Broken, Beaten, and Sweetly Burning
A/N: My muse is simple girl. All she likes are plot bunnies and reviews. So be kind to Maggie and feed her review cookies please. Big thanks to my beta Lbandoly for her hard work.
No copyright infringement intended. All characters are the property of JKR, Scholastic, and any number of other companies with more money than I've ever dreamed of seeing. I didn't make any money off of this, so please don't sue.
~ DG DG DG DG DG DG DG ~
She lay naked on her stomach on top of the room's dingy motel comforter, arms flung out to her sides, one leg curled up to her hip and the other hanging off the side of the bed. Her back was crisscrossed with bleeding swollen whelps, her legs much the same. The back of her neck and shoulders bruised and marred with countless obvious bite marks. The insides of her thighs were still wet with his spunk and her own cum and blood.
Had anyone stumbled across her prone form they would have thought her the victim of some heinous crime of debasement, but she wasn't. She was far from a victim; she was a willing and most definitely well paid participant.
The wonderful burning sting that settled into her used body filled her with a sense of calming peace, a bliss only found after encounters such as this one. Two small vials of healing and pain relief potions sat waiting on the rickety bedside table waiting for the moment when the blissful ache turned to unbearable pain. He always left them, she never took them.
If anyone were to ask why she did this, why she let him and countless muggles abuse and debase her she wouldn't know what to tell them. Thankfully no one knew outside of the ones that did this to her so they couldn't ask.
If she had to ask herself why she did this, she would first lie to herself. She did it for the money. The money was fantastic. All but one of her clients was muggle. Her one wizard well, he always paid what her time and her body was worth. He could afford it, so why question why he came to her instead of one of the cheaper slags in Knockturn. A week of different nights in different beds or just one in his would cover a full semester's tuition to the University for Magical Learning and Mage Training in Ireland.
In fact that had been just how it had started. The youngest of seven children her parents hadn't had the money to pay her way through magical or muggle university so she had been forced to get a job to pay as much of the costs as she could. She had taken a job in the magical community that operated around the university but it hadn't paid enough to cover more than a couple meals per week after her weekly payment to the university's deferred payment office.
Realizing that her job just wasn't cutting it she had sought employment in the muggle world. The exchange rate between muggle and wizarding money alone had proved to be a very substantial help at first. But it seemed the more money she made, the more the university requested of her. Still her grades remained strong and steady. She didn't allow the work to sidetrack the whole purpose of having the job. She worked hard, studied hard, and never played.
The first two years went by with the same monotonous routine. Work, class, work, eat, work, study until the wee hours of the morn, sleep, wake and repeat. She lived off of black coffee and pepper-up potions to stay awake and calming draughts to keep her frayed nerves steady. And she didn't even deny that from time to time she had forced whit sharpening potions down her own throat even thought she thought them to be the very essence of cheating.
She didn't rightly remember how she had found herself in that part of muggle London that night. She had been in Diagon Alley visiting her brothers at their shop for the holiday. She had left with the intent of picking up a present for her father. She had scrimped and saved and gone without a meal or three in order to afford Christmas presents for her family and she was determined that each one would make their receiver smile. She had completed everyone's but her father's. She had wandered through every store in Diagon that seemed like it might have something to suit him without as much as a drop of luck. She had entered muggle London from the Leaky Caldron and had spent hours walking through every shop she could find. Bound and determined to find something that would bring a smile to her father's lips come Christmas morning.
Hours past and the stores had all closed when she realized she had no clue where she was. Somewhere along the way she had lost track of what direction she was going and had just simply walked. She had found herself in a less than desirable looking neighborhood that left her feeling more than a little uncomfortable. There were muggles everywhere so she couldn't just slip in an alley and apparate away. Without knowing where she was she had no clue where the nearest safe apparation point even was.
A muggle girl in a sweater too tight for her, a skirt short enough the rounding of her arse peaked out from underneath and four inch stiletto heeled boots came up to her as she stood one the corner looking as lost as a person could ever possibly look. "You look lost pet."
Ginny tried to shake the strangely dressed muggle away. "No. I'm fine."
"Look girly you don't have to act that way. I won't hurt you. But if you're lost I know someone who can get you where you need to go."
"No thanks, really I'm fine."
"You are, are you? Don't look like it to me. Looks like the little lamb got turned off in the wrong direction and is now standing in the middle of the briar patch."
Ginny snapped. "I am not some little lost lamb thank you very much. Now if you can point me in the direction of the nearest telly phone I'll be on my way."
"Suit yourself honey. But you really shouldn't lie to yourself like that. You are the little lamb." The woman pointed down the block to the illuminated red phone booth."
Ginny had all but run to the safely of the phone booth. She only knew one phone number, the one to her work back at university. She tried to dial it only to hear a woman come on telling her to insert more money or dial three to charge the number to a credit card, neither of which she had.
She had bitten her tongue and gone back to the strange muggle woman. Two hours later a motherly looking woman had taken her into her house and told her she would help Ginny if Ginny would be willing to do something for her in exchange.
That's how little Ginny Weasley became a whore. Not just any whore. No Ginny had, since the very tender age of eleven, liked pain. She didn't know if it was something she'd always had in her or if it was Tom's own love for pain that had superimposed it self onto her. Either way she still loved it.
The matron of the house informed her she would work anywhere, anytime, with any person she felt comfortable so long as Ginny made sure the house got its cut of what she earned. The house could arrange companions or she could seek her own. The woman had arranged a taxi back to the Leaky Caldron and with it Ginny had sold her soul.
A week later she was back in London in the same rundown ramshackle of a motel turned whore house. She had started off small. A spanking here, a smack there, all part of the pay and fuck deal.
Now four years and a spells mistress degree later she was still doing it. Only now it wasn't just a spanking and a fuck. It was a beating, a fuck, a bit more of a beating, and if she was really lucky it would be him doing it.
She didn't know how he found her or found out what she did to pay her bills. But he had and it had turned into a beautiful non-relationship. He visited her often at first, nearly weekly. Paying double what most of her clients paid. He had taken it easier on her at first. Much like the others with their smacks here and spankings there, but as time went on the visits came further and further apart and the pain more intense. She had loved it. She still loved it.
She longed for the now rare nights when it would be blond hair and grey eyes pouring years of frustrations into her. She longed for the nights when he would call upon her to meet him in some rundown hellhole so he could fuck her and draw her blood at the end of a whip or the tip of a blade or by any one of a dozen other creative ways he had for making her bleed.
What she never could understand was how Draco could do those things to her but had refused become a Deatheater when they were younger. How could a man that obviously loved to inflict the pain he did on her not have joined the group that would have allowed him to do so at will? She had never asked him. She never would. She suspected that she wouldn't ever see him again after tonight.
He had never crossed the line he had tonight. He had fucked her in every orifice, had drawn her blood, he had done everything he could do to her over the past three years but tonight he had done the one thing she didn't think he had ever done before or would ever do again. He had admitted he had feelings for her.
Yep, her life as a whore was officially over. Without him bringing the pain, it just didn't feel as vibrant. It hadn't in a very long time. The blood wasn't as red at someone else's hands, the pain not nearly as strong, and the bruises not nearly as dark. Without him dealing the punishments she couldn't tolerate the pain.
She grabbed the vials from the bedside table and tossed them at the wall, giving a satisfied smile when she heard them crash against the wall as they shattered. She had never taken the potions before and she certainly wouldn't be taking them this night. She wanted every moment of the pain, the burn, the ache to remain with her as long as possible.
Yet if she had to admit to herself why she had spent four years doing this, when she could have left it after a mere year she would have had to admit that she did it to feel him. To feel him buried balls deep in her mouth, her arse or her wet snatch. She had discovered after his first touch that she was addicted to the very man that she had been raised to hate.
Now he had admitted the same about her and it would all be over. He wouldn't return and no one else would satisfy the boiling need that he inspired at her very core. So after four years and several hundreds of thousands of galleons earned she would turn in her final pay to the house matron and would go on with life pretending she didn't love the man that had brought her so much delicious pain.
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