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Padma Patil was not one to sit alone in a bar and drink at eight o'clock on a Tuesday evening. But Terry's voice kept echoing in her head and this seemed the appropriate way to deal with it. If he'd been angry, or uncaring, or dumped her for some other woman, she would have been furious and eventually she'd be fine. But he'd been gentle and so damned concerned.
"I care about you, Padma, but I can't do this anymore. You need help. I won't enable you any longer."
He thought it was a sickness. There had to be something wrong in her brain for her to find sex unsatisfying unless it was rough. He didn't want to fuck her so hard she was sore for days afterwards, didn't want to pull her hair and choke her. He wanted to make love to her gently, the way books and songs said witches liked sex. The problem was sweet kisses and gentle caresses left Padma unmoved; it barely got her wet and it could never get her off.
"Padma," Anthony had asked two years prior, his voice even gentler than Terry's, "Did something terrible happen to you when you were little?"
She hadn't been abused in any way. She'd had a perfectly happy, normal childhood and her parents had a perfectly happy, normal marriage. Her twin, Parvati, had had the exact same childhood and from what Padma had gathered from their girl-talk sessions, she liked her sex perfectly normal. The problem was entirely Padma's.
Only Padma didn't think it was much of a problem. Everyone had their little quirks when it came to sex. Terry never got so hard so fast as when he saw her dressed up in her old school uniform sans bra and panties. Seamus liked to be spanked so it was damn hypocritical of him to profess discomfort over being asked to treat her a little roughly. And good old Anthony had liked to be called "Daddy" which, if you asked Padma, was a lot weirder than liking one's hair pulled.
Feeling eyes on her, Padma looked down at the other end of the bar. A man was staring at her. He was about her age, white, tall, broad and muscled, not handsome but not really ugly either. He had dark hair and his eyes looked dark, too, though it was hard to tell at this distance. It took Padma several long moments to recognize him. Azkaban had melted away the last of his childhood fat and left him looking hard in more ways than one. Goyle. She frowned as she tried to remember his first name, and he glared at her, apparently assuming she was frowning at him.
Gregory, that was it. Gregory Goyle. He'd been in Slytherin, in her year. He'd gleefully helped torment the other students after the Death Eaters had taken over Hogwarts. However since he hadn't killed anyone or been a Death Eater himself, the Ministry had sentenced him to a mere three years in prison. Padma idly wondered what he'd been doing since his release.
"I've got the same right to be here you do, Gryffindor bitch," he snarled at her. "So you can stop staring at me that way."
Shocked at his rudeness, Padma automatically corrected his mistake. "Ravenclaw bitch, actually. I'm Padma, not Parvati."
"Oh." For a moment she almost thought he was going to apologize. Then he drained his glass of something that looked a lot stronger than her strawberry daiquiri and scowled. "I told you to stop staring."
She'd never heard of him hitting a witch but he certainly hadn't minded hexing them. Perhaps it was the alcohol impairing the functioning of her brain, but Padma had the sudden thought that Goyle certainly wouldn't have any qualms about being rough with her. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Why don't you let me make it up to you. I can fix you a drink at my place."
He looked shocked, then suspicious. "You serious?"
"Quite," Padma replied. She paid for her drink and his, and rose from the bar. It wasn't wise to Apparate intoxicated so Padma led the way to her apartment via the floo network. They were barely out of the fireplace when he wound her long hair around his large fist and jerked her head back.
"You'd better not go crying rape after," he warned her.
Padma had no time to reply. He kissed her with bruising force and shoved his tongue between her lips as though he were raping her mouth. She imagined him making her suck his cock with that same kind of forcefulness. It had to be big, didn't it? She'd be disappointed if it wasn't. She cupped him through his trousers. He hadn't started to get hard yet, but there was a sizable handful there.
He laughed harshly. "I thought your sister was the slag in the family." He pushed her down to her knees and unbuckled his belt. "You're so eager for it, go on then, suck it."
Padma braced her hands on his thighs and greedily took all of him into her mouth. He grew quickly and soon only the first few inches was in her mouth. He grabbed her head with both hands and thrust into her face impatiently. No lover had ever dared to treat her this way before. She was already sopping wet and they'd only just started.
It was just as well that she was aroused by his rough treatment, because Goyle didn't seem acquainted with the idea of foreplay. He hauled her to her feet and bent her over her antique sofa. He shoved her sensible, office-appropriate dress up to her waist and yanked her knickers down. Then he was entering her. Padma groaned in discomfort. Even ready and willing, she was being stretched more than she was used to. Yet it was an exquisite sort of pain.
She was barely aware of the carved wooden top of the Victorian sofa digging into her stomach, or the crushing strength of Goyle's grip on her hips. All Padma could focus on was the big cock fucking her harder and deeper than she'd ever been fucked before. She had no breath to scream or even moan as a powerful orgasm swept through her mind and body.
"You really are a whore." Goyle pumped his seed into her and leaned against her, his breath hot in her ear. "Who'd have thought you'd be such a slut."
Now that she'd gotten what she wanted, Padma didn't care to endure Gregory Goyle's churlish company any more. "You can see yourself out," she informed him curtly.
He looked surprised, then almost hurt. He scowled at her. "Bitch." But he left without incident.
Padma reset the security features of her floo connection, cast a contraceptive charm on herself - she shuddered at the thought of what offspring fathered by a dim lout like Goyle would be like - and took a nice, long bath before climbing into bed. Once comfortable between her luxury sheets, Padma stretched and sighed, enjoying the lingering aches and pains of the best sex she'd ever had.
Three months later...
Padma held on tight to the headboard of her bed as Goyle jackhammered away at her cunt. She'd come twice already and her muscles were strained from her legs being held overhead for so long, but Goyle was far from done. He was almost too much for Padma to handle. Yet she couldn't imagine anyone else satisfying her like he did.
She'd held out for two weeks and three days after that first time. Then she'd found out where Goyle lived, gone to his cramped, dirty apartment, and, dressed in her most provocative clothes, more or less begged him to fuck her. He'd complied, bragging all the while that he knew she'd come looking for him, that she was such a slut, wasn't she. He'd slapped her arse until Padma had agreed aloud that she was a slut. "I'm your slut," she'd added, and he'd loved that.
He was there waiting for her when she came home every day now. He didn't care if she was tired or if it was her time of the month, he fucked her to his content every night. Padma had become adept at concealing the marks he left all over her body.
She couldn't go for a drink with her friends after work, or have dinner with her twin. As far as Goyle was concerned, she belonged to him at night. Once, when she stayed to work late, he showed up at her office. Her few co-workers who were also working late knew exactly what was happening in her office, despite the silencing charms. Padma could barely look them in the eyes anymore.
Maybe Terry had been right. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She never even tried to tell Goyle no. She knew she was spiraling into self-destruction and she knew she ought to stop this. But it just felt so good. I've fallen as low as any addict, Padma thought, as she felt a third orgasm building.