A/N: Thank you so much for your patience! The invading horde (family!) has come and gone and I am able to write again. I hope you can forgive my absence, and please don't hesitate to leave your feedback!
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 16: Twin Gazelles
Hermione stood in the glory of that moment, knowing herself to be desired by the man of her choice, until the sheen of his black hair lowered, and his lips were at her nipple.
'I'm going to enjoy your breasts now, Hermione—' his long tongue darted out, its broad, flat surface lapping tantalisingly at her left nipple '—do you have any objections?'
Shafts of pleasure darted along her nerve endings. 'No!' she gasped helplessly. 'Please!'
Then his lips closed over her areola, and she gasped, the sensation overloading her heightened sensory pathways. He applied firm suction to her nipple, tugging it insistently into his mouth. His eyes were closed as he concentrated his attention on his task, the fingers of one hand teasing the opposite nipple even as his free hand stroked the curve of her waist, from the swell of her hip up to her ribcage and down again. Hermione's eyes drifted closed, and her hands rose to run gently through the strands of his hair, seeking not to guide his actions but to indulge in the ability to touch him freely.
His head swivelled, transferring his lips to the other breast, and the hand at her waist rose to pull at the nipple still damp with his saliva. The hand which had been replaced at her nipple by the professor's wicked lips stroked down her torso to the tangle of dark curls, and knowing fingers dipped within, rolling over her clitoris and wringing a moan from Hermione. He plucked simultaneously at her clitoris and at her nipple, his fingers synchronising to heighten her need, and then his lips were at her ear.
'What do you want, Hermione?' he asked, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her sensitive ear.
Her eyes opened, seeing their reflections, his taller figure bent over hers, the soft white jumper showing off his fit frame, the black trousers doing little to hide the aggressive tent of his erection. She turned her face to his, her lips encountering the skin of his jaw; he seemed not to notice, the tip of his tongue continuing its assault of her ear. She pressed her lips to his jawline, seeking to turn farther, wishing to bring her lips to his—but his hands imprisoned her face, and he pulled back far enough to look into her eyes.
'I want you to kiss me,' she begged, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
'Is that all?' he asked, one of his large hands sliding down to encompass her throat, while its twin brushed hair tenderly from her brow.
'And I want you to fuck me,' she whispered, arching her nakedness against him, twisting slightly to rub her nipples against his clothed chest.
His black eyes bored into hers, his expression grave, and he stroked his long fingers down her throat. With a soft whump, a wide armchair appeared behind him, and he released her, stepping back and seating himself.
'Straddle me,' he directed her, and she scrambled to obey him, her knees snugging easily about his hips, her breasts almost on level with his mouth. His tongue darted out, laving each breast in turn before he allowed his head to fall back upon the high-backed chair. 'There are few things more erotic than having a woman offer her breasts to me, Hermione,' he said, his midnight eyes half-lidded. 'Cup your breasts with your hands and offer them to me—tell me that you give me free rein to do as I will with them.'
Hermione wanted to kiss his lips and suck his tongue into her mouth—she wanted to free him from his trousers and sheathe his erection in her heat—but as ever, his voice compelled her to listen, and listening, she could do naught but obey. Like one in a dream, she lifted her breasts towards him, her voice sounding breathless to her ears as she said, 'My breasts are yours to enjoy, sir—you may do anything you wish.'
Where before his look had been intent and sultry, now his eyes glittered as he looked at her, balancing over his lap and holding out her breasts as if they were a special treat. She felt an echo of embarrassment, but overall she was more fascinated by his response to her words. As his eyes closed his lashes swept down, inky black upon his pale skin, and with unerring aim his lips found her nipple, closing over it and beginning to suck in earnest. The sensation was so intense that, at first, she was discomfited by it; she knew the impulse to pull away from him, but she was keenly aware of the words he had asked her to speak—she had given him permission to do anything he wanted. She couldn't deny him now without unpleasantness—it would be better to simply endure, and then she would get what she wanted.
Oh, surely he would let her come, wouldn't he?
Thus resolved, she was startled when his eyes opened, lifted to observe her face, though his lips did not release her. She was shocked to feel his teeth encompass the nipple held captive in his mouth, and she felt a surge of fear. Would he bite her? Hurt her? No, surely not—she trusted him, didn't she?
The teeth closed ever so lightly on the flesh around her areola, accompanied by suction and the devilish application of his tongue, and when he turned his face to take the other nipple in his mouth, his hand came up to lightly pinch the nipple he had released, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her body. Dear Merlin, what a sensation! Attention to one nipple provided one set of reactions, but when he worked upon them simultaneously, she could feel it in her quim.
She deliberately thrust herself upon his erection, squirming into as much contact as she could achieve, goaded on by his unrelenting mouth upon her nipples. He made no objection to either her gyrations or her fingers in his hair; he was far too absorbed in his activities. He had moved her hands out of his way and manipulated her breasts for himself, now, lifting them and pressing them together, managing to lick them together with swipes of his wide tongue, and when he pressed hard enough, he could get both nipples in his mouth at once, which made Hermione keen with pleasure. On and on it went, for he seemed not to grow weary of making love to her breasts.
When at last he leaned back, away from her chest, he continued to hold her breasts, very gently and methodically squeezing them, each compression sending a thrill of sensation to her aching, dripping quim.
'Your nipples will be sore for a few days, I think,' he said, sounding quite satisfied with this result. 'Every time you touch them—even accidentally—you'll think of me.'
Hermione did not to respond; her level of need made her all but inarticulate.
'You'll have love bites upon them, as well, so be careful not to undress in the company of anyone else,' he added thoughtfully, ceasing his compressions to gently pinch her slightly aching nipples. Even though they were sore, it still was pleasurable—he was driving her mad!
'Please, sir,' she said, grinding her quim against his erection. 'Please …'
He leaned forward and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to each of her nipples, and one large, warm hand came down to cup her mound. 'There, you've had your kisses,' he said, his wry smile showing that he knew very well those weren't the kisses she had hoped for. 'Now, you need your fucking—but I think a spanking is in order first, don't you?'
Hermione moaned aloud in frustration, near tears with her need to orgasm. How could he touch and arouse her so and be so impervious to his own arousal? She could feel the evidence of his sexual excitement, hard as iron beneath her naked bum. What man wouldn't want to whip out his cock and fuck the dripping cunt rubbing insistently over the front of his trousers?
Was he made of iron?
'Accio Hermione's hairbrush,' he said, never looking away from her, and the implement zoomed obediently into his hand. 'On your feet,' he said to her, gentle but implacable.
With shaking legs, Hermione climbed from his lap.
'Brace your hands on the arm of the chair,' he instructed.
Hermione did as she was told, bending over to press her hands against the armchair, smelling the odour of her own arousal and feeling embarrassed about it. This was the longest he had ever engaged her in ongoing activity without doing something to assuage her need, and she felt near the limit of her ability to endure.
'Spread your legs a bit, little one,' he murmured, and when she complied, he stroked the back of the hairbrush down the middle of her lower back. 'Are you ready?'
Hermione gripped the arm of the chair and closed her eyes. 'Y-yes,' she sobbed.
'You don't have to take the spanking, Hermione,' he said, bending now so that his body arced over hers. 'You feel that you have endured quite enough, don't you?'
Hermione bit her lip, wishing to stop the crying. She was afraid to answer the question; sometimes, questions could be treacherous things when one was dealing with a Dominant.
'You can dress and go back to your room without the spanking,' he told her quietly. 'There will be no negative repercussions; you will be permitted to return next Saturday. Or, you can take the spanking, and I will make sure you orgasm.' One large hand rested for a moment upon her naked back. 'What will it be?'
Weary as she was, Hermione wasn't even tempted by the offer. She had to come or she would die, she as sure of it. 'The s-spanking,' she managed, determined to persevere.
'Good girl,' he murmured, and in the next instant, the back of her special hairbrush impacted her bottom, not one iota of his strength held back in spite of her fragility.
Hermione found herself leaning back into the blows, steadied by the reassuring familiarity of her professor's undivided attention, feeling her breasts sway with each slap of the brush upon her flesh. She began to cry in earnest, all the emotions of the session—of hearing him praise her body and of realising that he desired her as much as she desired him—resolving in her mind and flowing out with her tears, freeing her of their burden. When he delivered the last spank to her bottom and put the hairbrush aside, lifting her into his arms, she was once again a vessel empty of negative thoughts and emotions, prepared to receive what her Dominant —Master, a perfidious voice in her mind corrected—had determined she needed.
She buried her face against his soft white jumper, feeling her tears leaving a wet spot and not caring. He murmured an incantation and the mirrors were gone; he carried her to the cobalt blue sofa and seated himself with her held securely in his lap.
'Such a good girl,' he murmured into her hair. 'You have earned a reward, little one.'
Hermione lifted her tear-stained face and looked at him, his lank black hair hanging on either side of his narrow face, his black eyes deep enough that she might drown there. His hooked nose dominated a face marked by planes and sharp angles, and she knew she had never seen a man she found more attractive than this one.
He stroked hair out of her face and spoke in that silky tone which turned her insides to liquid. 'You may have your orgasm by having me eat out your dripping wet little cunt until you can't come any more—or I can kiss your mouth and finger fuck you.'
Hermione gasped and reached for him, twining her arms behind his neck. 'Please kiss me,' she said, lifting her face and closing her eyes.
He nuzzled her throat as his fingers sought out her clitoris. 'Tell me whom you've kissed before and I shall,' he promised.
Hermione didn't even consider arguing with him. 'Viktor Krum,' she said, raising her hips to meet his fingers. 'Ron Weasley.'
Two fingers slid up into her body, beginning a slow in-and-out. 'Anyone else?' he murmured, his teeth scraping gently over her jaw.
Hermione groaned, splaying her legs farther apart and thrusting against his hand. 'No!' she gasped.
And the thin cruel lips she knew so well captured hers, and the tongue which had been in the most intimate crevices of her body invaded her mouth, stroking in surely, enticing her with his mouth as surely as he did with his fingers. Hermione clung to him, sucking greedily at his tongue as she bucked against the hand in her quim, teasing the tip of his tongue with her own. He growled into her mouth, his thumb circling her clitoris as his tongue parried hers, and she clung to him with her arms, allowing him to possess and pillage her body. He lightly nibbled on her lip as his thumb and forefinger plucked at her clitoris, then he sucked her tongue into his mouth, suckling it as he had done with her nipples, his fingers fucking her into mindlessness. When the earthquake of her climax came upon her, she shivered, shook, and quaked in his arms until he wrapped her in a blanket and stilled her with the warmth of his body and the incessant murmuring of comforting nothings in her ear.
When she had come back to herself, he allowed her to curl against him, swathed in the green blanket she thought of as 'hers', and to read from Master Maximus' book. He held a leather-bound volume in his lap and read it desultorily, but she was aware that he spent quite a bit of time watching her. Hermione smiled to herself, pleased with the knowledge she had gained tonight and beginning to imagine how she might put it to use.
At ten o'clock, a tea service appeared on a low table near the sofa. They sat companionably drinking their tea until he said, 'You made tremendous progress in your submission tonight, Hermione.'
She turned her gaze to his face. 'Did I?' she asked, thinking of how she had come to know that his desire for her ran rather deeper than he wanted her to realise.
'Yes,' he responded seriously. 'You thought you had reached the end of your endurance, but you trusted me—and you found that you yet had more to give me, didn't you?'
She flushed with pleasure at his words of praise, feeling suddenly shy. How was it that she could spread her quim for this man without a qualm but verbal praise from him completely disarmed her, making her feel like a girl on her first date?
'Yes, I did,' she admitted. 'How did you know I could take more?' She hoped he wouldn't find the question impertinent; she truly wanted to know the answer.
He smiled his rare smile. 'It's my job to know your limits, Hermione—and to push them.' He looked serious again. 'It pleases me very much when you trust my judgement and reach within yourself to discover your stores of endurance. How did it feel?'
Hermione took a swallow of her tea. 'It felt …' she searched for the proper word '… purifying, and then it was transcendent. I was outside of myself.' She dared to look into his eyes. 'How did it feel to you?'
He set his teacup on the tray and took her empty cup from her, as well. 'Much the same,' he said evenly.
'Why didn't you want to climax, too?' she asked.
'It is not your concern,' he pointed out, still gentle, but with a hint of iron in his tone.
'But I want to please you, sir,' she persisted.
Half a smile touched his lips. 'Of course you do, Hermione,' he said. 'I am your Dominant. It is the nature of the submissive to long to please her Dominant.' He stood and held his hand out to her; obediently, she stood as well, allowing the blanket to fall to her feet. Distracted, his eyes roved down her nakedness. 'You will make a very fine submissive for a very lucky master one day,' he said, his voice sounding oddly strained.
Filled with an abrupt renewal of desire, she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms about him, looking up into his suddenly wary eyes.
'There's still time,' she said coaxingly, rubbing her breasts provocatively against his jumper.
He stepped away from her. 'No, there is not,' he said firmly.
Trying to ignore the onset of separation anxiety, Hermione lifted her arms to him again. 'May I not kiss you good night?' she asked softly.
'No, you may not.' He nodded towards her discarded clothing. 'Please honour our agreement, Hermione.'
Sighing deeply, she turned away and began to dress, fighting her inclination to cry. Why did it have to be so hard to leave him every time?
Then he was beside her, a small phial in his hand. 'Use this ointment on your breasts for the soreness and bruising,' he instructed.
Hermione tucked the phial away with murmured thanks and hastened to the doorway.
His voice halted her with her hand upon the door. 'You may orgasm tomorrow, Hermione, in any way you wish; afterwards, you will write two thousand words in your journal about your method, your fantasy, and your results.'
Hermione looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, already knowing what she would fantasise about. 'Yes, sir,' she said and exited, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room, tall and slender, backlit by the roaring fire.
