Drip.
Drip.
Hermione lay in bed, her manacled hands fisted. Her back was arched, and lady's nectar oozed from her crevasse. She was utterly at his mercy; if only he would do something to take advantage of that!
Drip. The maddening sound of oil, evanescent, one minute a glittering drop descending from hair toward ground, the next a splatter on the stone of the dungeon floor. It was like the infernal ticking of a watch, only different.
"Severus," she whispered, in the sexy-whimper she'd practiced with Draco.
He didn't turn to face her. Drip. Drip. It was the sound of his abundant hair-grease as it rained from his head. He was turned away from her, caught in the gray sunlight creeping in through the gap between the window's gray shades. He was clad in washed-out underpants of the bikini variety.
One curled ass hair was poking out from under the faded fabric. That solitary hair was really starting to bother her even as it set her sex to roaring, but not as much as the jungle of his back --
Was that a white mite she saw skittering within his backhair? No, no, let it be anything else ...
"Severus!" She dropped the Little-Miss tone. Her arms' circulation was beginning to be cut off, and she was losing patience.
He turned on her, smiling to reveal gray teeth. "Yes, darling? My sweet?"
"Please, Severus, I'm aching for you ... finish what you started, and let me out of these damned shackles, next time I want to be the master, and you're going to want to be the slave! Get down on your damn knees and beg me to let you be the slave, right now, you slimy man-bitch!"
"You're telling me not only what to do, but also what I want to do?"
"That sounds about right."
At last, he turned about. Oily hair framed his gaunt features. His ribs protruded underneath his chest, and his abdomen was a shapeless mass. His happy-trail was crusted with dry sperm, and it faded into the nest of hair she knew waited underneath his tighty-whiteys. (Tighty-gray ... ies? He dropped slowly, so slowly to his knees, and slunk forward in that positiow. His tongue was flicking in and out, in and out, and her juices were really pumping now. He came to the edge of the bed and extended his neck by degrees, so that now it was between he calves, now her knees.
The very tip of his tongue came into contact with her vulva. She moaned and did as much of a split as she could in her supine position, giving him all the room he needed. And all at once he was burrowing his head between her thighs, his tongue was forking into the pulsing swollen nub of her clit, and then it was wrapping all about the clit and he gave her a little nibble, such a light nibble which sent through her such a rippling of sensation that it bordered on and tehn entered the land of pain, and as he gripped her clit in his teeth she full-out screamed.
"Severus oh Severus oh Severus oh untie my hands let me ... force your head in ... I --"
Just as she teetered at the crepuscular edge of orgasm, he extricated his head from between her thighs. Fervent squeezing-together of her legs did nothing to stop him as he backed away from the bed again. He bent down so that all she could see of him was his ass. The rumpled fabric of his underwear clung to every individual ass-hair. Hermione began to be nauseated.
He stood fully erect, in more ways than one. In his hand was a corkscrew.
Her juices seemed to turn to ice as they trickled down her thighs. "Sev --" and she could say no more as she began to scream, as he --
"Ginny, you must admit that this is completely fabulicious!" Draco was beside himself, as usual. The cause of this current apoplexy was the pink hairband he had donned to hold back his flowing tresses of blonde hair. He was examining himself in the mirror, patting at his hair, fluttering his eyelids, and now giving a little twirl so that the lacy frock he was clad in would swirl.
WTF? Ginny thought, the letters rather than the words themselves playing through her mind. She recognized her own Netspeak usage and admitted to herself that she'd been spending far too much time on the Yaoi Discussion Boards.
He stared at her archly. Archly; that was the way to describe it. Everything about him was arched; his eyebrows, his lips (the full sensuous lipsticked lips tracing their way down her neck, all around her nipples, down past her vagina and all the way to the other hole, the forbidden hole) ... she was losing her train of thought, the room was growing so hot, why wouldn't he take off his goddamned clothes and let her just look at him, let her admire every inch of his pale body with its light blonde hairs and its swollen enormous cock and its gorgeoeus, oh ... oh the gorgeous scrotum, she just wanted to take both balls in her mouth but he would never let her because he was a flamer to the core.
As was his dear lover, Professor Flitwick, who apparently was rather disproportionate in certain areas.
"Yeah, yeah ..." she said. She wanted to bring out the strap-on she'd hidden in her closet, the strap-on she usually reserved for her dalliances with Umbridge ... 'course, it was usually Umbridge who donned the dildo.
She knew he'd like it. If only he would let her ...
"Ahem. Were you paying any attention, hun? I was just talking about You-Know-Whom, God how I want to get inside his pants ..."
You-Know-Whom was Percy Weasley.
Ginny had to excuse herself to the bathroom; any mention of Percy made her nauseous.