same way the ropes do—it feels like she’s closed in a tight embrace, making her feel utterly safe, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.

She hasn’t felt this kind of peace for a long time.

“Tell me how it feels,” he prompts her softly.

“Warm.”

She can barely form words—she’s suspended in a haze of surreality. She can still feel the tightness of the ropes and the touch accompanying them, but she’s no longer tethered.

“Warm. Out.”

“Ah. You’re starting to subspace, aren’t you?” He tilts her face towards him, moving away some of the stray hair. “I think it’s time to untie you.”

“No, please—”

“We’re only getting started today. I can’t drop you into deep waters without teaching you how to swim.”

He circles her, standing behind her and bringing her back to his chest. He starts working on the rope, meticulously untying each knot while allowing her to lean against him. She’s thankful for the support since her legs have turned into cotton and arms grew weak; she finds it hard to swim through the mist of her brain, too.

She feels a prickle of disappointment as the last knot falls apart—her hands are aching, yet the freedom of movement feels strange.

Sirius leads her to the couch, then carefully applies cream to the marks on her skin, making sure there’s no bruising. By then, Hermione notices the shaking of her hands as they start to burn.

“What do you need?” Sirius asks softly, still kneeling in front of her and massaging her wrists.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He nods towards her wrists. “You’re dropping.”

“Dropping?”

“I’ll explain in detail later, but it’s a rush of hormones experienced after an intense scene.”

“It wasn’t that intense,” she manages to say. Her limbs are getting tired. “I still have my clothes on.”

“You tried shibari for the first time in your life. Of course it was intense.” He tugs at the hair at her nape punishingly. “And one day I’m going to teach you to stop pretending you’re okay and lying to me. What do you need? Be honest.”

Hermione looks at him, hesitating.

“I—a hug?”

“Of course.”

He sits down on the couch and pulls her onto his knees. She’s wrapped in his arms, leaning her head against his arm and allowing herself to drop into that weird space of recovery, floating in space, no thoughts scattered around her mind. It feels—peaceful.

Even through her daze, she feels a hand combing through her hair, tracing in and out, and she immensely enjoys it—just like she enjoys the traces of soft words and praise whispered against her skin with a silk-like voice, making her incredibly warm and cared for. Unfortunately, this very same voice coaxes her back to reality.

Her eyes flutter open as she tries to reorient herself.

“There you are,” Sirius says as she leans back on his arm to look at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she admits, “but incredible. I’m sorry for—” She gestures. “Forcing you to hug me and all.”

Sirius raises a brow; his caress turns into tugging at her hair. “Don’t apologise. Feeling vulnerable after a scene is normal.”

“I really don’t get this emotional.”

“Maybe that’s why you needed it.”

“I—” She’s at a loss of words, and Sirius grins. He most certainly got her here. “Can you—what actually happened?”

“You entered subspace when I tied your hands.” He smiles softly. “It was truly incredible how you trusted me with yourself and how you allowed yourself to let go. Subspace is a special place where trusting subs go. Like subs’ heaven.”

Hermione scrunches her nose. “So my brain stopped working because I trusted you with it?”

“Basically.” Sirius chuckles, and Hermione’s heart reels in the sound. “It’s a state of euphoria, trance, whatever you want to call it. It might be dangerous for first-time subs who don’t know their limits yet and are partnered with unsafe Doms who don’t respect limits and don’t pay attention. You probably wouldn’t be able to safeword once you go to subspace.”

“Oh.”

“And subdrop happens when you come out of subspace. The mixture and the release of hormones might be sometimes violent, that’s why aftercare is so important after every scene, no matter how short it was.”

“Does it always look like this? Like—cuddling? Touching?”

“Well—it depends on what parties are comfortable with, but most of the time, yes. It’s basically comforting the sides of the scene and making sure everyone involved is actually okay, both emotionally and physically.” He pauses, tilting her head for her to look straight at him. “That’s precisely why I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re going to answer them honestly, understood?”

His voice is still soft, but laced with a command that makes Hermione’s thighs clench. She nods.

“Words.”

“Yes,” she breathes out. “I understand.”

“Good girl.” He returns to brushing her hair, his fingers moving over her neck in a possessive manner. “What do you think about the ropes?”

“I didn’t expect to like them, but I did. It didn’t even feel uncomfortable—I was distracted in the beginning, then I really loved sinking into that feeling of being tied.”

“What did you like about them?”

“I—”

“Be honest.”

“The way you touched me,” Hermione admits with a blush. “I liked being tied up because you were pulling me in slowly and you were there to hold me steady.”

“Good girl. Thanks for telling me.” She’s rewarded with a forehead kiss. “Do your arms or hands hurt?”

She looks down at the marks left behind by the ropes—they aren’t as red as before, seemingly healing because of the cream they were treated with.

“They are stinging a bit, but I think it’s normal.”

“Yes. They should be gone by tomorrow.”

In a way, it’s disappointing. She wishes she could keep those marks for longer.

“What is it?” he asks, seeing her expression.

“We’re going to have a second session, right?”

He chuckles softly, and it’s the richest sound she’s heard. “Of course. If you’re up for it, then so am I.”

“When?”

“Such an eager kitten.” He traces her cheek with the back of his hand. “Next week. I’ll prepare something special.”

It shouldn’t make her happy, but—

“I can’t wait,” she whispers.

“Neither can I.”

Chapter Text

This time, upon entering the shop she feels nervous energy coursing through her, mixed with excitement. If she was wary before, she’s mostly curious now. Curious and eager to find out what’s going to happen next.

This time Sirius is already waiting for her, smiling as soon as he notices her.

“You’re early.”

“I can wait if it’s too—”

“No. Come here.”

He stoves away the ropes he’s been sorting through—some of them tied neatly, others uncoiled—and nods his finger at her. She arrives at his side, blushing and hiding her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie. Sirius stretches a hand out to her, and she’s forced to take it. The way their hands intertwine feels nice, and she’s tugged into the office for her next session.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She feels a tug of disappointment that they aren’t diving into the deed right away, but there’s also an ounce of relief. Nervousness is still eating her alive.

“What do you have?”

“Coffee, tea, orange juice, water…”

“Juice.”

He goes back to the table with two glasses of juice and sits down next to her, his eyes inquisitive as he leans on his arm over the table.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“I’m great. You?”

“I’m great, too.” He hums. “Anything you want to talk about after our first session? Any injuries, sore spots? Anything you’d like to focus on today?”

She thinks for a moment, wanting to give him a thought-through answer.

“I felt a bit out of it when I came home after our first session,” she says truthfully. “I haven’t done this before, and like you said, I entered the subspace. But I didn’t see any negative aftereffects. I felt normal. I didn’t have any discolorations or bruises, either. I really enjoyed it.”

“Good. Anything you’d like to explore today?”

Hermione shakes her head, looking up at him. “No. You’re the master here.”

He chuckles—the joke is probably old, yet she still enjoys the sound of his amusement. He’s gorgeous no matter what he does, but laughter—it warms her up.

“Alright. Drink up the juice and take off whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She obeys before realising she was given a direct order. Once the juice disappears, she hurries to take off her hoodie, thankful for Sirius turning away from her; he’s rummaging through the shelves while she takes off the t-shirt and hesitates before skimming over the waistline of her yoga pants.

“Pansy advised me to wear sports gear,” she says, looking down at herself critically. “But now I’m not so sure that it was a good idea.”

Sirius looks at her over his arm. He raises a brow, but says nothing, fetching a coil of yellow rope before joining her where she’s standing helplessly.

“You’re not feeling comfortable in it?” he asks, looking her up from head to toe.

“No, I am, I’m just not sure if it’s not too much.”

“I did tell you to take off what you feel comfortable with, didn’t I?”

Hermione blushes furiously, her hands braced against her chest in an attempt of sheltering herself. She knows her defence will be striped bare within minutes, but for now—for now she can hide.

“You did.”

“Is there a problem, then?”

“No, I guess,” she mutters while he takes a step towards her. He places his hand at the nape of her neck, making her shiver and unable to look away. His eyes are serious though gentle even in chastising her.

“I don’t care what you’re wearing as long as you're not uncomfortable. You don’t have to be naked to be all wrapped in ropes, especially if you’re just a beginner. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you good to start, then?”

She nods. “Yes.”

He looks at her for a while as if looking for traces for a lie, but in the end he nods, satisfied.

“I’d like to try tying a harness with you today. It might be uncomfortable and you will be more restrained than the last time, so it’s important that you remember that you can use your safeword any time you need it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Bookworm.”

“Good.” He nods. “I’m not going to tell you what I’ll do either, and while I know you’ll be trying to anticipate it, I want you to trust me and let go.”

His hand moves down—from the nape of her neck to her arms armed only with the thin straps of her sports bra; it glides all over her exposed skin. The vulnerability of it makes her shiver even as she’s pushed towards him, much closer, almost touching his chest.

“I’ll try?”

“That’s all I ask. Come on.”

He guides her towards the middle of the room and asks her to kneel at his feet. She does, slightly confused, but enjoying the sight.

“That’s one of the most common positions a submissive can take. Kneeling.” He tangles his free hand in her hair, tilting it up. “You look pretty like this—kneeling for me. Get comfortable, please.”

Hermione does her best, loosening the muscles of her legs and arms and sitting back on flat heels. She’s still apprehensive, not knowing what’s to come, but she trusts Sirius. As little as she knows him, it’s instinctive—as if her body and mind knew subconsciously that she could put her full trust in him and he would never abuse it.

Besides, if she really wants an out, she can use her safeword—and she knows he would honour it, no questions asked. Well, questions might come, but that’s not the point—

“Eyes on me.”

His command easily tears through her thoughts and makes her snap her head up before she knows what happens. It fills her with marvel—the fact that he realised she was getting lost in her own mind and pulled her out.

“Yes, sir.”

He squats in front of her, holding her eyes and hair.

“Whatever I do today, I want you to focus on that sensation only. Let me know if anything hurts or if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re not allowed to look at me until I allow it.”

“What? Why?” she whines. Looking at him and what he does is the only form of control she still has—

“Because you’re not in charge today.”

She groans, even though he’s right. Losing control—that’s the only thing she came for, and yet—

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He disappears behind her back and she reminds herself that she’s not supposed to look back. She wants to check what he’s doing so badly, especially when she hears some rustling. However, absolutely nothing happens rope-wise. She’s forced to stare at the wall in front of her—a completely ordinary wall.

Not knowing what happens next is absolute torture, she decides, and her Dom is apparently a sadist.

She’s so out of it that she doesn’t notice the first coil of rope crossing her arm and she gasps when it bites into her skin like a yellow snake.

“I told you to pay attention, didn’t I?”

“Sorry, sir,” she says sheepishly.

He says nothing else, working the rope across her arms and breasts to form an x line. He’s sitting close behind her, hands swiftly moving across her body and pulling the rope taut—with it, her body moves, too, like a wave following the calling of the moon. Just like he warned her, she has no idea what his next move is going to be, so she has to let go of the tension in her muscles and let him guide her exactly where he wants her.

Oddly enough, she enjoys the tension of the rope wrapping around her chest. It contains her breath and her thoughts, like a warm blanket would. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel the way the rope follows the incisions of her waist and goes up to wrap once more around her arms.

She’s robbed of balance not once, but multiple times; he purposefully trips her and pulls her in and out—until she lets go. At first, she’s still resisting, her body trying to keep her upright, but once she realises he won’t let go, won’t let her get in the harm's way, she just—

Drops.

And it’s surprisingly easy.

She doesn’t fully feel her legs when she’s asked to stand, but her weight is supported. She’s floating by the time the rope wraps around her thighs, tight enough to make her gasp as it adds some tension to her spine, making her straighten her posture. She feels every single coil of the rope on her body, and with it, the hands roaming lovingly over her skin, fixing the tension and making her feel safe.

It’s bliss.

Then everything stills, allowing her to float.

She rarely experiences moments where her mind just shuts up. Usually, it’s constantly running overdrive, making her think, process, make decisions. And now—not having to do any of this is a blessing even if she has no control over the situation.

Now, she understands what Pansy meant, why her friend directed her here in an attempt of helping her find some peace.

Things have been hard lately, with worry gnawing at her incessantly and dark scenarios coursing past her head. She’s been trying so desperately not to lose her control and find a solution like everyone expects her to; and she’s started to lose herself in the process, unable to let go, to stop planning and researching.

So when she’s safely contained, she can, for once, just let herself live.

“Time to come up.”

She groans, her head lolling from one side to another. She feels safe where she is, and she has no desire to go back to the surface. But the hands wrapped around her are still asking her to return to reality, the pressure of touch getting harder and impossible to ignore, and with a groan she opens her eyes.

“Hello, kitten.”

“Hi.” She frowns when he reaches for the rope. “Can I stay in it longer?”

He gives her a wide smile, making her heart stall. She’s still not fully conscious.

“You like the harness, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you like the most about it, then.”

She looks down as his hands follow the coils of the rope, the diamond-like path he’s created with the yellow wraps. It looks magnificent, the stripes settled between her breasts and waist and pulling at her tights. Out of a sudden, she wishes for the rope to go right between her legs, dig in—

A slap over her ass brings her back.

“What was it for?!”

He raises a brow when she meets her eyes, alert and wide awake.

“I asked you a question.”

“Oh.” She’s blushing once more, but—she’s feeling rebellious now. “I believe it wasn’t a question. Sir.”

Another smack—this one is sharper.

“Right. It was a command, and good subs follow commands. Bad subs who don’t listen get punished. Do you want to be punished, kitten?”

She shivers even as she says, “No.”

“Tell me what you were just thinking about that made you forsake my command.”

“Uh—”

“I can smack your ass pink while you’re wrapped in my ropes. Is that what you want?”

“I was just thinking that I’m feeling horny and I would have loved to feel the rope against my pussy. Sir.”

“Interesting,” he comments, his thumbs digging into her skin. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in it so soon.”

“I feel safe in the ropes,” she admits. “And I just thought that I would love to dig deeper.”

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to unwrap the ropes from your thighs, you’re going to take off your pants and underwear, then I’ll rewrap the ropes. Your safeword still applies. How do you feel about it?”

“Good,” she whispers. “I want to try it.”

He nods, making a swift work of unwrapping the ropes away from her legs. The tension eases a bit. While he holds the loose ends of the rope, Hermione shimmies off the pants and her underwear—already soaked.

Then one single thread of rope slowly slides between her legs. It’s loose at first, pulled tight with a sudden move that makes Hermione gasp as it settles between her pussy lips, against her clit. Another thread follows, expert fingers fixing the rope and placing it even more snugly before it gets tied at her back and pulled deliciously tight.

“How does it feel?”

“Incredible.”

He watches her, satisfied with the way she wriggles in the ropes. His hands remain steady on her waist, yet she’s not ashamed of him seeing her in such a state—almost naked, hungry for an orgasm. If anything, his gaze is appreciative.

However, Hermione needs a release. The rope resting against her clit isn’t enough to give her friction, and the ropes can’t dig deep enough.

“I want to come,” she whines—and immediately gets another smack on her ass. She leans her head towards his chest, panting.

“No. Bad girls don’t get to come.”

“I was a good girl.”

“You need to work on your good girl’s manners.” He tilts his head, clearly amused with her groaning and complaining and hung up. Literally. “Come on. Time to get out of the rope.”

She begrudgingly agrees, realising she won’t get anything more today. His hands untying the rope are still some reward, and she slowly settles down.

They end up cuddling on the couch as Hermione recovers. She’s feeling a bit sleepy while some of the tension remains between her legs.

“Are you ready to talk about our session?”

She looks up at Sirius, leaning against his chest. She’s sitting sideways on his lap, wrapped in his embrace and thoroughly enjoying it.

“I enjoyed it,” she mutters. “Though I’m still frustrated that you didn’t let me come.”

“Am I correct in my assumption that you wouldn’t mind exploring our dynamics a bit further?”

“I’m not opposed, but I don’t know what it would entail.”

“Hm. You know that tying someone with ropes isn’t necessarily sexual, right? It can be, but it can also serve as an outlet to calm the sub’s mind, just the way it works in your case. But it can also become a prelude to a release. It’s still a very powerful dynamic, but more pleasure-oriented.”

“I see.”

“But I’m also open to exploring your submission in general if that’s something you’re interested in. Outside of tying you up.”

Hermione looks at him for a longer while, thinking.

“How…?”

“Exclusive relationship. We test out your kinks, with particular focus on ropes. Then we can see how you take orders outside the scene—if that’s something you’d also like.”

“I have never done this before.” Hermione worries her lip. “I’m not sure if I’m made for it.”

“That’s fine. I’ll give you time to think about it. Even if you say yes, we’ll go slow. We’ll explore. See what works and what doesn’t, and find a balance that would work for both of us. Even if you want just another rope session to finish this off, I’m up for it. The decision is yours.”

Just like that, she’s given control back, and she’s not ready for this.

“I will think about this,” she says.

She leaves the shop with Sirius’ kiss lingering on her forehead and the traces of ropes all over her chest.

Chapter Text

She feels daring the next time she visits the workshop. Her hands are still sweating and she fingers the hem of her t-shirt, but—

She’s coming inside with a strong resolution, backed by two cups of coffee and a long conversation with Pansy. They talked into long night hours two days ago, without any of the men accompanying them. Admittedly, they also had a bunch of wine and cookies, but it was—enlightening in many aspects, Hermione dared to say.

Pansy was a submissive, she knew as much—more so from Sirius than Pansy herself, however after the sessions Hermione had Pansy opened up and confessing much more. It didn’t surprise Hermione; as much as Pansy was mouthy and untamed, she also needed to let go, sometimes. And she did so with Neville. They really completed each other in every regard, as surprising as their relationship was.

Hermione still remembers her own surprise when she learned of their relationship, but in hindsight—it all really made sense.

“I just like to give in sometimes. I like being independent, I was taught that by my parents—you have no other choice when you’re a pureblood, right? But it feels nice to have someone else to step in and turn my brain off.”

Pansy’s explanations flooded Hermione’s mind the whole night, helping her sort out her own feelings. They were similar to Pansy’s, but since she was a newbie in the kinky world, she was also—

Scared.

“I’m not used to giving up control,” she admitted to Pansy, her feet tucked on the couch as she twirled her glass of wine. “It’s—well, I really like Sirius, but I’m not sure if I can—”

“You need someone you can trust before you let go.”

“Yes.”

“But you like being with Sirius, admit it.”

“I do.”

Pansy’s eyes are kind, even though there’s an amused smile on her lips. “I understand. Trust me, I do, I was chicken when I first met Neville and we learned that we’re… fitting in more than one way, that our kinky ways are also aligning. It couldn’t be more perfect, but I was scared, too. I already had a fair share of bad Doms, and, you know, it’s not easy to trust someone new—”

“I understand.”

“The point is that—you won’t know until you try, okay? You need to keep trying to overcome that fear. There’s no way of going around it. Otherwise, you’ll just close yourself up in a shell and never come out.” Pansy leaned forward. “Besides, you could talk to Sirius about all of this. I know you’ve been going slow, and he’s a patient man. He will wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Do you…” Hermione wet her lips. “Do you really think so? That he’ll wait?”

“He hasn’t had a sub in years, Hermione. I had to beg him for this voucher. I do think he’ll wait for you. He’s intrigued.”

“Have you talked to him—about me?”

Pansy shook her head. “No. We’re not that close. Like I said, we met in some shibari class he was hosting. We learned a great deal from him, but that’s the extent of it. He didn’t even touch me, Neville did all the work. So no, I haven’t talked to him, but I know him enough. I think.”

“Right.”

“And he really likes brat taming, baby. If you just give him a chance to explore all vulnerable sides of you, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. No way you can disappoint that man.”

So, Hermione is bracing herself when she enters the shop. Its smell is familiar by now, and she hesitates a bit less. Her heart is still beating fast; she can’t help but smile upon seeing Sirius in the entrance to the back room, though. He looks exactly the same as before, still clad in dark clothes, but his hair seems a bit more wild today, as if he combed through it far more than required. His eyes light up upon seeing her.

“Hi, darling,” he says, taking her hand and pulling her further into the devil’s pit. His hands are warm as he leads the way, and Hermione enjoys it.

She’s disappointed when he lets go and they go to sit by the table, just like before.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water.”

It’s the most responsible thing she can come up with, drinking water before the session, and she sees Sirius approves as he comes back with a tall glass of water for her and a cup of coffee for himself.

“I figured we should talk before we—” she starts, stalling—both words and her heart. “You know.”

“We should.”

His smile is soft and he sits close—still maintaining a respectful distance, giving her a chance to move away should she want it. His eyes appraise her, up and down, from her tight plait to the tight yellow-black dress she’s wearing. It’s her favourite since it compliments her curves, especially her waist.

And god, it’s yellow. She knows what yellow ropes do to his black heart.

“So,” she clears her throat. “Do you have anything planned for us today?”

“I do, but we’ll talk about it in a second.” He takes her hand into his again, intertwining their fingers together. His grip is a bit stronger than before, Hermione thinks, a bit more possessive now that they are in his domain, in his control. “Tell me what’s been bothering you, darling.”

“Nothing’s been bothering me,” she’s quick to say, and Sirius tilts his head, sensing a blatant lie. She has to concede.

“Alright, that’s a lie, but—it’s not a concern, per se. It’s just—I’m a bit anxious? I’m—you know that I’m new to all of this, and it’s like—I don’t really feel comfortable not being in control. Like—I struggle so much with it, and I don’t know if I’m doing it the right way, or if I’m making any mistakes at all, if I’m giving too little, because maybe there’s something else I should be doing and, you know, you’re the specialist here—”

“Hermione.”

She looks up, startled by the sharpness in his voice. Their eyes meet; his are dark pools of tenderness, and she feels like a prey falling to a predator. She can’t even back out now after her ramblings, not with the way he’s holding her hand. Tightly. Like a leash.

“What?” she asks timidly, her cheeks covering in redness. She’s thoroughly embarrassed by her outburst, even though Sirius doesn’t look mad. More like—concerned. Maybe slightly amused. Delighted.

“There’s no such thing as doing too little or too much in this dynamic. You’re doing great, I promise. You are a good girl.”

With his free hand, he puts his hand in her hair, combing it away. Her heart starts beating even faster because of the proximity and seemingly innocent gesture. But nothing is truly innocent with Sirius Black and the relationship they are starting to have, and Hermione feels pulled back to safety just with his proximity. He’s not crowding her, she still has the space to move away, but she needs this to know that she’s in a safe place, that it’s sufficient to be a good girl and obey, that she is enough with what she brings into this dynamic.

“I am?” she asks, her voice breaking.

“Oh, darling, come here.”

In a swift movement, he pulls her over onto his knees, their embrace tight as Hermione starts crying. She doesn’t even know what happened to her, why the fuck is she even crying—they haven’t even started the session, but—

It’s cathartic, she realises, as she tightens her arms around Sirius’ neck. His own hands are caressing her spine, up and down, circling here and back, calming her down.

“You’re in a safe place,” he says, echoing her thoughts. “I won’t harm you. I won’t let anyone harm you. And I will gladly curse anyone who said you're not enough, because you absolutely are. You are a fucking gem, darling, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.”

“You don’t know me,” she says, sniffling.

“I don’t care. I have seen enough, and I know that you are more than enough.” He forces her to look at him, wiping away the traces of tears from her cheeks. “Look, darling, nobody is perfect. We’re all complex human beings here, and we do our best to live those lives. You are more than enough. You’re trying, and that’s all what matters. Okay?”

She nods shakily, blowing her nose. “Okay.”

“Good.” He smiles. “So the focus of our today’s session will be you letting go of those silly notions. Leave everything to me, is that alright?”

“How so?”

“We’ll do a bit more than a simple body harness, darling. I’m going to tie you up—and you’ll be suspended. And blindfolded. Maybe even toyed with—I have some nice toys that could go up in your pussy and ass. Or none. We'll see about it later. The point is, you won’t be able to move, to see, to do anything about your position. And then you will have to clear your mind off any thoughts and just trust me. How does that sound?”

“Scary.”

He searches her eyes before nodding. “Too intense for today? We can do something else. I have other options lined up, if you prefer.”

“No, I—I want this. I’m scared but I want to try.”

She fiddles with his hand, feeling like it’s her tether to the real world while she’s been floating in the ocean of anxiety and despair.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. I am sure.”

He nods, the honorific making him shift into his second role. His touch turns a bit more tight, more possessive, more rough.

“Do you remember your safe word? What is it?”

“Bookworm.”

“Good girl. Use it if it feels uncomfortable and you don’t want to continue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take off your clothes.” He pushes her off his lap, helping her stand upright. “As much as I love your dress, it really has to go. We’ll try the ropes on your naked body today, darling.”

Hermione shivers, feeling a rush of excitement even as she reaches to the zip of her dress. She realises she won’t be able to do this on her own, though, so she turns her back towards sir.

“Can you help me unzip it?”

“With pleasure.”

He promptly moves the zip down, deliberately slowing and touching her skin as the fabric moves down. Finally, it’s completely out of the way, and Hermione steps out. The next are her black sneakers—she takes them, letting sir hold her as she unties the laces. Then, it’s her bra and panties, and then she’s standing naked in front of a very dressed Sirius. She bites her lip, fighting the urge to cover herself up, but she can’t since sir’s hands are holding her own, and she can’t move. She’s not even bound yet, but—

“You’re gorgeous,” she hears and she snaps her head up. Her cheeks grow hot, but she finds nothing but appreciation in sir’s eyes. She relishes in it, basking in the praise like a flower in the sun. “Spin for me.”

She takes a small spin, feeling stupid as she shows him her back, dotted with freckles. However, she’s learning that feeling stupid isn’t a thing in this room; sir would never laugh at her. He’s drinking her in, caressing her skin with the tips of his fingers, committing her to his memory.

She loves every single second of it.

“Stand in the middle of the room and wait for me,” he rasps out before kissing her forehead. She hesitates—and immediately she’s dealt a sharp slap to her arse. It hurts and she looks at sir wide-eyed, but he only smirks.

“What was it for?” she asks, complaining.

“For hesitating. Go. Don’t overthink.”

He tilts his head towards the middle of the room, and she has no choice but to move forward, pouting. She watches as he rises from the chair and walks towards the chest of drawers to peruse it, as usual. This time it’s not just two sets of yellow ropes that he brings out; it’s also two scary-looking dildos.

Well, it’s not like Hermione is a prude, but—

“Is that going inside me?” she blurts out, eyeing the stuff in sir’s hands. She only receives a raised brow from him, accompanied by a small smile. She lets out a huff, realising she won’t get a proper answer, but at the same time it's enough for her to know that she’ll be challenged in every possible aspect today.

God fucking dammit. What has she even done today to deserve it?

Tempted the devil, possibly.

“Are you ready, darling?” he purrs out, standing in front of her. It’s the blindfold coming first, apparently.

“No,” she complains. “Is it going to hurt?”

“No,” he immediately answers. “I will make it pleasurable for you, I promise. You’ll be begging for a release when I’m done with you. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Remember to use your safeword if needed.”

He brushes his fingers against her face before she finally nods. Then the blindfold covers her world completely, and she holds her breath, trying to anticipate what happens next. It’s hard to do it, with the way sir moves—quietly, scaring her with the smallest of movement against her body.

“Breathe, darling,” he whispers into her ear. He’s standing behind her now, their bodies flush against each other, and Hermione shivers. It’s not cold inside the room, but the anticipation makes her spine grow cold. “You’re doing great.”

“Okay,” she whispers back. His hand sneaks toward her throat, clenching around it—not enough to make her stop breathing, but rather to remind her of his control, to give her some grounding.

She realises he won’t do anything else if she doesn’t calm her breathing, so she tries to stand still and just—

Breathe.

It’s harder than she thought, with the staccato of her heart resounding against her ribs. She tries to focus on the feeling of sir pressed against her back, on his hand wrapped around her throat. She dives inside her mind to look for a sense of calm, and she finds it.

Finally.

Her breathing slows. Her chest starts rising steadily, and with it, her heart calms down too. She’s lulled into a strange sort of calm, wrapped completely in sir’s presence. Nothing else exists, but the shift is clear. She feels much calmer now.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You’re most welcome, darling. Now bend over and hold onto the desk. I’ll help you.”

Now, when she complies, there’s no fear left in her body. She’s still breathing deeply, guided into her place with warm hands that don’t leave her for a while, caressing her skin and sending sparks of reassurance. She’s glad for both his support and the desk she can hold onto while her legs are growing weak.

“Good girl.”

It makes her embarrassingly wet, and this time she has no panties on to stop the slickness from running down her thighs. Yet—the headspace she’s nearing doesn’t allow her to feel any shame.

Shame would have been forgotten anyway since sir’s hands move down her spine and dive right into the wetness, collecting it onto his fingers and pushing deliciously deep into her. He doesn’t stop there—with his slow, controlled strokes, he coaxes an orgasm out of her, his free hand still supporting her. He doesn’t allow her time to rest, though; pushing through the aftershocks of her orgasm, he slowly slides one of the dildos into her pussy. The stretch isn’t as bad as she expected, her recent orgasm and wetness making it easy to enter. Yet, she gasps as the toy reaches the limit—it’s settled deep inside her, the shape fitting perfectly. The blindfold enhances the sensations tenfold.

“How does it feel?” Sir asks, caressing her spine in slow strokes. She has time to get used to the feeling.

“Strange,” she pants out, “but not unwelcome.”

She hears his soft hum and tries to anticipate his next move when he leans away; it’s hard when she can’t see. She strains her ears, but she’s met with silence. Whatever he’s planning, it’s not going to be good—

“Stay still.”

She hasn’t even realised that she started wiggling her ass, and she immediately stills.

Her legs are still shaky. She takes a deep breath to calm down the wave of nervousness. Sir’s presence helps—she knows he’s not that far even if he’s not touching her.

But then—she feels his finger trailing around the outer rim of her asshole, and she jumps.

“What are you—”

“Quiet. I will gag you if you talk without permission.”

She obediently closes her mouth, but she can’t stop the tensing of her legs when he slowly dives in. It’s just his finger, but the sensation is so strange that she can barely remain still.

Sir surprises her again—instead of repeating his orders, he stills.

“Do you need a break? You may speak.”

She hesitates. “I’m not feeling comfortable,” she finally admits. “I haven’t done this before, and it feels strange.”

He hums.

“Do you want to continue with it or move on?”

He hands the reins back to her—and surprisingly enough, it makes her even more uncomfortable than the ass play.

“Can’t you decide?”

“I certainly can,” he says, chuckling. “You don’t want the control back, hm? Alright, let’s put it in a different way. Do you want to try it? My fingers and the toy in your ass?”

“Yes,” she says tentatively. “You did promise to make it feel good.”

“I did, didn’t I? Can you push through the discomfort then?”

She thinks he’s smiling now; she can hear some traces of amusement and tenderness in his voice.

“I think so.”

“Okay. Use your safeword if you get too overwhelmed. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

He gathers some of the lubrication between her legs and calmly pushes his finger inside again. She tries her best to relax, but still tenses as it pushes deeper.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

She complies, the movement of her chest and relaxation following after allow him to push his finger even deeper, up to his knuckles. When he’s fully in, he stills, and she tries to get used to the sensation. Still weird, but—she realises that her walls are thin enough that she can feel him moving against the toy settled in her vagina. And when he starts thrusting his finger, up and down, it actually feels good.

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

She focuses on the sensation, letting her body go slack, and the change is instant—she’s able to take him without friction or resistance. She’s not surprised when he pulls out his finger and she feels the tip of another toy touching the rim. It’s a bit narrower than the other one, and it consists of a string of connected balls, each increasing in size. She feels every single ball slipping inside her; the first three don’t make a difference since they are smaller than sir’s finger, but the next one—she can feel the stretch as the ball passes through the opening and slips inside, pushing against her walls and the other toy.

And then another one follows.

And the last one.

By the time they are all inside her, she’s panting and grasping tightly onto the edge of the table.

She’s never felt so full before.

“It’s all in. How does it feel?”

“Better than I thought,” she rasps out.

“Good. We’ll move to the dessert, then. Stand up.”

He helps her stay upright, supporting her body as she slightly sways, the toys moving with her.

“I’m going to tie you up,” he says, brushing her stomach and flickering around her nipples. “Then I’ll suspend you in the air. You’ll be completely at my mercy, darling. You already are—but the feelings will be enhanced tenfold. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

She shivers as the ropes start wounding around her body. He has her kneeling on the ground, aware of every slither of the rope wrapping around her skin; at first, she can’t help but resist, anticipating his movements and trying to keep herself balanced, but when he once more forces her body the other way than she expected him to, she decides to let her go.

She trusts him. He wouldn’t harm her.

And when she goes pliant, she finally feels a thrill of compliance—while it’s scary to completely let go, it’s much better.

The ropes wound around her thighs and between her legs, digging deep between her labia. The toys push a bit deeper, forced to stay in place with the ropes, and she gasps. The friction is delicious, especially with the way the toys brush against each other, making her wet. Some of the slickness coats the ropes and her legs, too.

She can’t admire the pattern of the ropes, but she realises how intricate it is, binding her torso, legs, and arms, restricting the range of her movement to none. Sir makes sure her blood flow isn’t cut, but tension completely escapes her as she enters the sub zone, floating even before she’s up in the air.

“Look at you, darling,” she hears. Those words are soft, followed by the touch lingering in her hair. She’s not sure whether she's already in her final position or not, it wouldn’t make much difference anyway. She feels every single muscle and the coiling of the ropes, and at the same time she’s out of it, free despite the restriction.

“You’re doing so good.”

She could be hanging over a cliff right now and she wouldn’t mind.

She’s pushed the edge with an orgasm that shatters her completely. She hasn’t expected it, the build-up so sudden—caused by the friction of the ropes, the feeling of safety and the tightening of her legs around the toys settled inside her. Admittedly, sir’s hands on her neck and clit tremendously help to push her over.

The floating is nice. It’s like hanging out on a fluffy cloud and basking in the sunlight in the first spring days. She can even stare at the clear-blue sky, drinking in the angelic calm she hasn’t felt in a long, long while. She still feels the aftershocks of her earth-shattering orgasm, but her heart is filled with content and trust to the brim, happiness bubbling like bubbles of champagne.

“Time to come up.”

She doesn’t want to. She’d be happy to stay in the skies forever.

“Come back to me, darling.”

But the voice is familiar and soft and coaxing and commanding her to return, so she leaves her cloud, whining. The journey back reminds her of traveling fast-speed through a tunnel of stars, ending in her blinking her eyes a few times, trying to reorient herself.

She’s still wrapped in ropes and sir’s arms, but no longer suspended—if she was even suspended to begin with. The blindfold is gone, though. Her limbs are burning with exertion, but the armour of ropes feels so nice that she doesn’t want to get out of it. She whines when he starts loosening some of the ties.

“Ah. I’ll loosen the ties on your arms and legs and rewrap it for a chest harness, how about that?”

She likes it. She wants to stay wrapped in ropes for a while longer.

He makes quick work of untangling and rewrapping the ropes, the harness still tight around her chest, like an armour. He does bend her over the table, slowly pulling out the toy from her ass and then her pussy. She gasps at the sensation and sudden emptiness—she’s still stretched and it’s even less comfortable without the toys. However, the bundle of her nerves is still so sensitive that she doubts she could handle any more stimulation.

Unless—

“Can you fuck me?” she blurts out even before he puts his hands on her arms.

She hears his chuckle and she turns her head to look at him. She’s completely spent, but her body is thrumming, waiting for more, something that only he can give to her.

“Hungry for my cock?” he asks, his hand moving leisurely down her spine.

“Yes. Please, fuck me, sir.”

He still doesn’t—taking an awful lot of time to assess her.

“There’s no going back once I do,” he finally says. “We’re already crossing the line.”

“I want to be your sub full-time.”

“You know what kind of commitment that is. And I’d rather not have you making that decision while you’re right out of the subspace, wrapped in my ropes and splayed on my table. You look pretty like this, but I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind to make an informed decision.”

He’s right, words come to her with difficulty, but her heart is already set on the reward.

“I’ve been thinking about it before our meeting,” she says, forcing the words into coherent sentences. “I even talked to Pansy. I tasted the submission, and I love it. I want to explore further. With you.”

He tilts his head, his eyes boring into hers.

“If we’re going into it, there’s no going back. I need you to be sure about this.” He looks away for a moment before his eyes flicker back to her. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I will fuck you since you’re begging so prettily, and we’ll talk after the aftercare. When you’re with me—fully.”

He caresses her face, fingers lingering over her cheek and hair.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Please, fuck me, sir.”

“You like to beg, don’t you? Alright. If you say so—”

He pushes two fingers inside her with no warning, pushing her with his free hand to the table. She gasps, wriggling her ass and clenching around his fingers, happy with the roughness of it. He wastes no time, making sure that she’s wet. Finally, she hears the unzipping of his trousers, and impatiently waits to feel his cock lining up with her entrance.

To her surprise, he doesn’t immediately go in, but instead spreads some of the slickness over her asshole, too. What follows is the familiar toy slipping in and out. On the second in, it’s pushed in at the same time as sir’s cock enters her vagina, and she lets out a guttural scream of satisfaction.

“Jesus,” she pants out. “Please, please, pl—”

She receives a sharp smack that makes her cry out again, and she wonders what it would feel to receive a real spanking. She never expected herself to be a kinky person, yet—

“It’s not Jesus’ name you should be calling out.”

“Sir—”

“Correct. I do have a ‘sir’ in my name, don’t I?”

She chuckles, but it quickly dies down with his deep, rough thrusts that rob her out of breath. She’s completely overwhelmed, her body on fire and ready to catapult her into the subspace again.

Sir’s hand wraps around her ponytail and roughly tilts her head back; combined with the punishing thrusts, it suffices to bring her to another orgasm. This one is different—not as earth-shattering, but it colours her world red and drowns her in a wave of warmth. As it recedes, her body is completely sated and limp.

Sir empties his own blow into the condom and pulls out of her with a groan. The toy is out, too, and he gently starts unwrapping the ropes from her chest. She’s content to stay put, watching him assess the damage—there are traces of ropes etched into her skin—and applying a cream to the reddened places. Then he feeds her with a bacon burger and forces water with electrolytes into her until she happily settles against his chest, humming.

But her anxiety couldn’t stay put for long, of course.

“Are we doing this, then?” she asks shyly, peeing up at him.

“Tell me about the scene, first. How did it feel?”

“Amazing.” She smiles. “It was uncomfortable to begin with, but once I pushed against that feeling, it felt amazing. I didn’t expect it to. And I liked being bound from heads to toes—I was helpless and I couldn’t see you, but I knew that you were near and you were guiding me. So, I liked that, too. And the fucking—I loved every inch of your cock, sir.”

He smirks at her.

“What didn’t you like?”

“Taking off the ropes,” she fires off quickly, without thinking. “Even the chest harness—it feels like armour. It feels like being wrapped in you all the time. I love it. It brings me comfort especially when I’m anxious.”

He looks down at her, moving his hand to touch her cheek with tenderness.

“I can teach you how to tie the chest harness and keep it under your t-shirts if you want. For whenever you feel anxious and I’m not there to tie you up.”

“I’d rather you do it.”

He nods. “Which brings me to my next question. You said that you’d like to be my sub. Permanently. But you should know that it also comes with certain responsibilities, not just pleasure. You won’t be able to get out once the scene ends, go home and forget what we did. You will be in it twenty four hours each day. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?”

“Wouldn’t it turn me into your—like—a sexual slave?”

“No. I’m not in for a master-servant dynamics, but the submissive-dominant. And like I told you during our first meeting—it’s not just about sex. It’s about you giving up control even in daily life. Outside of the scene.”

“What’s the difference, then? Isn’t it the same if we’re in it 24/7?”

“No, kitten. You keep your own autonomy, your job and freedom. The relationship is about providing you with a safety net whenever you need it.”

“So all the decisions would be yours?”

“When you need it.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t understand.”

“Fair, I’m not explaining this properly.” He quietens for a moment and Hermione waits patiently, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on her skin. “The main thing is that I have control, but you have your autonomy. Does it make more sense?”

“A bit? What about the scenes? Do we keep those?”

He hums. “They still happen, but there won’t be any stop to your submission, even after you leave this room. So if you disobey any rule I have for you, then you will be punished for it.”

“Okay, so it will just span the whole relationship, not just what we do here?”

“Yes. And it means that you can still use your safeword.” He smiles, kissing her forehead. “The main goal is to bring emotional satisfaction to both of us. You need someone to help you with your anxiety and decision-making, especially with your hyper independence, and I need someone to dominate. It doesn’t mean that I’m taking your personality or life away—you will simply have a set of rules to follow and report back.”

“What set of rules?” she asks apprehensively.

“Like properly eating and drinking water—I noticed you don’t always eat what you’re supposed to. Or calling me whenever you feel anxious. Or wearing the ropes for me under your work clothes. Or wearing a toy. Or staying quiet for a few hours.” He tilts her head back. “We will work on the set of rules on paper since I know you won’t rest until you have it spelled out for you.”

She giggles. “You would be correct, sir.”

“Good.” He starts combing through her hair. “Does it scare you?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

He looks at her as if she hung the moon and the stars for him, lips parting in surprise.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am, sir. I want to try it. I want to be your good girl.”

She drowns in his embrace, her yellow ropes against his black heart, and her own is full of content.