Her forehead smacked against the headboard but she couldn't seem to care. Frizzy curls damp with perspiration went tumbling about her shoulders and face as Hermione blithely ignored the continued pounding her brow was taking in favor of the pounding her cunt was currently taking from her rather dour colleague.
She could hear him grunting, could picture the sweat dripping from his overly large nose as it made contact with her spine. His labored breaths cooled her skin as his bony hips snapped into her backside again and again.
"Fuck, you've got suck a tight little cunnie, Granger," he said, his normal velvet tones interrupted by the heaving breaths he took.
Hermione looked over her shoulder, twisted at the waist to get a quick glance at the man who gave her so much pleasure. Before she could garner much about his current state he shoved her head back around and began thrusting, smacking against her bare arse with even more gusto while his hand snaked into her hair, clenching tight.
"No, little witch, you keep your head down. You'll take what I give you and be thankful for it," he sneered, his thrusts becoming jerky and erratic. She knew he was close. Knew the quick show of dominance would bring him even more pleasure. As would her next words.
"Yes, Sir," Hermione moaned. "Please forgive me. Fuck me, Sir, please! Don't stop!" she pleaded, knowing it aroused him to hear her so wanton.
"I love it when you own me, Sir. When you use me. Please, I'll do whatever you ask, just don't stop. Don't stop until you come inside me," Hermione's words were breathy, low, and moaned between whacks against the wood before her.
At her words, Hermione felt Snape's hard, slick chest pressing against her shoulder blades. His height gave him a definite advantage. She shivered, clutching the bedsheets as his wet, slick tongue traced the line of her shoulder up to her ear.
"What a naughty little girl you are, Granger, begging me like that. You like feeling my cum inside you? Like knowing it's dripping out of that hot little box and soaking your knickers all day long?" She could practically see his nostrils flaring, his crooked, yellowed teeth bared in derision at his words. Words that made her wetter. Made her arch her spine in invitation. She wished she could see that look for herself. Seeing it would make her come, she was sure.
Gods, she loved how his appearance. She couldn't explain it. Severus Snape was not a handsome man. He could not be considered physically attractive by any classical or popular means of measure. He was exceedingly tall, too thin and too pale with greasy, stringy black hair, a nose best described as Roman or aristocratic, though it was often called much worse, eyes blacker than ink, and teeth that would have made her dentist parents shiver in revulsion.
He was, in no uncertain terms, ugly. Very ugly. Repulsive to some, in fact. Though, to Hermione, he was mouth-wateringly attractive. She found his beetle-black eyes arresting, his sneer alluring, and that incredibly large nose far sexier than anyone could imagine. Oh, the things he could do with that nose. He was such a talented man.
Hermione found that his greasy hair, yellowed teeth, his pale, scarred body and stringy muscles turned her on. She couldn't understand it. No one got tuned on by ugly, hawkish features and sarcasm so sharp it could cut even the bravest of men down to size. No one dreamed of making those thin lips open wide with a groan of sexual ecstasy. No one wanted to be on their knees swallowing hot spurts of semen shooting from Snape's admittedly large, thick, and deliciously veined cock.
But Hermione Granger did. She fantasized about it all the time. From her first month back at Hogwarts, she'd been fantasizing about him.
As a student she'd had a minor crush on the man, but that was due mainly to his intelligence. Now, as a fellow professor, she found him damn near irresistible. Why his physical unattractiveness, his gruff behavior, and his sarcastic wit attracted her, she could not fathom. But every time she was in the same room with the man, she wanted to drop to her knees and suck him off, no matter where they were.
It was baffling, this insatiable hunger of hers. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she'd been dosed with a lust potion. But such a thing was not only unthinkable, it was ridiculous. No lust potion lasted this long.
It had been years. Four years, to exact, since she'd returned to her former school as the resident Charms mistress. Four years since she began behaving like a wanton harlot where Severus Snape was concerned. Four years of yearning, dropping hints, leaving gifts, asking for private assistance, doing damn near anything to get that man's attention. It was only in the last few months that had he begun to reciprocate her affections, if only in the physical realm.
Theirs was a simple arrangement. Snape fucked her. Whenever, wherever, and however he wished. Hermione let him. She let him do unspeakable things to her. Things she hadn't ever dreamed of doing with a man. Oh, but she dreamed of them now. She dreamed of them all the time.
Their current session had her face down, hands and ankles shackled to the four posters of her bed, while Snape relentlessly thrust into her wet hole. He would begin slow, build to a frenzy of quick, powerful strokes, then, right before orgasm, he would stop, pull out, and leave her helplessly dangling on the precipice of release. She had long since lost her will to resist. She'd both ground herself down against her sheets and raised her ass high in the air, knees wide for his perusal as she mindlessly searched for his shaft. Both actions had earned her swift, hard spankings against her arse cheeks and inner thighs. The arse-spanking she could handle but the thighs… the thighs were murder.
This time, however, Snape was not stopping. Perhaps he had finally tired of his game, Hermione thought. She didn't know, didn't really care, so long as he kept pumping into her. Hermione was so very, very close to finding her pleasure. Only the erratic movements of his hips deterred her. If he could just hit her a few more times, just a few more, in rhythm, Hermione was sure she would come.
Shackles digging into her wrists, Hermione pressed her small hands into the mattress while she surreptitiously began rocking back onto Snape's cock, her moaning increasing in volume as her blood pulsed and her inner walls began to clench.
Snape's fingers dug into her skull before releasing her and slapping her hip hard.
"Hold still, you little slut," he hissed. "You come only when I want you to, not before," his voice closer to Hermione's ear than she had anticipated. His warm breath fanned across her shoulder, making her roll her head back in order to catch the scent of his words. The weirdest things turned her on, it seemed.
"Please, Sir! Please, I need to come! Please!" Hermione nearly sobbed, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her in her turmoil.
"You know what I want, Miss Granger," he said, his voice filled with triumph. "Give me what I want. Call me what I want, what you need. Acknowledge this for what it is, and I will let you come all over my hard rod. Doesn't that sound good, Granger? Just one little word. Say it!" he commanded.
Hermione growled, gnashing her teeth and physically biting her tongue in order to stop herself from giving in.
This had been the one step she hadn't taken for him. The one scrap of her pride she hadn't given up. But Merlin, was she having trouble not submitting now.
As Snape's hips snapped into her, Hermione fought with herself. Was momentary pleasure worth the loss of all her Gryffindor pride? Was watching his eyes shine with victory at every stolen glance worth the few minutes of complete ecstasy she would experience when she bowed to his desires?
Her skull continued to bang against the headboard and she grew closer. Closer to coming, closer to surrendering. Pressing back against the vile, irresistible man, Hermione finally gave in. Months of arguing, years of yearning, a lifetime of denying all combined to give the ruddy bastard exactly what he wanted. Her complete surrender.
"Master," she whispered, her voice nearly cracking at the end. "Master," she said again, stronger this time. "Master," she breathed, letting the words flow from her. "Master, I'm yours."
White lightning exploded at the base of her spine, her skin blazing around her wrists, ankles and throat, lighting up the room like an inferno as the spell came to completion. Hermione started to scream at the agony of it.
Before sound left her lips the pain turned to pleasure and she came, screaming her release as the sudden rush of sensations.
Her walls clamped down, milking Snape's load deep into her womb and finalizing the covenant between them. It was done. She was his.
As the high of her climax ebbed, she shuddered in disbelief. Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Professor, War Hero, and long-touted Brightest Witch of Her Age had willingly consented to become the sexual property of one Severus Tobias Snape.
She sighed. It was done. And by the lightening of the weight in her chest, Hermione suspected that deep down, it was what she really wanted. To be owned. To be used. To be cherished and held close and seen as something other than a fucking Hogwarts Professor, a War Hero, or the Brightest Witch of Her Age.
Finally, finally, she was just his.
Hermione highly doubted that any of his seed would ever get the chance to leak out onto her knickers. It would be too busy searing through her body and claiming ownership over Snape's newest acquisition to ever get the chance to soak her crotch or smear against her thighs.
Disappointing, really. Hermione quite enjoyed the sensation of being covered in his grime. But then, she had a lifetime of that awaiting her now so she didn't much trouble herself over it.