Ron's POV (Part 4)

Ron's eyes fluttered open to the soft glow of candlelight dancing across gilded ceiling beams. The oppressive darkness from before had lifted, replaced by an eerie golden illumination that made the lavish bedroom appear almost welcoming. Silk sheets clung to his sweat-dampened skin as he took in his surroundings - the four-poster bed with its carved serpentine posts, the antique wardrobe with its distorted mirror, the faint scent of bergamot and something metallic hanging in the air.

A cold laugh echoed through the chamber, sending shivers down Ron's spine. His gaze snapped upward to where the entity wearing Hermione's form floated effortlessly near the vaulted ceiling, her bare feet dangling eight feet above the mattress. The candlelight played across her curves - the swell of breasts that had nursed Harry's children, the flare of hips that had widened with childbirth, all displayed without shame as she hovered like some obscene angel.

"I hope you enjoyed your little nap, Ronald," the creature purred, tilting its head at an unnatural angle. Strands of Hermione's chestnut hair floated weightlessly around her face as though suspended in water, though the rest of her body remained perfectly still. Its grin widened impossibly, lips stretching further than human anatomy should allow. "Though I suppose 'enjoy' might be too strong a word given the circumstances."

Ron's hands clenched in the sheets, his muscles tensing as he fought against the lingering paralysis. He could feel every inch of his body now - the ache in his shoulders from being held immobile, the uncomfortable fullness between his legs that hadn't subsided during his forced rest. His cock twitched against his thigh as the entity's borrowed eyes raked over him, those black voids drinking in his reaction with evident amusement.

"You're looking well-rested," it observed, descending slowly until its toes barely brushed the carved bed frame. The movement made Hermione's breasts sway hypnotically, nipples hardening in the cool air. "Though I can see one part of you didn't get the memo about relaxing." Its borrowed voice dropped to a whisper that somehow filled the room.

"Anyway, the intermission is over, my dear," the entity cooed, its voice dripping with false sweetness as it hovered above the bed, Hermione's stolen lips curling into a smirk. Ron's breath hitched as the bedroom door creaked open, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The real Hermione stepped inside, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. She was clad in nothing but a scandalously sheer dark navy two-piece—a lacy bra that barely contained her full, motherly breasts, and matching panties that clung to her hips, leaving little to the imagination. The sight of her like this—so unlike the composed, bookish witch he'd known for decades—sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through Ron's veins.

She approached the bed with a slow, swaying gait, her hips rolling with deliberate seduction. A loving smile played on her lips, but her brown eyes were distant, glazed over—trapped somewhere behind the entity's control.

Hermione climbed onto the bed, her thighs straddling Ron's hips with practiced ease. The warmth of her bare skin against his was intoxicating, the scent of her perfume—something floral and familiar—mixing with the metallic tang of magic gone wrong. She leaned forward, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest as she ground herself against his throbbing erection, the thin fabric of her panties doing nothing to dull the sensation.

"Wait—no!" Ron gasped, his muscles straining against the invisible bonds that held him down. "You never said actual sex was part of this challenge!"

The entity let out a low, mocking chuckle from above, its amusement echoing through the room like the rustle of dead leaves. "When did I ever say it was not?" it purred, tilting its stolen head.

Ron's breath came in ragged bursts, his cock twitching helplessly beneath her. Every rational thought in his head screamed at him to resist, to fight, but his traitorous body responded to her touch like it had been waiting for this moment for years.

"You're already so hard for me," Hermione murmured, her voice soft—too soft, too tender—as if she truly meant it. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw before sliding down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipples. "You've always wanted this, haven't you, Ron?"

He swallowed hard, shame and arousal warring inside him. "Not like this," he gritted out, his voice strained. "Not when you're—fuck—when you're not in control."

Hermione's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile—one that didn't belong to her. "But I am in control," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "And so are you.

The kiss deepened, Hermione's lips moving with a hunger that wasn't entirely her own. Ron could feel the entity's influence in the way she pressed against him, the desperation in her touch. Her hands roamed his body, tracing lines that only she knew, yet the caress felt tainted by an otherworldly presence. The grind of her hips became more frantic, as if driven by a force beyond her control. Ron's cock strained against her, the barrier of fabric the only thing keeping them apart. He could feel her heat, her wetness, and it was almost too much to bear.

As the minute dragged on, Hermione pulled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes, still distant and glazed, locked onto Ron's as she reached down to grasp his cock. The touch was firm, almost painful, as she positioned herself above him. The other hand slid into her panties, pulling them aside with a slowness that made Ron's breath hitch. The tip of his cock brushed against her entrance, the warmth and wetness teasing him mercilessly. She hovered there for a moment, her smile widening as she watched the mixture of pleasure and torment play across his face.

Then, with a slow, torturous movement, she began to lower herself onto him. Inch by inch, her body enveloped his, the tightness of her pussy gripping him like a vice. Ron's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the sheets as he fought against the overwhelming sensation. The entity watched from above, its borrowed form floating with an unnatural grace as it observed the scene below. "Now I've been more than fair," it said, its voice dripping with malice. "I've even given you a free first minute, Ronald. So how about we begin properly?"

The entity-Hermione let out a musical laugh, its fingers tracing obscene patterns across Ron's heaving chest. "Oh Ronniekins," it cooed in a perfect imitation of Molly Weasley's babying tone, "all these years and you still get hard at the slightest touch. Pathetic." Its borrowed lips curled into a smirk as it floated just out of reach, watching with amusement as the real Hermione continued her slow, torturous descent onto Ron's throbbing length.

Hermione's body trembled slightly as she sank lower, her breath hitching as she took the first thick inch. "You feel so good," she murmured, her voice thick with forced adoration, her glazed eyes staring through Ron rather than at him. The contrast between her loving words and hollow expression sent a fresh wave of conflicting sensations through Ron's body.

The entity clapped its hands together in mock delight. "Look at you two! Finally getting what you always wanted - just not quite how you imagined, hmm?" It swooped down suddenly, Hermione's hair whipping around its face as it whispered directly into Ron's ear, "Tell me, does it feel better than those clumsy handjobs she gave you in the broomshed? Or those timid little blowjobs where she'd gag every time you hit the back of her throat?"

Ron's hips jerked involuntarily as Hermione took another inch, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made his toes curl. The scent of her arousal mixed with the faint lavender of her perfume - the same scent she'd worn since sixth year. Memories flooded him: fumbling in dark corridors, Hermione's nervous hands, the way she'd always stopped before things went too far.

"Sh-she never let me..." Ron gasped as Hermione bottomed out, her heat engulfing him completely. The stretch made her whimper - a sound that might have been pleasure or pain - her nails digging into his chest hard enough to leave crescent marks.

The entity threw its head back and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally through the room. "Oh this is rich! The great Ronald Weasley, professional Quidditch star, reduced to a trembling mess by his best friend's wife!" It drifted closer, running ghostly fingers through Hermione's sweat-dampened curls. "And poor, sweet Hermione - always so proper, so controlled. Who knew she could take all of you so easily?"

Hermione began to move with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, her body moving with a sensual rhythm that was utterly unlike her usual precise movements. "I love you," she whispered, the words slipping from her lips like a script she'd been forced to memorize. "I've always loved you, Ron."

The entity smirked. "Aww, isn't that sweet?"

Ron’s breath came in ragged gasps as Hermione—his Hermione, the one he had loved since he was fifteen, the one he had been too stupid to keep—rolled her hips with practiced precision, her body gliding up and down his length in slow, maddening strokes. The way her breasts bounced with each movement, fuller now after childbirth but still so perfectly Hermione, sent another jolt of heat straight to his groin. Her dark eyes were glazed, her lips parted in a panting rhythm that didn’t match the hollow emptiness in her expression.

The entity hovered above them, its borrowed face twisted into a smirk as it watched Ron struggle. "Ohhh, Ronnie," it cooed, dragging out the nickname like a taunt. "Look at you. So close already, and we’ve barely begun." It floated closer, its spectral fingers tracing the line of Hermione’s spine as she rode him, making her shudder. "Tell me, does it feel better knowing she’s Harry’s wife? That he gets this every night while you’ve spent fifteen years imagining it?"

Ron clenched his teeth, his fingers twisting in the sheets. The slick, tight heat of her was unbearable, the way her walls clenched around him in perfect, torturous pulses. His hips jerked involuntarily, thrusting up into her as if his body had betrayed him completely.

Hermione moaned, a soft, breathy sound that didn’t belong to her—or maybe it did. Maybe the entity had pulled it from some hidden place in her mind, some memory of what they’d almost had before he’d ruined it. "Ron," she whispered, her voice thick with forced devotion. "You feel so good. So much better than—"

"Than Harry?" the entity finished for her, grinning. "Oh, we all know that’s true." It leaned down, its lips brushing Ron’s ear. "Four inches, Ronald. Four. And you’re nine." It laughed, the sound slithering through him. "No wonder she’s taking you so well. She’s drowning in you."

Ron’s vision blurred. He could feel it—the tightening in his gut, the way his cock throbbed inside her, the way his body was begging to give in. The sight of her—Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of their age, the woman he’d spent half his life wanting—bouncing on him, her tits swaying, her thighs trembling as she worked him deeper, was too much.

Ron's vision whited out as his hips bucked violently upward, his entire body locking in place as pleasure detonated through him like a Bombarda to the spine. "N-no—fuck—Hermione—" The words tore from his throat raw and broken as his cock pulsed inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight channel in hot, shameful spurts. Her inner walls clenched around him in rhythmic flutters, milking him deeper as if her body—even under the entity's control—couldn't help but greedily take every last drop.

The entity's laughter slithered through the room, dark and triumphant. "Six minutes? Oh, Ronald. Pathetic." It drifted closer, its fingers tangling in Hermione's sweat-damp curls as she continued to ride him through his climax, her movements slowing but not stopping, drawing out every twitch of oversensitivity. "Look at her. She's still moving. Still taking you. Does it feel like she wants to stop?"

Hermione's breath hitched, her thighs trembling as she rocked against him, her slick folds smearing his release between them. A thin trail of white dripped down her inner thigh, glistening against her skin. Her dark eyes were unfocused, her lips parted around silent gasps—but her body moved with deliberate purpose, as if the entity had rewired her instincts to wring him dry.

Ron's stomach clenched as another weak spurt escaped him, his oversensitive cock jerking inside her. "S-stop—Merlin, Hermione, please—" His voice cracked. It was too much—the heat, the friction, the way her tight cunt clung to him like she was trying to memorize his shape.

The entity smirked, tilting Hermione's chin up with one spectral finger. "Why would she stop? She's waited fifteen years for this." It leaned down, its lips brushing her ear. "Haven't you, pet?"

Hermione whimpered, her hips stuttering. "Y-yes," she breathed, the word dripping with forced devotion. "Wanted you... always wanted you, Ron..." Her voice was honey-sweet and hollow, like a cursed echo of something she might have once felt.

Ron shuddered, his spent cock twitching weakly inside her as another traitorous ripple of pleasure shot up his spine. The entity's grin widened. "Oh? Still hard for her? Even after coming like a starved kneazle?" It trailed a cold finger down Hermione's collarbone, tracing the swell of her breast. "Or is it just that you can't bear the thought of pulling out?"

Hermione moaned, her back arching as the entity's touch made her nipples pebble. Her movements grew needier, her hips grinding in slow circles, as if trying to coax him back to full hardness.

The moment the entity snapped its fingers, Hermione’s entire body seized. A choked gasp tore from her throat as her back arched violently off the bed, her breasts jutting upward, nipples stiff and flushed. Her thighs clamped around Ron’s hips like a vice, her cunt spasming around his still-hard cock in erratic, fluttering pulses. A guttural moan—raw and unrestrained—ripped from her lips, so loud it echoed off the walls, bouncing back at them in a mocking chorus.

Ron could feel it—every twitch, every clench—her walls milking him in desperate, rhythmic contractions as her orgasm crashed through her. The wet heat of her was overwhelming, her arousal dripping down his shaft in thick, slick waves. Her fingers clawed at his chest, nails biting into his skin hard enough to draw blood, her entire body trembling like a live wire.

The entity’s laughter coiled through the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. Its black, hollow eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as it drifted closer, hovering just above Hermione’s shuddering body. “Oh, look at that, Ronald,” it purred, its voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You lost our wager.”

Hermione’s thighs trembled as she pulled back slightly, her slick folds dragging along Ron’s oversensitive cock with a filthy, wet sound. The mess between them glistened—thick strands of his cum mixed with her arousal, dripping down her thighs and pooling on his stomach. The entity reached down, its long, spectral fingers swiping through the sticky mixture, collecting it on its fingertips.

It brought its fingers to its lips—Hermione’s lips—and slowly, deliberately, licked them clean. A shudder wracked Hermione’s body as the entity’s tongue traced over her own fingers, savoring the taste. “Mmm,” it hummed, tilting its head. “Salty. Sweet. Just like her.” Its grin widened, revealing too many teeth. “She tastes like you, Ronald. Like desperation.”

Ron’s breath hitched, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of his climax. His cock, still trapped inside Hermione, pulsed weakly as her inner walls fluttered around him, milking him dry. The entity chuckled, pressing a cold palm against Hermione’s abdomen, making her arch with a choked gasp. “Still hard,” it mused, squeezing just above where they were joined. “Still wanting. Pathetic.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of Hermione’s hips, the entity took full control. Her body moved with eerie precision, every shift calculated to wring another helpless moan from Ron’s lips. His cock, still thick and heavy inside her, twitched back to full hardness unnaturally fast—a cruel trick of the entity’s power. The sensation was overwhelming, Hermione’s slick walls gripping him like a vice, her warmth still thick with his own spend.

“Oh, well,” the entity sighed through Hermione’s lips, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It was a difficult ask, was it not?” Her fingers trailed down her own body, cupping her full breasts, squeezing them with a moan that wasn’t entirely hers. “Such a shame.”

Ron gritted his teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily as Hermione—no, the thing wearing her—began to ride him in slow, torturous strokes. His cock throbbed, impossibly hard, every nerve alight with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. The wet schlick of her movements filled the room, obscene and slick, her arousal mixing with his seed, making every glide filthy and effortless.

“But cheer up, my love,” the entity cooed, tilting Hermione’s head with a mocking smile. “You’ve got a LOT more sex with this beautiful women coming.”

Ron gasped as the entity’s grip on Hermione’s body tightened, her hips snapping down harder, faster—each thrust a brutal, slick slap of flesh against flesh. His hands, suddenly free from whatever paralysis had held them, instinctively clutched at her waist, fingers digging into the soft swell of her hips as she rode him with unnatural precision. The wet, obscene sounds of their joining filled the room, her swollen folds stretched tight around his thick length, his own spend still coating her inner walls in sticky warmth.

The entity threw Hermione’s head back with a sharp laugh, her lips parting as a guttural chant spilled forth—words Ron didn’t recognize, syllables sharp and ancient, curling through the air like smoke. The temperature in the room plummeted, a sudden chill racing down Ron’s spine even as Hermione’s body burned around him, her cunt clenching in time with the rhythmic, otherworldly incantation.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the chanting stopped.

“The Debt is Due.”

Hermione’s eyes—wide, unblinking—flashed white, a blinding burst of light that seared through the dim room. Ron’s breath caught in his throat as warmth flooded his veins, an unnatural calm washing over him, drowning out the panic, the guilt, the fear. His fingers relaxed against her skin, his hips rolling upward to meet hers in slow, deep strokes. The pleasure was overwhelming, dizzying—her walls fluttered around him, hot and slick and perfect, and for a moment, he forgot everything but the way she felt.

Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, the entity released itself from Hermione’s body.

Her eyes snapped back to their usual warm brown, pupils blown wide with arousal, her lips parted in a breathless gasp. She blinked down at him, confusion flickering across her face—before recognition dawned, and something softer, something real, settled into her gaze.

“R-Ron?” she whispered, her voice trembling, her fingers flexing against his chest as if unsure whether to push away or pull him closer.

Ron couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He was transfixed—by the flush on her cheeks, the way her curls clung to her sweat-slicked skin, the rise and fall of her full breasts as she panted above him. She was beautiful.

A cold laugh shattered the moment.

Ron couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hermione—her flushed skin, the way her breasts heaved with each breath, the soft curve of her hips as she rocked against him. The pleasure was overwhelming, a haze of heat and need that made his thoughts scatter. For a moment, it didn’t matter that this was wrong, that Harry was somewhere in this cursed house, that they were trapped in some nightmare bargain. All that existed was her.

Then, from the corner of his vision, he saw it—the entity, still wearing Hermione’s face, watching them with a vicious, knowing smile. Its lips curled in delight as it whispered, "I will have my due... all of it... you are mine now."

Hermione shuddered above him, her brow furrowing as if fighting through a fog. "Ron...?" she murmured again, her voice thick with confusion. But before she could pull away, her pupils dilated, her body going still for just a second—then, with a soft exhale, her confusion melted into something else. Pleasure. Want.

Her hips rolled against him, slow and deliberate, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

Ron groaned, his grip tightening on her waist as she took him deeper, her inner walls fluttering around his length.