Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any character from the Harry Potter series, I just do this for fun and my own pleasure, and since I don't earn any money from it I don't see how it can be any harm.
Warning: This is an ADULT story with BDSM content and a lot of SEX scenes. So DO NOT read if you are underage or are too sensitive.
A/N: This will stay a one shot story or maybe have a few chapters depending on my inspiration. This first part has very little of Harry Potter, but the next ones (if they do come) will take place in Hogwarts.
Enjoy!
My master
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Introduction to submission
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by Saeshmea
I hesitate while my hand rests on the golden doorknob of a dark wooden door in Knockturn Alley. Maybe I should just go home, this can't be my place, I think. The building looks abandoned, no noise comes from the inside, but I am certain that it's the right address.
I read about the place a couple weeks ago in the waiting room of San Mungo. Going through the magazines they had for the patients and visitors, I found this article in the psychology section of Magic Medicine Today titled: Sex and submission. It's not the kind of subject I usually look to widen my knowledge about, but at that moment it seemed preferable and much more entertaining than the entire special section about magic amputations or the previous article on how to grieve the death of our loved ones.
Of course I knew that there was people who enjoys this kind of foreplay during their sexual intercourse, but I had to admit to myself that I ignored there was a complete world around it with its own rules, and places specially dedicated to them. La Maison de la Soumission was one of this places, or so said the article, and it is there where I am right now.
I go in. A shirtless man receives me very politely into what looks like the lobby of an elegant hotel.
"Good evening, ma'am, may I have your cloak," he says, and he helps me out of my tartan winter clothes.
"Thank you," I say. Underneath my cloak, I'm wearing a long green dress with a brown leather belt on my waist, a very casual choice of clothes I made this morning since I didn't know too much about the dressing protocol of the place I was going to.
"Welcome to La Maison de la Soumission, ma'am," says the big woman with a very messy curled red hair that's standing behind the counter after the man is gone, "mistress or submissive?" she asks.
"I..." I mutter stupidly.
"Oh, I see, darling," she says in a very sweet voice, standing up and walking closer, her big breasts pressed against the counter as she speaks, "you're new to this," she observes, "don't you worry, dear. You'll find your place soon enough," she assures, "masters wear masks, submissives don't," she explains shortly as she bends over to take something from a drawer I can hear opening and closing, "take one with you, and enjoy yourself."
She hands me a white mask that I take and then shows me the way through the black wall at the left of the counter.
One more time, I hesitate as I stand in front of the dark stone wall. It's not that late to go back, I think, but I'm so close. I place a hand on the stone, I feel its magic, and I wonder what kind of sins might be going on behind it at this right moment and if I really want to be part of them.
Two weeks ago, while I was in the hospital, waiting for the doctor to come and tell me they hadn't been able to save Moody's leg and had to amputate it, reading about this sinful world had helped me keep my mind distracted to the point that when the doctor finally called me, it took a second for me to remember why I was there. Those twenty minutes had been the first time in years I'd been able to keep my thoughts away from the war or anything that had to do with it. I had been able to relax for the first time since the war had finished and I even found the strength to offer a comforting smile to my friend when I entered his room and saw his mutilated body on the hospital bed.
Back at home I felt the need to know more, I found very few references on my books so I went to the library, where I borrowed a novel: Me, a submissive witch. I read it non-stop. The language, the style, weren't nothing of an other world, certainly not great literature; but the story, the scenes described... I couldn't get enough of it. I needed more.
It was then when I remembered the name of the place: La Maison de la Sumission, I guess the name had brought me to think it would be in the continent, because when I learned it was here, in London, in Knockturn Alley; I was surprised.
When I trespass the magic wall I find myself in a large room decorated in a very elegant french style. The first thing to catch my attention is a young brunette lady who is kneeling down on the floor, wearing nothing else but a leather collar on her neck with a lace, whose end is held, very firmly, by a gentleman sitting on an armchair, smoking a big cigar and wearing a golden mask. He's having a heated argument about economy with another masked man, who is having a massage by a younger boy in underwear.
I decide to put my mask on, the white one the lady in the lobby gave me, and I cross the room. I sit on the large bar and when the waiter asks me what I'm going to drink I order a gillywater with no ice, but knowing I'll probably need something stronger, I change it for a double shot of firewhisky before the man can open the bottle.
Once I have the drink on my hand I turn around on the stool so I can see what else is going on in the room.
There's a large fireplace at my left and two women are talking very friendly, one is wearing a mask the other isn't. I observe them for a while, and then I watch the mistress stand up and walk to the staircase at the other side of the room, followed by the submissive.
As I watch them disappear, the question I was unable to answer before pops in my mind again: mistress or submissive?
I keep observing the room and as it gets more crowded, I become more used to the dynamics of it and more amazed by the respect towards the rules.
Those who come in already accompanied by their own submissive go directly upstairs or have a drink first and then go. Those who come in alone go directly to the bar to order something and then, if they wear a mask, they go to the sofas area and if they don't, they go to the sits at the side of the room or stay in the stools of the bar. The submissives do very little, they just sit and wait; it's the masters and mistress the ones who watch and approach the man or woman of their liking.
I suddenly realize I still have the glass of firewhiskey on my hands but I haven't had a sipped of it yet. When I'm going to, I realize the mask is on the way, so I take it off; I leave it on the bar, behind me, and I finally savour my drink. I empty the glass down my throat in one gulp and feel it warming my stomach.
"Allow me to invite you to the next shot," a deep male voice startles me and I turn to my left to see a tall man in dark clothes and wearing a silver mask occupying the stool next to me.
I look at him. He wasn't there a moment ago. Ignoring my surprise, he gestures the waiter to refill my glass and serve him the same.
"I saw you taking your mask off," he says, "are you putting it back on or is it a permanent change?"
Suddenly I realize the importance of my silly previous gesture in the place I am, and I take the white mask from the bar and play with it with my hands.
"I don't know," I say.
"Sir," he says, and I frown, "if you're going to keep the mask off you must refer to me as Sir or Master," he explains.
"I don't know, Sir," I repeat, and for some reason I don't feel funny playing that game.
"I see," he mutters, "maybe I could help you decide; but first, what should I call you?"
"My name is Minerva," I reply, "Sir," I add, and the waiter comes with his drink and my refill.
"Lovely name," he points out, "tell me, Minerva, what brings you here?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, but he stays quiet, staring at me through the holes of his mask. It only takes a moment to me to understand what I did wrong, "Sorry," I apologize, not sure of why, and I repeat: "what do you mean, Sir.?"
"Everybody has a reason to be here, some seek power, control, authority; others seek punishment, redemption, peace," he explains, "who are you, Minerva?" my name sounds different on his voice, it melts on the air and makes me want to hear it again.
"I don't seek power, Sir." I confess, and I leave the mask on the bar again to take my new shot of firewhisky.
"What is it that you want, then?" he asks before having his drink too.
"Freedom," I say, and I look at him, and there I find something on his dark eyes, something on the way he stares at me, that makes me feel he understands. I realize now that I didn't talk to him directly, but when I'm about to repeat my answer, he speaks.
"I can give you the freedom you need, Minerva," he says, and he comes down from the stool and stands in front of me.
"What?" I mutter, suddenly getting my situation at this point, "I... I didn't... I..." I clear my throat, trying to regain my temper, "Wouldn't you prefer a more experience witch to please you, Sir.?"
"Maybe," he replies, "but you're a quick learner," he offers me his hand, and for the third time that night, I hesitate.
Upstairs there is a long corridor with numbered doors; we go into room 57.
Behind the door there is hidden a very fancy suite with a nice bed dressed in red sheets and dozens of candles lighting every corner. At this point it hits me that I'm about to have sex with a stranger and the idea of running away passes through my mind.
"Having second thoughts?" he asks. He's standing in the middle of the room while I have stayed next to the door.
"No," I say, "No, Sir," I correct myself, "I was just thinking that I don't know your name, yet, Sir."
"That's because you don't need to," he replies.
"But you do know mine," I reply, and by his look I know I've done something wrong..
He walks towards me, and I fear that he's going to do something. I reach for my wand instinctively, but he just stands in front of me, so close that I can hear his respiration under the mask he's still wearing.
"Take your shoes off," he says, or better said, he orders, very calmly but firmly and I obey; I don't know why, but I do.
As I bend over to undress my feet, he walks to the bed and sits on the edge.
"Come," he says when I'm done. I walk towards him, half scared, half excited about what will come next, and I stand in front of him, trying to remember the protagonist of the story I read and the other girls I saw downstairs, "kneel down," he instructs, and I do, without hesitation.
When my knees touch the ground I look at him and he bends towards me and corrects my position. My bottom is now sitting on my ankles, my back very still and my hands resting on my tights.
"This is how you'll sit if I tell you to kneel down," he says, "understood?"
"Yes, Sir.," I reply, and now I feel more excited than frightened.
"Now, let's discuss the basics," he says, "the first thing you must know is that you don't have to do anything you really don't want to," he explains, "you must feel comfortable with this, alright?"
"Yes, Sir.," I answer.
"As a submissive, you must follow some rules," he continued, "you already know two of them: you must always speak directly and respectfully to your master; and you must always obey him," he said, "now you will learn the third: disrespect and disobedience must be punished," as he says this last word, fear makes me forget about the excitement I felt a moment ago.
"Punished, Sir.?"
"Yes, you talked to me disrespectfully and now you will be punished," he stands up and walks around me. I don't move.
"Bend over the bed," he says, "your knees on the ground," he adds, and I do as I'm told, wondering what my punishment will be.
Half my body lies on the red sheets when he comes to me and corrects my position again. Grabbing my wrists, he takes my arms to my back and then presses me against the mattress so my belly feels the corner of the bed right under the leather belt I'm wearing.
He says nothing, but I feel the skirt of my dress being rolled up, and he brings the fabric to my hands to hold it. My bottom is now only covered by my lace knickers and when I feel his hands go around my waist, I think he's going to pull them down, but he doesn't. Instead, he undoes my belt and takes it off.
The good loose sensation on my waist distracts me from previewing what is coming and all of a sudden I am surprised by the leather slashing my skin.
It is so unexpected that I can't even manage to yell, I do, though, feel some tears fill the corners of my eyes when my body becomes aware of the pain; a very sudden pain that, as it lowers, becomes strangely pleasant.
"Are you alright?" he asks, and I wonder if he was maybe expecting some kind of review during the short moment of silence.
"I am," I say, "Sir.," I haven't moved an inch.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, and I wonder if it's some kind of tricky question, if I should give some kind of right answer.
"Not really, Sir.," I reply, choosing honesty.
"But, could you endure more?" he asks, and now I get the trick.
"I could, Sir.," I answer, and getting a stronger hold of the skirt with my hands behind my back, I prepare myself for the next hit.
...
My ass is throbbing, probably red and maybe even bleeding; my hands are sore from grabbing the fabric of my skirt so strongly and tears are running down my cheeks; but my mind is empty. Empty of ghosts, of bad memories, of everything to do with the war we've passed. My mind is blank and I feel free.
Suddenly he stops, and I stay in place as the pain lowers and that odd pleasure invades my body again, this time more intensely.
I feel his hand on my bruised skin and I shiver. As he caresses me, his touch awakens a sudden desire on my body; and when his fingers go under my knickers, a moan escapes my lips.
"Stand up," he says, and I notice him moving aside. I open my hands and let my skirt cover my nudity and then I slowly sit up on my knees before standing up.
My arms, my legs and specially my ass are very sore; but as my muscles get used to this new position I become aware of a different feeling between my legs, some sort of magic, of spell that feels like an invisible finger rubbing my clitoris.
I want to ask, but I fear my mouth might betray me and I don't want to be punished again. So I just look at him.
He's still wearing his silver mask and he's watching at me through it's little round holes. On his left hand he holds my leather belt, the one he's used to spank me, and he makes it swing on the air.
"Take your clothes off," he orders and I obey.
Slowly I unbutton the upper part of my dress and remove my sleeves. When the dress falls on my feet, I remember my wand is in its pocket, but I quickly convince myself that I won't need it. Once I'm completely nude, he walks around me and I wonder if he likes what he sees. My body is not twenty years old any more, my skin is not smooth, my breasts are not firm and I am practically bones since the war ended.
"Come," he says, and he offers me his hand, just like he did down at the bar. I take it, and he walks me to the bed. At every step I do, the intensity of the spell he's done on me increases more and more.
He makes me lay down, my head resting on the pillow, my body still on the center of the mattress; and takes my hands over my head, tying them down to the headboard using my belt.
He sits astride on me and I see him take his wand out of his pocket. He whispers some words and a black handkerchief appears on his hand. He uses the cloth to cover my eyes and, at this point, restrained, blindfolded and assaulted by some spell I can't control, I feel completely powerless.
I notice the mattress being freed of his weight and I instinctively try to get free, but that only empowers more the magic he's used on me and soon I crave for an orgasm that doesn't come.
I sink my feet in the sheets, fighting the continued rise of pleasure that invades me. I need it to stop, I want it to stop.
"Please," I beg, "Sir.," I say, "Master."
He comes to me, I feel him sitting on the bed, I hear his breathing.
"What?" he asks.
"Make it stop, please, Sir."
"Not yet," he says.
"Please," I insist, "I can't stand it anymore, Sir."
"Of course you can," I feel his hand caressing my upper arm and going down to my breasts, and then drawing circles on my belly as my entire body is throbbing in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
"Please, Sir," I beg, "let me come. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" he repeats, and I regret having said that.
"Yes, Sir."
"That is a dangerous deal to make," he says, "but since this is your first time, I will only ask you for a kiss." I feel relieved, happy that he hasn't taken advantage of my weakness.
He moves his hand to my chin, and he holds it still as he bends over me and places his lips on mine. He has removed his mask and I wonder if that's the reason he blindfolded me. His lips still taste of the firewhiskey we shared before. It's not a brief kiss, but it's not passionate either. I've had better kisses, but I've never been kissed while being in complete ecstasy.
As soon as his lips leave mine, I feel freed from the spell and the throbbing stops suddenly, too suddenly. Immediately, I feel his hand between my legs and he helps me reach that point when your eyes go blank and your mind is emptied and your body is taken away for an instant that seems to last an eternity.
...
When I am back to my senses, I feel his hands untying the knot of the handkerchief and the light of the room blinds me for a moment. He's sitting besides me and he's wearing his mask again.
"How are you feeling?" he asks as he lets me free from my leather belt too.
"Good," I say, "I'm feeling really good, Sir."
"Did you found that freedom you were looking for?" he asks.
"I did, Sir," I reply, "for a moment, I certainly did."
"I'm glad," he stand up, "it was a pleasure helping you, Profes- Minerva."
"Professor?" I never told him I was a teacher, which could only mean… "You know me," I say horrified, "who are you?"
"You don't need to know," he says again, and he walks to the door, "goodbye, Professor McGonagall," he says, and after that he leaves and I am left alone, in shock, in that room, naked, wondering who my mysterious master was.
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TO BE CONTINUED... maybe.