A/N: I hope everybody enjoyed the last chapter. Don't expect the entire story to be like the following three pats, but I thought since this was the first weekend they are going to spend together, it was good to have more details. ;-) At this point of the story, though, I'm not going to give any warnings, if you don't know this is a D/s - BDSM story, then... you have missed a few important points.

Enjoy ^_^

MY MASTER

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Friday

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by Saeshmea

"A penny for your thoughts," says Alastor, right after his knight smashes to pieces my tower on the chess board that lays between us on the tea table of his house.

He's been home since Monday and I'm visiting for the first time, but I don't think I'm being much of a good company. My mind is clearly not with him and his comment makes me realize it.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

The truth is that since Wednesday, I haven't been able to think of anything else than tonight.

"It's alright," he says, "but I'd like to know what's bothering you," he adds, "we're friends, you can tell me."

No. I definitely can't tell Alastor that I am distracted because in two hours and thirty two minutes I am expected in my Master's rooms. Precisely because we are friends, he would be the very last person in this world I would want to find out about this. He is always so protective with me that I don't think he'd like to know I have become the submissive lover of a man he categorized as either 'brave or crazy'.

"I was thinking about poor Augusta," I lie, pretty well, I must say.

"Augusta Longbottom?" he asks.

Moody knows Augusta too, not only was him her son's trainer when Frank became an auror, but the three of us were good friends in our student days in Hogwarts. Thinking of those times makes me nostalgic. Things are so different when you are young... Augusta and I would sometimes imagine the three of us travelling around the world, having adventures together. Obviously that never happened, especially because she was the first to get married. Well, the first and the only one because both Alastor and I have remain single to the date. It's true that for some time it looked as if we would end up together, and I will not hide that we have had our own night time encounters over the years, but despite Alastor's tries, I have never let us become anything else than friends.

"Yes, I saw her last week after leaving your rooms," I explain as I move my bishop closer to his queen, "she was having a hard time accepting Frank's condition."

"Poor boy," he says, "he would have been a really good auror," he points out, "and his lady, too, you know," he adds, "I can't wait to see what this little baby of theirs is able to do when he grows up," he stops a moment to make his next move and continues, "if only those bastards of the Lestrange had gotten the kiss."

"Well, we all knew that was very unlikely to happen with Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy being sisters," I say, "although I never thought Malfoy would also move strings for the husband and the brother-in-law."

"I bet that pretty wife of his knows a few tricks to make Malfoy submit to her will," he jokes.

His choice of words brings me back to my original trail of thoughts, the one about how in two hours and eleven minutes I'll be knocking the door of Mr. Snape's office for an entire weekend of submission. I don't even know what this means, what I should expect. We've had three encounters so far - four, if we add the rough fuck he gave me on Wednesday before leaving my office -, and none of them, as exciting as they were, has lasted more than a couple hours. So, it is hard for me to imagine what we will do for an entire weekend.

The main character of the novel I read this Christmas comes to my mind immediately. She was a young witch in love with a very rich wizard who treats her like a sexual slave. Both the story and the love scenes were very engaging, really arousing, but nothing I could see happening in real life; especially to me. It's not because I am not young, Mr. Snape is not rich, and we are not in love. That is obvious. It's because if I was to become someone's slave, I would probably spend a large amount of time being punished for my stubborn character or my sarcastic comments. Which brings me to ask myself why would I want to be a submissive? Yes, there is this state of freedom I achieve when there's nothing else in my mind than the mixture of pain and pleasure produced by a good spanking and the following orgasm, but if that was all I was looking for, I'm sure I could find a less selfdestructing and selfdemeaning hobby than submitting to a man that - let's be honest - I barely know.

...

He receives me in his office dressed on his usual black clothes. I, after a long time in front of my closet, have decided not to dress in any special way either; although I do bring with me my night silk slip, since I imagine I won't be spending a lot of time in my clothes.

"You won't need your wand, Ms. McGonagall," he says, and he holds the palm of his hand open in front of me so I give it to him.

Unwillingly, I reach for my wand and watch him keep it on the first drawer of his desk. I don't like being wandless, and Merlin knows what Alastor would think about handing your wand to anyone, but I don't want to start any confrontation so soon. In the case I need to defend myself, I am very confident of my wandless magic abilities, and I can always just transfigure into my animagic form and run away.

He comes back to me and stands only a few feet away. His look disturbs me.

"Kneel down," he instructs, and I follow his command without hesitation, resting my ass on the back of my feet and my hands on my tights as he told me in La Maison; but despite I am sure my posture is the correct one, he bends over and grasps my hair, completely messing up my bun, and pulls me up so I am standing on my knees.

When I see his hands reach for the zip of his trousers I understand.

"Suck," it's all that he says, not that I needed to hear it to know what was going to happen, when he takes his cock out in front of my eyes.

...

I have given blowjobs before; to thank a lover for a great orgasm, to help him find his release after I have, or while he was giving me the same kind of treatment. As I've said more than once at this point, I am not a young witch, I have lived a certain amount of years and, while my Master, standing in front of me, has a lot of experience holding power and spanking asses, I have my own, in other fields.

I take my hand to my lips and, while looking up at him, I lick my palm before bringing it to the base of his cock. I stroke it gently and start moving it slowly up and down. Then I approach my mouth to him and kiss the tip. Not dull pecking, but French kissing; savoring him completely with my lips and my tongue as my hand continues its up-and-down rhythm.

I'm getting wet. I can notice it under my knickers and if it wasn't because I am still dressed, I slide a hand between my legs. Soon, his cock grows into my mouth and I put my hand down and keep going, in and out.

When I feel his orgasm coming, I try to pull out, but I suddenly feel him grabbing my hair again. For all this time, his hands have been hanging at the sides of his body, now they are holding me in place so I don't move as he releases himself down my throat.

He retires his cock from my mouth slowly, making me lick it clean as it comes out. I stay still and quite as he zips up his pants again and looks down at me.

"Stand up," he orders and we go into his private rooms.

"Please, have a seat," he says, as he moves a chair for me to sit on the table.

His sitting room is pretty much like mine: sitting area besides the fire, dinner table for those days we (the professors) don't feel like going downstairs for meals and a small kitchen area (very America for an English castle, really) for those who enjoy the culinary art (I don't).

He goes over the kitchen and comes back with two plates (green salad and French omelet). The table is set with a move of his wand and then he sits opposite to me.

"Have some dinner, Ms. McGonagall," he says as he begins to eat.

"I'm not hungry, Sir" I mutter. It's a lie, I am hungry, I haven't eaten since tea time with Alastor, but I really don't feel like I can put any food in my stomach with the taste of his cock still in my mouth and the warm feeling of his cum still on my throat.

"I didn't ask, Ms. McGonagall," he says on a tone that indicates I shouldn't make him lose his patience, "eat."

I eat, and for a long while, we don't talk, which I find both nice and distressing. I like silence, but I don't like silence with Severus.

"Would you like some wine?" he asks, serving himself three fingers of the reddish elixir.

"Yes, Sir," I reply.

"You don't need to call me Sir all the time, Ms. McGonagall," he says, filling my glass, "this game we're playing is fun but very intense," he explains, "there are moments when we can relax, as long as you don't forget your manners and duties."

"But the first rule says..." I mutter, not willing to fall into any trap that can give him an excuse to punish me, not that I would care.

"We have our own agreement now, Ms. McGonagall, we can rewrite the rules," he says.

"That sounds good," I say in understanding, "Severus?"

"That's alright," he says, agreeing to me using his first name, and the silence surrounds us again but, this time, it's a comfortable one.

When we are finished he instructs me to wait for him in his bedroom, fully naked, standing at the feet of his four posted bed, facing the wall; and as I abandon the sitting room, I see him taking the dishes to the sink.

Still wet from before, the waiting arouses me even more. Finally, I hear his steps coming, and the door opening. He walks toward me and corrects my position, it seems something he enjoys doing and I wonder if it's just another way to reassure his power over me. His hands are cold from washing the dishes and his touch makes me shiver as he slightly separates my legs and makes me fold my arms behind my back.

"Ms. McGonagall," he says with a strong calmed voice, "it's time for your punishment."

"Punishment, Sir?," I ask, not moving an inch.

"Yes, that's what I said," he replies.

"May I ask the reason of this punishment, Sir?" I wonder.

"You may," he says as he walks away. I hear the door of the closet opening, and then closing again, and I guess that he's gone to take that riding crop of his.

That was bearable, I think as he comes back toward me. I can't see him at my back, but I do hear his steps. My first experience with the riding crop was really good, very sensual, it produces a sharp sudden pain that disappear quickly; and Severus' tongue tracing the marks of his beating afterwards was a great feeling. I'm eager to repeat that.

"You're being punished for being a slut," he says.

My eyes open widely. That's not something a woman likes to be told, not even during the most rough of sex acts.

I turn around, my reply on the tip of my tongue ready to be spat on his face when a sharp noise, followed by a sudden agonizing pain on my ass, silences me.

Before going back to my position, for some stupid reason, thinking this would be enough to avoid having to repeat that, I have a quick glance of Severus holding a cane.

"Were you about to say anything, slut?" he says.

"No, Sir," I reply.

"Good," he moves to a different angle and starts to hit me rhythmically with the cane going up and down the back of my tights, the stick hitting both of them every time, soft enough to bear it without bending my knees, strong enough to feel painful as hell after a long while.

"Would you like to know why you are a slut?" he asks.

"Yes, Sir."

"Because only sluts suck cocks like you did," he says.

"Wasn't it good, Sir?" I dare questioning while making a big effort to hold my tears as he starts working the cane on my ass with less care.

"It was excellent," he points out, "that's why I have reasons to believe that you're a little slut who loves sucking cocks."

"That's not true," I bark and I am replied with not one, neither two, but four hits taken with such angle than I felt my skin tearing apart when the cane touched my bare ass.

"Didn't you enjoy sucking my cock, slut?" he asks.

"I did," I say, beginning to feel it difficult to stay standing up while my juices drip down my tights, making it impossible to believe that I wasn't enjoying this.

How? How can I be enjoying being tortured and humiliated like this? When did I become the masochist I am today?

"Then, you are a slut," he says, "my little dirty slut," and I start to believe he's right, that I am a slut, meaning that I did enjoy sucking his cock just as much as I enjoyed being spanked by his hand four nights ago, or being fucked roughly in my office, even if neither of these experiences was meant to please me, I enjoyed them, I'd repeat them, and therefore, I must be a slut; his dirty little slut.

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TO BE CONTINUED...