Chapter Text
Sometimes the best things in life are unexpected.
Stumbling upon a fetish club in the heart of London, while incidentally being pissed out of her head, had certainly been an unforeseen development for Hermione. Her friends had led the way into the establishment, with a certain naive confidence. Before she had even crossed the threshold, Hermione's inebriated brain had figured out exactly what lay behind the red velvet ropes and butch security guards who did a poor job of concealing their wands. The bar was situated on a popular street in the centre of the muggle capital, and yet there was no queue. Although peculiar, it suggested that, either the establishment was invisible to muggles or they typically avoided it altogether. There was no thumping of drum and bass, as there had been at every other establishment they had attended that evening, which implied a different sort of vibe inside. Whoever had named the bar Cherry Red, had known exactly what they were doing.
Hermione declined to alert Ginny, Lavender and Luna, who had already stormed through the dark foyer, and were wobbling down the stairs on their too-high heels, simply because she was curious.
"No man ever made a great discovery without the exercise of the imagination."
Hermione couldn't recall exactly who had uttered those words at that exact moment. She decided, however, that whomever it was had certainly not meant for them to be recalled upon when walking into a sex club.
Her friends had now reached the bottom of the stairs, and were blissfully none-the-wiser as to what kind of place they had entered. The ceilings were rather low, giving a cosy atmosphere but ultimately reminding one constantly, that they were in a basement under the pavements of London. The room itself was painted a deep, red colour (rather on the nose, Hermione thought), with shiny black marble flooring, and low lighting that added to the ambience. There was a bar to the left, as they entered, and a seating area with plump black leather couches and chairs. A few patrons graced the bar area. One man inparticular, wearing nothing but leather trousers, caught Hermione's attention.
There was nothing so far (other than the shirtless guy) that particularly screamed fetish club, Hermione thought. Men in scant clothing were ten a penny in London, especially in Muggle gay bars. Hermione suspected that the real fun was hidden through one of the doors, that she could see dotted along the walls.
"Theres no music in here." Ginny whined, earning herself a confused look from the bar tender. Hermione hadn't noticed before, but he appeared to be wearing a collar.
"Lets go into the other room." Lavender tugged them forward.
It was rather sadistic indeed for Hermione, to knowingly lead her friends into a place she knew they would not enjoy. It was her own selfish curiosity that drove her forward. Rather ironic really. Although, she couldn't hold a candle to the amount of sadism and masochism that these walls saw every evening. If only they could talk!
Her own imagination had gotten the better of her at the prospect of entering a fetish club. She was not naive. She had read plenty of erotic novels, and had fingered her dripping slit afterwards, but to no release. It was never quite as good as was portrayed in books. Hermione was not ashamed to admit that she quite fancied the idea of being dominated, but had never been afforded the opportunity. Her previous partners had been unable to perform to her desired standards. If they could not even locate her clitoris, how was she expected to trust them with handcuffs and a blindfold?
They pushed through a pair of double doors and hit the jackpot.
The bar appeared to be the antechamber to a much larger, much more exciting space. The red and black theme remained throughout, as did the low ceilings. This room was far more interesting, in Hermione's opinion.
Where to begin? She hardly knew where to look.
A small, raised stage took up a corner in the far back of the room. It was decorated with red velvet curtains and illuminated by spolight's that were currently fixed upon the couple at its centre. A broad shouldered man, wearing an immaculately tailored suit and a mask that concealed the top half of his face, was holding a leather flogger. A small witch was bent over his lap, her skirt flipped up over her bottom, revealing her nakedness to the crowd. Her skin was already a very pretty shade of pink. From where she stood, Hermione could see the woman was trembling as the man gently caressed her skin with the tassel-end of the flogger.
There was various equipment, intended for shared use, distributed at intervals around the room. Hermione spotted manacles, with supple leather wrist straps that were hanging from the wall. There was a St Andrew's cross, currently being utilised by two men who seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. There were flogging posts, with an array of whips, canes and paddles. There were lengths of rope, and rings suspended from the low ceiling, from which they could be suspended.
Hermione squeezed her thighs together, and sneaked a sideways glance at her friends.
"I think we may be in the wrong place." Luna said, her pale face turning a shade of strawberry.
"Agreed." Ginny said, hastily.
Without a word, Hermione turned on her heel and followed her friends out of the door.
_____
Her friends were none-the-wiser when Hermione returned the following night. Alone. It had taken a lot of courage and determination, if she were totally honest. But, Hermione was a woman who knew what she wanted, and it was not another mediocre one-night stand with a Weasley who wouldn't put his mouth anywhere near her quim. With the promise of fulfillment and satisfaction, Hermione descended the stairs at Red Cherry, her core already clenched in anticipation.
She had told herself, while getting ready, that she would simply spectate. She would blend in with the crowd. Hermione had no intentions of participating in any of the displays she had seen the evening prior. Although, she had fantasised about being fucked senseless by a chisled, silver-tongued dominant for years, she still rather preferred a soft start.
If her books had taught her anything, it was not quite as easy as walking into a fetish club and acting out a scene with the nearest tall-dark-and-handsome. There were often strict rules in place for the safety of both parties involved. Submissives were usually expected to wait until they were approached, in a lot of places like this. Other establishments had a "submissive wall", in which wanting subs would line up, and wait for a man to select them for the evening. Hermione hoped that her lacy black dress (the most provocative dress she owned) and black masquerade mask would be enough to entice a dominant, she had no idea what she was supposed to do if it didn't work.
Taking the wallflower approach, Hermione perched herself on the edge of an unoccupied leather sofa, that gave her a decent view of the stage that was being set up for a scene. A few eager patrons were already gathered to watch the display. Hermione spied a red haired woman, reclining leisurely in an arm charm, with her submissive kneeling on the floor at her feet. It was the metal chain that had caught Hermione's attention, one end held by the dominant, and the other attached to the submissive collar.
Fortunately, the audience weren't forced to wait long.
The same, well dressed gentleman occupied the stage. This time, his partner was a curvaceous dark skinned lady who seemed completely comfortable being on-stage in her underwear. Hermione admired her confidence and bravery. The sub was made to stand with her legs spread apart, a shoulders width. Her hands were restrained behind her back and a silk blindfold tied across her eyes, obscuring her view.
The sofa dipped underneath Hermione as a man took up the remaining space. She daren't spare a glance in his direction, lest she missed something happen on the stage.
Hermione watched, her attention undivided, as the woman was brought to the brink of orgasm by the dominant. She was astonished to see the man focus his attention on her breasts, rather than between her legs, and yet the effect was clear on the woman. Hermione didn't think she had ever considered she could be that close to coming, after only stimulating her breasts. Just as the woman reached her peak, the man removed all contact from her body and had the audacity to walk away from her to the edge of the stage, as she whined and panted at the loss.
To give the submissive her credit - she stayed perfectly still throughout the whole ordeal.
"Are you enjoying the show, Miss Granger?" Said a husky voice to her right.
Hermione flinched. Merlin, she hadn't expected anyone to recognise her. Before she could stutter an embarrassed response or stand to flee, the man rested his hand on her thigh. She felt his hot breath on her face, as he muttered into her ear.
"Don't worry, pet. I doubt anyone else has recognised you. Your secret is safe with me."
Without even looking at him, Hermione was incredibly distracted. Her fear mixed with genuine excitement, and attraction. His scent had wrapped her into a trance as soon as he had leaned close; sandalwood and cinnamon. Spicy and seductive. Judging from his voice alone, Hermione would place the man well into his forties. It was the sound of a man who had experience in life, and who had never said no life's pleasures. She suspected he smoked heavily, for his voice had a characteristic rasp that could only be associated with years of tobacco (mis)use.
She dared peer at him through her eye-lashes. He was staring at her with interest. "What gave it away?" She asked, wondering whether she should call him sir.
Her guess had been correct, the man was definitely middle-aged, although his weathered face might have deceived someone less intelligent. He was clearly a man who had once been beautiful, his cheek bones and jaw were testament to that. Beneath the collar of his well-pressed shirt, Hermione could see a harsh scar peaking through. She decided it was best not to ask where he had received it, but internally commended him for not glamouring his scars like she did. His auburn hair was tied into a pony tail at the nape of his neck.
"I make it my business to know exactly who stumbles into my club." The man said, his green eyes meeting Hermione's brown. "Of course, I recognised Potter's Golden Girl immediately. I did not, however, expect you to return so soon. Did you like what you saw?"
"I suppose I did." Hermione said.
The man offered her his hand. "My name is Farris. Farris Idris."
She shook his hand lightly. "Pleasure."
"I'm sure it will be, pet." He purred.
____
Hermione had fallen into Farris's bed that night, her anxieties being put at ease by his gentle hands and reassuring words. With his help, she continued her journey of discovery, the experience was beyond anything her imagination could conjure.
She had never quite anticipated just how much she enjoyed praise. However, when Farris brought her to orgasm with nothing but swift strokes of his fingers and whispered affirmations in her ear, Hermione realised just how desperate she was to hear it.
Like a good dominant, Farris seemed to know exactly what she needed. He explored her body with a tender hand, squeezing her breasts in a manner that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. His hands smoothed over her arse with a muttered promise to spank her if she allowed it. He touched her cunt as though it was the most precious thing he had ever encountered. Farris conducted himself in a way that didn't make Hermione feel like another cheap whore who frequented his establishment. Rather, he explored her, as if to establish her own personal preference. He examined each exhalation and each moan, until he brought her to climax in a way that was unique to Hermione.
He cherished her, and Hermione fucking adored it. She even went as far as to beg him for more.
"I want to try something with you, pet." He had said, while Hermione rode-out the aftermath of her first orgasm.
"What is it?" Hermione panted.
Farris rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing an unexpected branding on his forearm. Hermione let her eyes wander over the faded Dark Mark. That explains a lot. She decided not to acknowledge the fact that an Ex-Death Eater had just fingered her to orgasm, and rather focussed on the forbiddenness of it all. Her friends would be disgusted, but Hermione found it rather enticing. There was something erotic about fucking someone that you weren't supposed to.
The man had yet to remove an item of clothing, but he had already coaxed Hermione into the most intense orgasm of her life! - apparently he had much more to give.
Hermione blushed harder than she thought possible when he whispered his intentions in her ear. With a nod of agreement, Hermione rolled onto her front, spreading her legs and making herself completely available to him. Ten minutes later, she found herself approaching her second orgasm, with the man's fingers buried in her ass. Farris stroked her hair tenderly, and told her she was a good girl, as she moaned into the pillow with reckless abandon.
Things didn't go much further.
After Hermione had recovered enough to sit up against the headboard, Farris handed her a glass of cool water to soothe her dry throat. She took the opportunity to examine her surroundings, something she had been rather preoccupied against doing before. The room he had taken her to was rather pleasant. It was dimly lit, the dark purple walls creating a rather suggestive atmosphere. The bed was comfortable, with fluffy white pillows and a thin white sheet that had since been kicked to the floor. The dark wooden headboard and footboard had multiple holes and hooks for restraints. Hermione had no doubt that there was an array of sex toys and condoms in the dresser.
"You did well." Farris said, sitting next to her but maintaining distance between them. "Very well, in fact. That was your first time with a dom?"
"How can you tell?" Hermione asked, although she was naked she hadn't removed the mask obscuring her face. Farris hadn't asked her to either.
He smiled at her in a sympathetic way. "I've done this kind of thing for years."
"Thank you for the experience." Hermione said, for lack of something else to say.
Farris didn't seem to mind. "My wife and I are looking for another submissive to join us. I think you'd be perfect"
"Your wife?"
"I should explain." Farris said, calmly. "I am a dominant. My wife is my submissive. I met her at the club when we were both in our twenties. She was eager to learn, like you, so I trained her and I fell in love with her. Over the years, we've taken on submissives to train together, and we're in the process of looking for another."
Hermione's brain seemed unable to form a single intelligent thought. Had she not come here tonight, looking for a dominant to train her? It seemed almost too good to be true. Common sense dictated that this was far too risky a thing to jump headfirst into. What if this had all been a ruse, and Farris wasn't quite as gentle as he portrayed? She never anticipated it would be quite this easy though.
"Perhaps you could return another night? I shall bring Emmeline, and we can play out a scene together. If it goes well, then I would be eager to enter into a contract with you. I'm sure my wife would be too, when she meets you." Farris said.
"What would be expected of me?" Hermione asked.
Farris looked at her. "You would be expected to do anything I ask of you. It would be much easier if you lived with us, but I'm sure we could make something work if you aren't agreeable. I would hope to see you for a few hours everyday at minimum, so that we might establish a routine in your training. Is that going to be an issue?"
The look on her face must have given her heartbreak away. "Thank you for your offer, but I'm afraid I can't possibly accept. I'm due to start a new job at Hogwarts when the new term commences. I have to ask permission from the Headmaster to leave the grounds. I couldn't very well leave every evening, without explaining my exploits."
Farris frowned. "Very well."
The overall mood in the room had dropped considerably. Hermione couldn't help but feel disappointed. A fantastic opportunity had been placed in front of her on a delectable silver platter and she was forced to decline. She wondered whether all dominants had similar expectations? She could hardly sneak away from the castle each night, to be tied up and spanked as she desired. Someone would certainly notice if she shirked her duty. Perhaps it simply wasn't the best time to pursue a dom/sub relationship.
Hermione rolled from the bed and gathered her clothing without another word. She tried but failed to hide her defeat. What had she been thinking?
"I can think of a similar oppertunity for you." Farris said, although he sounded reluctant. "One that is quite convenient, actually."
Hermione was in the process of pulling up the zip on her dress, but the damn thing kept getting stuck. "What would that be?"
"A friend of mine lives at the school." He said, carefully. "In fact, he happens to be one of my most sought-after patrons. A lot of submissives are desperate to do a scene with him. He still graces the club, but only when it suits him. It's been years since he took on a submissive, but I'm sure he could be persuaded."
Now this sounded interesting, Hermione thought.
"Are you feeling brave, my pet?" Farris asked, with a devious smirk.