Hermione dove into her with a ferocity that was unmatched by anything Narcissa had ever witnessed, Fae or human. Those mouths pushed upwards until the stiff buds atop her breasts were under assault, pulled and worried sore. It plucked at her, tasted her. Narcissa was certain she might die then and there, the building pleasure too much and not enough as Hermione toyed with her for who knew how long. She ceased fighting at her bonds but doubled over on herself as much as she could, the mounting pressure within the back of her mind overcoming any shame at being used in this way.