Penthuisiast
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SD: CH46 - Sloppiness
🕑 Added 2023-03-26 21:32:10 +0000 UTCPenelope fidgeted impatiently and checked the time again. After the episode last night, she had been unable to find Hestia — Miss Jones, she reminded herself. It was difficult to return the secretary to the pedestal she had put her earlier, especially after all that she had witnessed the previous night. No, she was Hestia. Hestia the slut; Hestia the whore, Hestia the collared bitch that Harry Potter commanded like a dog. No, not a dog. Bitch.
Collared bitch.
After the episode in the dungeons, and the shock that Granger had given her, Penelope had lost the ability to think. She had blankly returned to her bed, and fingered herself to sleep. If she was previously infatuated with Harry Potter, she didn’t know what to think of him now. All those dreams— all those erotic dreams of him mauling her breasts, treating her like she was less than human, punishing her and fucking her— they were all true. They could be true. Harry Potter collared his women and treated them like bitches. Maybe that was what her dreams were telling her? That this was going to be her fate unless she left this den of debauchery into the safety of her old world? But could she? Would she?
The salary, the freedom, the living accommodations— it was beyond anything she had ever expected. And if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t afraid of what Harry Potter would do to her. No, she was afraid of what she’d do if he had his way with her.
She glanced at the clock.
Just as ordered, she had submitted her proposal to his desk the first thing in the morning. All that remained was for him to summon her and tell her what he thought of it. If he approved, she could move ahead with the research and purchase everything as briefed in the proposal. If not… well, she’d have to see.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten Hestia to go through it. She hoped the bitch wouldn’t make things worse for her.
It was 8:30 in the morning, and Harry Potter entered his office exactly at 8:15. He was oddly punctual that way. Fifteen minutes had passed, and she knew hers would be the first on the to-do list for the day. Anxious, she waited nervously.
She was unsure why she was nervous. Penelope was generally a confident woman. Sure, her confidence had suffered a constant barrage of blows over the last few months, but that was just the bigoted purebloods fucking with her life. Her skills were still top-notch, or the Department of Mysteries wouldn’t have sent her the apprenticeship letter. Harry Potter had hired her on spot after seeing her resume, and she doubted she had over bloated the proposal with needless costs.
Still… this was Harry Potter and—
—This is what you get by being with me… I will use you as I please, I give you pain when it pleases me, and pleasure only when I think you deserve it. Do you think you deserve it now, slave? —
Penelope crossed her legs unconsciously.
She decided to pour a glass of firewhiskey. It wasn’t a very expensive one, but one of the better ones. Penelope wasn’t a drinker but she’d be damned if she didn’t help herself to some liquid courage right now. Literally. Her hands shook slightly as she held the glass and—
“Penelope! Get in here, now!”
—her hand slipped, spilling the firewhiskey upon her office clothes. The sound had come out of the Speaker system placed in her room — a muggle sound appliance made magical through skillful use of eavesdropping and switching spells. She hadn’t known that it was connected to her room.
Then she noticed the state of her clothes. The firewhiskey had fallen all over her blouse, wetting and staining the entire thing. She cast a vanishing charm, but the damage was already done. The firewhiskey had stained the fabric and nothing short of perfectly cast Untransfiguration could remove it.
Shit! Shit! If there was one thing Harry Potter hated, it was sloppiness, as Granger had put it. In Harry Potter’s words, she represented him, so anything that was subpar in her performance reflected badly on him. Unfortunately, not even a finely cast Reparo would be able to undo this. Maybe a muggle washing machine could, but unfortunately, this house didn’t have one.
Just her luck.
“Which part of Get in here, now, wasn’t clear?”
Penelope yelped again, and stood up, grasping her wand, and dashed out of her room, little waves of anxiety rippling through her. Part of her wondered if he’d be unhappy with her appearance, and if that’d get her in that room, hanging down those metal hooks and leather straps, naked before a scantily clad Harry Potter, crop in hand.
Shut up, me!
She poked her head through the doorway she had passed before, and to her horror, it led to another hallway, further into the depths of the house. She looked around at the different doors, searching for the right way to go. Seven years at Hogwarts with the moving staircases, and these corridors were getting the better of her? How? Why?
He knows I don’t know his floor plan. He knows I’ve only been here once before. He’d understand that I got lost.
…Right?
Part of her wondered if he was doing this on purpose, just to get her to make a mistake and land up in one of those rooms. Harry Potter was exactly the sort of bastard to engage in twisted games like that. She had seen him do something similar with Malfoy and Susan Bones.
After traversing through roughly sixteen rooms, she managed to reach the corridor in the front-facing part of the home. She stood at the entrance to the foyer, and gave a little jump of joy at finally spotting something familiar, and turned right into the corridor that Hes— Miss Jones— had taken her through the first time she had come to meet Harry Potter. She reached to rap her knuckles against the door—
“Come in.”
Who does he think he is? Albus freaking Dumbledore?
The door opened and she stepped in.
Harry Potter was not alone.
No, there were two girls with him — Hermione Granger and a chestnut-haired girl that looked similar in age. Penelope hadn’t seen her sitting at the Gryffindor table before, and certainly not in Harry’s group. Maybe someone from a different House? Definitely not any of the Ravenclaws or she’d have noticed, so perhaps from the other Houses? The girl sat on one of the chairs, next to Hermione Granger, who had turned to give Penelope a condescending leer. Seriously, what was wrong with this girl? The more Penelope met her, the more she was convinced that she was insecure about being the most brainy girl in the room.
With due reason, she thought spitefully.
She crossed the distance between the door and his table quickly, and stood to one side of the table, awaiting further instruction. Harry Potter looked at her, before his eyes narrowed at her chest. Before she could say something, he met her eyes.
“I read your proposal.”
Penelope found herself staring a little. After last night, his broad shoulders felt more prominent, as did his chest. The white shirt he was wearing fitted him to a tee, and she could see the muscles bulging through the rolled-up sleeves. She wasn’t sure if she had noticed it before, but his eyes were piercing green, like the shade of the killing curse and his—
“—ss Clearwater?”
His words shook her out, and Penelope realized she was staring a little. Quickly recovering, she apologized to his chest, unable to meet his eyes.
He gestured towards the chestnut-haired girl. “Meet Tracey Davis. She’s in my year at Hogwarts, and will be employed at Moonforge for the considerable future.”
The girl in question smiled hesitantly, at which Granger softly pressed her shoulder, offering support.
The bitch.
“Unfortunately, Miss Davis does not have her OWLs, and neither do I, nor my friend Hermione. However, Miss Davis here is a genius at Transfiguration, and Hermione is very skilled at both Transfiguration and Charms work. It is my desire to have both of them working with you in your new experimental enchantments. If the results are a success, then both of them will be able to use their skill for extra credit in their OWLs, but this enchanting technology will remain proprietary to Moonforge. But we’ve already discussed that bit, haven’t we?”
Penelope nodded.
“Miss Davis and Hermione will begin working with you immediately. I’ve gone through your proposal, and have written the cheque. Hermione and Miss Davis will accompany you to Gringotts tomorrow to get the necessary gold, and then you three can acquire all the necessary ingredients you need for the experiments.”
Penelope exhaled. So far so good. But he had sounded annoyed before. What was that about?
“About that proposal, there are certain issues we need to discuss.” He turned to Granger. “Hermione, Tracey, if you would…?”
Both girls stood up from their chairs. Hermione crossed the table from the other side and whispered something in his ear, while Davis just looked slightly uncomfortable. Granger then turned towards Penelope, gave her a knowing look and left the room with Davis in tow. Penelope heard the door after them but focussed on Harry Potter instead.
“What took you so long?” he asked, his expression instantly shifting from professional to almost annoyed.
“I— I got lost.”
Damn it. Why did she stammer in front of him like that? Penelope felt her heart rate quicken and twirled her hair nervously.
“Stop that,” he barked, and she stilled, one hand still in her hair. At his glare, her hand dropped from the hair and remained steady on the table. He had not stopped staring at her and she was starting to sweat. She felt unnerved and objectified, but a small portion of her felt glad if that was truly the case.
Her folds clenched.
Harry Potter stood up, and walked across the table until he stood in front of her. Despite being younger than her, he was taller than her. Taller with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles and sharp green eyes that were staring down at her cleavage—
Wait. At her cleavage?
“Tell me, Miss Clearwater. What did I tell you on your first day here?”
Oh bugger. “That— that I represented you?”
His lips twisted. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
“And?”
“And…. And… And you asked me to be confident and—”
“And?”
Not be a timid mouse. “Not— Not be a mouse.”
“A timid mouse,” he corrected. “And because you represent me, anything that looks bad on you, reflects badly on me.”
“...Sor—”
She couldn’t even finish her words, and Harry Potter was all over her blouse, undoing her buttons with extreme precision. Penelope opened her mouth to speak against the unprofessionalism on his part, and complain on how forward he was being, but the shock kept her silent. Before she knew it, he had ripped the last button off and tore the blouse off, revealing her bra, which he then yanked down, tearing it off, and throwing it down upon the floor.
“SIR!” She yelled.
“I thought I told you this before,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “I. Do not tolerate. Sloppiness.”
He grabbed her by the neck, and spun her around, trapping her between himself and the table. “I told you, Penelope Clearwater, you represent me. And you dare present yourself like that before others? I gave you a job of your choice, and yet, you submit a proposal that wastes at least six hundred galleons. You were supposed to get the proposal cleared by Hestia. I do not see her signature anywhere here.”
“Sor—”
He grasped her skirt and tore it off.
“My skirt—” Penelope protested, but he paid her no mind. His hands groped her breasts, squeezing them violently. Fear coursed through her, and at the same time, her heart raced, her sex heating like anything.
Penelope wanted him.
The more forceful and dangerous he was, the more she was drawn to him. A moth dancing to his flame.
Was this really happening? She felt his hands on her nipples and let out a loud moan, subconsciously reaching up for his neck to pull his lips to hers. Instead he slapped them away, and whirled her around, so that her back now faced him.
“You need to be punished.”
Penelope gasped, wondering if he was going to tear her panties away, and fuck her right there, bent over the table. And if he did, would she let him? Would she stay bent over while Harry Potter demonstrated his anger on her?
Her pussy clenched at the thought. It was just too much to handle. Her breaths got heavier and her head felt light all at the same time. She braced herself against the table, trying to put her mind anywhere but there. His hand came down hard on her arse, making her yell in surprise. Penelope winced, her eyes watering from the impact. She wanted to look back at him, but could only manage to keep her hands on the table.
“Understand this, Penelope,” he growled. “I—”
Smack!
“Don’t—”
Smack!
“Like—”
Smack!
“Sloppiness!”
He smacked her arse continuously, until she was mewling in pain, as the stinging washed over her. Despite it, her panties were wet, her pussy ready for him. She had never felt this helpless before, and neither had she felt this sensual and wild. She felt the bruises forming, and bit her lip, trying to not to scream as his hand came down again and again mercilessly upon her tender flesh, and her panting grew as she stood there and took every blow, legs shaking and pussy clenching with need for this man.
Finally he took a step back, as if to observe his handiwork, observing her backside like a painter looking at his art.
Penelope burned with pleasure and shame. She winced as his calloused fingers reached her arsecheeks, his touch spidery light this time around. She could feel her juices slowly seeping through her panties, dripping down upon her inner thigh and crawling downward. She knew he could see them.
“What is this?” He asked, “You are… aroused?”
And then without preamble, his fingers forced their way past the thin cotton mesh of her underwear and dipped roughly into her wetness. She squirmed at his touch, and then his other hand came down upon her arse again.
“You little slut. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
Her pussy clenched harder against his fingers. Her body tightened and ached, and Penelope fought with everything she had not to come. She wouldn’t— she wouldn’t give this man her pleasure. He dug his fingers faster, insistent. Penelope clenched her fists, trying to fight the sensations and the orgasm that his fingers demanded of her. The constant smacks on her arse had already shifted from pain to pleasure category, and she began to moan uncontrollably.
No! No! No!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
She was just about to cum—
Harry Potter pulled his fingers away.
“NO!” Penelope screamed, trying to trap his fingers within her pussy, but he was faster. He grabbed her left arm, and swung her around, and slapped her face with his cum-covered fingers.
“OUT!” He said. “GET OUT!”
The rage in his voice should’ve frozen her in bone-chilling terror. Was she going to lose her job? Was he going to throw her out? She should've been horrified and tried to apologize. Instead right then, her pussy clenched and convulsed, as waves of pleasure hit her in concurrent waves, her climax shredding her to pieces. She twisted her legs together, and grabbed the chair for support, as the quake slowly dissipated, leaving several rivulets of her juices crawling all the way down her legs.
Harry Potter waved his hand, and her wand came flying at her. Penelope fumbled before catching it, and hurried out.
What the hell had just happened?
