Wrapped (Kinktober Day 1)

by cleansheets (ao3)

Chapter 1

Face blazing, Hermione slams the laptop shut and awaits the reaction to the video she’s just played.

“Do you think she knows?” says Fred. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“That we’ll actually do it?” George answers. He’s on the sofa beside her, arm stretched out along the back. “Reckon that’s why she asked us.”

“It’s ‘cos we’re such giving types,” Fred muses. “Never leave a lady in need.”

“And you need it bad, don’t you love?” George croons, his big hand moving to cradle the back of her head, tangling in her hair. “Though, Fred,” he goes on thoughtfully, using his hand to guide her head downward, into his lap. “I’m beginning to suspect this one might not be a lady after all.” He presses her face against the hard outline of his cock inside his trousers. The world hums in her ears, her mind blissfully blank, the way only they can make it.

“Only one way to find out,” says Fred somewhere above her and she hears the slide of his zipper. “Well, maybe more than one.” He’s behind her, his hands on her hips. Hermione feels the slow slide of his naked cock against the thin layer of her definitely wet knickers.

“Best try a few just to be sure,” George agrees, lifting his hips to slide his own cock free. His hand still on the base of her skull, he guides her face beneath his cock, pressing it against the humid warmth and soft skin of his balls.

“Then we can get to the research,” Fred agrees, sliding the crotch of her underwear to the side. He slaps her pussy and she yelps, jerking further forward into George’s lap. “Wossit called again? Lay-tex?”

*

Of course she knows they'll do it. She's been in a game of permanent one-upsmanship with them for years now. Ever since they started flirting with her, daring her to wrinkle her nose and tell them off, and she didn't. She's never liked being predictable.

For every salacious suggestion they've whispered to her, she's followed through or come back with something even farther afield, more unexpected, more twisted. Her filthiest fantasies, things she’d never dream of asking anyone else. All leading to here.

*
The charm feels cool and slick, beginning at her collarbone and quickly spreading downward. A rich, royal blue, the second skin wraps around her breasts, her ribs, her hips, her thighs, until she’s encased all the way to her toes. There’s a pleasant, firm pressure everywhere, smooth against her naked skin. She lifts a blue hand to smooth over her blue breast and inhales at how the sensation seems amplified.

“Naughty,” says George from beside her and smacks an arse cheek.

He’s wearing the smug grin of having pulled something off. So is Fred, whose eyes are dark as he presses her shoulder forward so she bends at the waist. In the mirror across from them, she can see him staring at her arse. He traces a finger down the crack, then cups her pussy from behind, the warmth and pressure of his hand magnified by the thin layer of material.

Hermione jolts and the moan she lets out is a sound she’s never heard herself make before. The heady rush of actually feeling something she’s imagined for so long.

“Slut,” says Fred fondly and slaps her between the legs. She grabs at George’s wrist to keep herself steady and Fred pulls her upright again. It’s a chance to actually look at herself in the mirror and she has to bite her lip not to whimper. Slick blue everywhere, showing the faint shape of her nipples and the stark outline of her pussy lips; latex cameltoe. Completely incongruous here, in the back room of Wheezes after hours.

“Few extra features,” George says. He taps a wand on her breast and two neat circles appear right over her nipples. It’s shockingly lewd, seeing just her hard nipples jutting out. George strokes a thumb over the one closest to him, then pinches. On her other side, Fred takes hold of his and twists. Before she’s done crying out, they’ve both stopped and the suit is sealed up again.

“And we’ve got a few nice inflatable surprises to tuck inside you next time, love,” George continues, cupping a hand between her legs firmly enough it forces her up onto her toes ‘til he lets go.

“But even better,” says Fred, and does something inscrutable with his wand. A zipper appears at her crotch, the pull resting just above her pubic mound. Fred reaches between her legs from behind and slowly tugs it down, opening up the suit in a long slit from her clitoris to partway up her arse. Her pussy lips surge through, plump and obscene, and if she thought the sight of just her nipples was lewd, this is truly perverse.

One of them turns her and pushes her to bend again at the waist. Someone kicks her legs wider apart. Looking over her shoulder, she can see herself in the mirror, splayed open: a shiny outline surrounding a lurid, dripping shock of flesh. A set of holes.

“Try to close it,” George says, and she does, reaching back between her legs for the zipper pull. It won’t budge. Snickering, he slides it closed smoothly. “Now open it,” he says, and again, her fingers are useless, the zip won’t move.

“We control when you can get at your holes, darling,” says Fred, pushing his hand under hers to easily unzip it. He kisses her on the side of the head and watches in the mirror as he pushes two fingers into her desperately wet cunt.

“And when you can try to hide them,” George adds, sliding the pad of his thumb over her arsehole. Hermione’s never felt so close to coming with so little actual stimulation.

“And the piece de resistance…” Fred says, pulling his fingers out of her. She clenches at nothing, feeling tragically empty. He absently shoves both fingers in her mouth as he watches George grab something behind her. Hermione whimpers and sucks her own taste off of him.

“Voila,” says George, holding a matching blue stretch of latex that she recognizes as a hood. Fred pulls his fingers from her mouth, dragging them across her cheek to dry them, and without another word they’re maneuvering her into the hood, pressing her face into the cool latex cradle. It closes around the sides of her head and, with a muffled charm, seals down the back.

The world drops away. It’s fully dark, something soft pressing against her closed eyelids. There are holes at her nostrils, letting in air, but that’s all. Smooth, firm latex covers her ears, her mouth. When she reaches up, the hood has sealed itself seamlessly to the neck of her suit, no zipper or clasp. She can hear muffled noises but only for a moment. Without warning, a wand taps gently on the crown of her head and her hearing is gone.

The momentary swell of terrified helplessness surges into a wave of desperate arousal. She has no wand, no sight, no sound, not even a sense of touch from the way she might otherwise feel air currents shift in the room when someone moves, the heat of a body moving close. She’s sealed away from the world – all except her cunt, still lewdly open to the air and on display, defenseless. The only part of her worth accessing.

She’s utterly at their mercy.

For a few minutes, nothing happens. She wonders if they’re actually doing something or just letting her stand there to stew in her own juices. So to speak. Fuck, she may actually be dripping.

A sudden touch at the back of her neck and she jumps in surprise. It turns into a weight around her throat and she realizes it’s a collar.

Another pause, then a tug on her cheek – air rushes in and she realizes they’ve added a zipper over her mouth and pulled it open. She licks her lips, swallows. A thumb brushes over her bottom lip, gentle – then a glob of liquid lands on her tongue and she can practically hear them laughing. Spit. The hand pushes her mouth closed and the message is clear. She swallows. The zipper tugs closed.

She makes herself keep breathing, slow and steady. Another stretch of nothing happening, every nerve in her system holding its breath.

Two hands firmly pushing down on her shoulders and after a moment her brain kicks in and she drops to her knees. She desperately, desperately wants to touch herself – desperately wants to know what it feels like to have her own latex-covered fingers in her naked pussy. But she knows better.

A tug at her throat and she’s pulled forward onto her hands. The tug continues; it must be a lead connected to her collar. She crawls, mortification rushing in at the feeling of her naked cunt and arse wagging in the open air as she moves, framed and highlighted in a way that’s somehow filthier than if she weren’t wearing anything.

No hope that no one’s seen it – a warm rough hand pats her pussy, then squeezes her arse as she crawls. She can practically hear them laughing.

A jerk at her collar and she stops crawling. Then the shock of pressure, twisting, and release; she’s been side-alonged. She knows, she knows they’ve probably just apparated her upstairs to the apartment. But maybe they haven’t. Maybe they’ve brought her somewhere else. Maybe there are other people around, staring at this freak, this rubber doll sex toy.

She’s tugged up onto her knees. Another slight pull and she realizes her lead has been tied to something. She sways slightly, lost in space, trying to sense light or footsteps.

Someone pinches her clit. She cries out, feeling the vibration in her throat without hearing the sound. Then another tug at her cheek and air spilling across her lips as her mouth is made available. A hand on her chin tugs it down and she obediently opens her mouth. Fingers tug at the tip of her tongue and she slides it out. She holds there, waiting, mouth open and tongue out. She must look ridiculous. Nothing happens. The top of her tongue begins to dry in the open air.

Something pushes between her legs from behind and slides back and forth over her desperate pussy. A shoe, something with laces; what shoes were they wearing?

She whimpers and tries to hold still, despite the way the motion of the shoe makes her body sway. Saliva pools under her tongue, and eventually spills out the sides of her mouth. She can imagine them smirking, mocking her if she could hear – now you're drooling from both ends.

Hands on both sides of her head and a cock shoves into her mouth (finally!). The head nudges the back of her throat and its owner tightens his grip on her head. He rocks in place, rubbing the head against the soft tissue of her throat, and she won’t gag, she won’t– she gags. The cock pauses, pushes back in for one more go, then pulls out. She gulps air and a third hand on the back of her head pushes her forward back onto the cock.

The shoe is back, dragging coarsely over her soft exposed pussy lips. The toe hooks up onto her mons and pulls her hips backward. At the same time, the hands on her head pull her in the other direction, pulling her face forward to keep the cock in her mouth. She loses whatever balance she had on her knees. Now the only things holding her up are the hands around her skull and the foot tugging on her cunt. Her arms automatically fly up but there’s nothing to grab onto; she just has to hang there and wait for whatever comes next.

They could do absolutely anything to her. She wouldn’t even know it was coming.