A/N: This is a double chapter—over 5,000 words!—to make up for no chapter yesterday. Miss Lula and RedSky get their naughty wish in this chapter. Thank you for your generous reviews. It means so much to me to be sharing the journey of this story with each of you, who read so avidly and encourage me so much with your interest in my story. Even though I'm writing rather than answering every review, don't doubt for a moment that I dash off to read them as soon as I get the e-mail alert. Be sure to let me know what you think of what's going on in this chapter ...
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For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 20: Dinner and Dessert
She was out of her Astronomy class by two o'clock, and after returning to her room to pack a few essentials, she slipped down to the kitchens and procured provisions for the afternoon and evening. Part of her mind worried over Professor Snape's physical health, wondering if his fever would be better by the time she reached him and how soon he would be well enough to return to the classroom. Another part of her mind returned over and again to dwell on the night before. He had never been so unguarded with her … so normal. He might have been just any bloke, under the weather and being nursed by his girlfriend—except he wasn't just any bloke. He was Severus Snape, her professor, yes, but more importantly, her Dominant—and the mere thought of him brought an ache deep in her tummy which resonated all the way to her quim.
Properly supplied, she slipped away to the dungeons, and by half-past two, she was standing in her professor's bedroom, watching him sleep. Resisting the urge to smooth his hair back from his brow, she noted that his colour was better than before. He was breathing normally and resting well. Satisfied with his condition, she reached into the magical container the house-elves had provided, galvanised by her tale of a "sick friend". Kneeling upon the floor, she placed the bowl of steaming chicken broth on the bed tray and added the bread, warm from the oven.
'I'm hungry enough to eat a Hippogriff.'
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and found Professor Snape propped now on two pillows and watching her with keen interest.
'How are you?' she asked, standing to carry the tray to him.
'Damnably weak,' he admitted, his nostrils flaring at the aroma of the soup. 'Please tell me you've brought me more than soup.'
Hermione settled the tray over his torso. 'First, you have to eat something easy to digest—it's been a while since you've eaten, and you're ill.'
His lip curled derisively, but he did not argue; he was far too busy spooning the fragrant broth into his mouth with a somewhat unsteady hand. Hermione hesitated at his side, wondering if she should offer to feed him, but she wasn't sure how a dominant male would react to such a proposition. In the end she remained silent, and he managed well enough. She didn't want to do anything that might interfere with her receiving her promised reward. Was it wrong of her to want his mouth on her quim when he was unwell? She tried to feel badly about it, but the ache between her legs wouldn't let her—she needed sexual satisfaction from him.
When he laid down his spoon, his eyes lit upon her face. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'You've done me a great service.'
Hermione flushed with pleasure at the praise and stood to remove the tray from him. Standing beside the bed, she shifted from one foot to the other. What should she do now? Ask for her reward?
'Come here,' he said, and the silk of his voice reached for her, wrapping her in tendrils which drew her to him like moth to the flame. She crawled up beside him, resuming the place she had occupied the night before, resting on her side.
His eyes closed, as if the broth had contained a soporific, and his fingers sought hers upon the bedclothes. Hermione smiled when his large hand closed gently around hers.
'Were you questioned concerning your whereabouts last night?' he asked, his eyes still closed.
'No one noticed,' she replied. 'Why are you keeping your presence a secret?'
His eyes opened, and he turned his face to hers. 'Do you think it would be a good thing for the Headmaster to become aware of the nature of our association?' he inquired mildly.
'Good God, no!' Hermione blurted.
The professor's mouth quirked, and he closed his eyes again. 'My thoughts exactly,' he murmured. 'The Headmaster is a great Legilimens, Hermione. It is his greatest weapon, I think, for he routinely steals into the minds of the unsuspecting to investigate their thoughts and memories.' A sardonic smile touched his thin lips. 'The Headmaster is … unaware of my proclivities, in spite of regular forays into my mind. I am able to segregate those thoughts and memories from him by the use of Occlumency.' His eyes opened and again, seeking hers. 'I believe you know about that.'
Hermione nodded. 'Harry wasn't good at it,' she said matter-of-factly.
Professor Snape snorted. 'Maintaining Occlumency shields requires a great deal of one's magic,' he said, continuing on as if she had not brought up her friend. 'In a weakened state, such as I am now, I would have a difficult time maintaining my shields against the Headmaster's probing. If he discovered my interest in Dominance and submission, that would not necessarily be a bad thing, but if he discovered my association with you …'
Hermione blanched at the very thought. The Headmaster could never understand the relationship between Professor Snape and her! In fact, no one she knew would be able to understand it. They would think the professor was abusing his authority and position—was abusing her—and they might even believe the professor had put a spell on her to make her submit. They would never be able to understand her need of the discipline he provided—her desire to receive his attentions precisely as he offered them. No, it would be a very bad thing for anyone she knew to find out the particulars of her association with Severus Snape. Only someone from within the D/s community would understand …
His breathing deepened, and Hermione realised he was sleeping. Pulling up the duvet, she closed her eyes, revelling in her presence in his bed, remembering all the times she had dreamed of being in it with him. And although she had not thought she would, she drifted off into sleep.
She awoke over an hour later to his empty pillow, and she saw him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, steam billowing around him as he rubbed his hair with a towel, wearing another about his hips. Hermione was instantly smitten with want. What would he do if she crossed the floor and knelt at his feet and pulled open the towel …
'Stay where you are,' he ordered, his voice sounding slightly amused.
'I didn't move!' she objected, flushing.
He moved to the chest, tugging a pair of pyjama bottoms from a drawer and pulling them on too quickly for Hermione to get a good look at him. Then he turned to face her, dragging a comb through his hair. 'Are you arguing with me, Hermione?' he inquired in a deceptively gentle tone.
'No, sir,' she answered instantly, butterflies beginning to dart about in her tummy. Oh, this was her professor—he seemed back to normal. She had best watch her step. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beating of her heart, and waited to see what he would do next.
'You're a bit overdressed, are you not?' he said, replacing the comb and shaking his hair back from his face.
Hermione scrambled across the bed and onto her feet. 'You said the rules weren't in force!' she cried. 'I—'
'Relax,' he said, walking past her to the bed and stretching out, resting his head upon his pillow. His eyes travelled from her face down to her feet. 'I am inviting you to make yourself more comfortable—you are not required to do so.' A sly look came into his eyes. 'And there is the small matter of your reward …'
Hermione didn't hesitate. She pulled her jumper over her head and fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, frantic to receive his touch.
'Slow down, girl,' he drawled, and her head jerked up to meet his heated gaze. 'If you are going to strip for me, do it slowly so that I may enjoy it.'
Hermione felt two things simultaneously: pleasure at his desire to watch her undress, and determination to meet his challenge. Under any other circumstances, she would be embarrassed to have someone watch her take her clothes off, but this was her Dominant—she was hard-wired to please him, and in so doing, providing pleasure for them both.
Deliberately holding his eyes, she unbuttoned her blouse slowly, and when finished, she turned her back to him, allowing it to slip from her arms as she cast him a coquettish look over her shoulder. His lazy smile of approval encouraged her, and she reached behind her back with both hands to unfasten her bra, sliding each strap off her shoulders, then turning to face him again, one arm covering her breasts as she threw the flimsy bit of pale pink satin and lace onto the bedclothes. A sexy snarl touched his lips as he lifted the brassiere to his face.
Emboldened by his reaction, she slowly turned her back to him again as she wriggled out of her skirt, taking her tights down as well. Then she swirled around, moving her arms gracefully out from her body, and struck a pose for him, clad only in the knickers which matched the bra he held.
He put the pink satin from him and spoke to her in a gruff voice. 'Come here,' he said.
She reached for the elastic on the knickers, to pull them off.
'Leave them,' he snapped. 'Do as you're told.'
Hermione walked the few steps to stand at his side. He took her arm and pulled at her. 'Climb on top of me,' he said, and she did so, awkwardly. Trying to support her weight on her arms, she laid along the length of his body, very much aware of the erection beneath his pyjama bottoms.
'Relax,' he said again, nudging gently at one arm, and she allowed her full weight to rest on him, her cheek against his chest. His hands touched the bare skin of her back, smoothed along the fabric of her knickers, pausing to squeeze the cheeks of her bum, then clasped her waist, holding her still as he thrust up against her. Hermione immediately squirmed higher, wanting any thrusting to be directly against her aching quim. He chuckled. 'What do you want, Hermione?' he asked.
'Fuck me,' she breathed, lifting her face to see his expression.
'That's not what I promised you,' he pointed out, his warm hands travelling up and down her back. 'Don't you want me to lick your cunt?'
'Yes!' she said, squirming again, trying to rock against the hardness beneath his pyjama trousers.
'Then turn around so that your bottom is at my face,' he instructed.
His hands let her move, and she slid off. She couldn't imagine how on earth she could do as he told her—where would she put her legs and feet?
'Your knees will be on either side of my chest,' he said as she reversed directions.
'Shouldn't I take off my knickers?' she asked as she rose up onto her knees.
'No,' he answered shortly. 'Come along.'
Awkwardly, she straddled his chest, feeling unbelievably rude. What if she passed gas? She was burning with mortification.
'Relax,' he said for the third time, and then he murmured a word she could not distinguish, and unaccountably, she felt air on her quim—but she still felt the elastic at her hips—had he disappeared the crotch of the garment? 'Move back,' he instructed her, his hands at her hips, pulling her closer until she felt the balls of her feet make contact with the headboard. 'That's right,' he purred, and suddenly, his fingers were spreading the lips of her labia. 'Good girl,' he whispered, just before his tongue laved her from her perineum to her clitoris and back again.
'Dear Merlin,' Hermione moaned, moving back convulsively against his face, feeling his nose against her cunt as she squirmed for contact with his tongue.
He sucked her clitoris into his mouth and teased it with his tongue, the low growl in his throat vibrating against her flesh in an erotically menacing way. Hermione clutched at the bed sheets, rocking against his face, all concern for the inelegance of her position forgotten. When she chanced to open her eyes, she found herself facing his rather formidable erection, jutting up in his otherwise unremarkable grey cotton pyjama bottoms. She reached out a tentative hand and grasped him through the fabric, wondering if she could stretch far enough to take him into her mouth without disrupting the exquisite havoc he was wreaking with his lips closed about her clitoris.
She scarcely had time to consider, for at her touch, his hands jerked her insistently backwards so that she virtually sat upon his face, making it more difficult for her hands to reach his protruding cock. Giving up with a groan, she allowed her eyes to close and concentrated on the divine things he was doing to her quim, eating her out with abandon, heedless of her slick private parts sliding about on the lower portion of his face. She became aware of his hands slipping beneath the elastic at the legs of her now crotchless knickers. He kneaded the cheeks of her bottom as he worried at her clitoris, alternately licking and sucking, varying his touches according to the sounds she made. Suddenly, she felt him part her bum cheeks, and one long finger lightly caressed the bud of her arse as he flattened her clitoris against the roof of his mouth and sucked.
'Sweet Circe!' she cried, the swell of her climax breaking over her like a tidal wave. She cried out repeatedly, undulating against his face even as the tip of his wicked finger probed her arsehole, somehow increasing the sensation of her orgasm to a new fever pitch.
When she lay limp atop him, panting for breath and completely sated, he patted her bum and said, 'Come here and clean my face, little slut.'
Willingly, she rolled from atop him and reversed directions, crawling up into the cradle of waiting arms. He watched her with avid eyes which darkened with pleasure as she lapped at his flesh like a kitten licking milk from his chin. His lips parted when she licked his mouth, and then they were kissing, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, bringing the flavour of her own juices to season their embrace. Hermione stroked her hand along his bare back as they kissed, thrilling to the hard, lean muscle she felt beneath her fingertips. He nipped at her lips and thrust his hips against her, and her hand angled to his hip and down, to fondle him through his pyjamas. He permitted it for a few moments, his murmuring sighs issuing into her mouth. She stroked down his length and cradled his scrotum before she reached for his waistband to pull the elastic down and free him to her touch and taste.
'No,' he whispered, capturing her hand and bringing it to his face.
'Let me please you,' she coaxed, pressing light kisses to his face.
'I have to sleep,' he said, rolling onto his back, his voice suddenly heavy with fatigue.
Hermione sighed, staring at his gaunt cheeks, noting that he still didn't look well. What was wrong with her? Why did she persist in attempting to molest a sick man?
'Should I go?' she asked.
'Stay,' he said, reaching for her hand.
Hermione placed her hand in his and pulled up the duvet, laying her head upon her pillow as his breathing deepened again.
She was dozing lightly when he awoke again.
'What time is it?' he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
She picked up her wand and lit more candles, squinting at her wristwatch. 'It's six o'clock,' she told him.
'Please tell me you have real food in that bag,' he said, and his stomach rumbled loudly, as if in agreement.
Hermione laughed softly, tugging the dressing gown she had worn the night before from its place beneath his pillow and rolling out of the bed. 'I think I can accommodate you,' she answered as she pulled the garment on, tightening the belt and rolling back the sleeves to free her hands.
They made a good meal of sliced turkey, roast potatoes, and green peas, washed down with goblets full of cold milk. For pudding, they shared a piece of apple pie. Hermione was in heaven. What could be better than a picnic in the middle of bed with a half-naked Potions master who was in such a benign mood? He ate heartily, showing signs of increased strength and vigour—and he permitted her to question him about his academic career.
'I completed my apprenticeship in the usual three years,' he said, scraping the last bite from the pie dish. 'It was just in time to take the open position here, at Hogwarts.'
Hermione accepted the empty pie plate and reached to pile it with the other used dishes on the nearest bedside table. 'Was it difficult to find a master to study with?' she asked.
He shifted his position, sitting up straighter against the headboard as he wiped his thin lips with the white linen napkin. 'The Dark Lord arranged it for me,' he answered at last.
Hermione's eyes grew round. 'Was it … was your master a …' she stopped, unable to complete the question.
Professor Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Was Master Jiggs a Death Eater?' At Hermione's nod, he continued, 'No, he was not. He was, however, a pure-blood and a former Slytherin, and he had an impressive library on Dark potions.'
Hermione couldn't help the spark of interest that flared at this revelation. 'Do you know a lot of Dark potions?' she asked.
His eyes narrowed and travelled insolently down her body. 'I know many Dark potions and Dark spells,' he said, his voice low and seductive. 'What is your interest in such things, Hermione?'
She shifted under his gaze, amazed that her womb responded with insistent aching to the tone of his velvet voice, despite the tongue lashing she had already endured at his hands this day. 'Well, it's knowledge, isn't it?' she said. 'Even if you don't want to practice the Dark Arts, there's no harm in knowing the theory behind the spells and potions, is there?'
He sat forward suddenly, grabbing her wrist and toppling her against him, his hands pushing her dressing gown open before unerringly closing on her breasts. His thumbs passed over her nipples, then he pinched them gently between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them until she moaned aloud.
'Does that feel good?' he purred, his eyes glittering.
'Yes!' she gasped, arching into his touch.
'Where do you feel it?' he inquired, increasing the pressure on her nipples, drawing a lower moan from her.
'Where you're touching me,' she answered.
'And?' he demanded, tugging at her hardened nipples.
'In my quim,' she said, feeling that part of her body throbbing with the stimulation to her breasts.
'And what if I were able to induce this feeling in you without touching you—what if I could make you feel like this by cursing an article of your clothing, or by spiking your morning pumpkin juice with a potion?'
'It—it might be exciting,' she said, leaning into him, and he smiled, lowering his head to kiss first one nipple, then the other.
'Yes,' he said, plucking at her nipples, sending chills of want racing along her nerve endings, 'it might be exciting if we both wanted you to feel these things—but what if you didn't like me? Or didn't know me? What if my intentions in doing that to you were less than benign?'
His words penetrated the fog of desire, and Hermione gave her head a tiny shake, as if to clear her mind. She frowned, sitting back from him, tugging the dressing gown over her aching breasts. 'In that case—if we weren't both consenting—it would be horrid,' she admitted. 'It would be sick and wrong.'
He nodded, twitching the dressing gown open again to bare her breasts to his eyes but not touching them. 'There are many different types of Dark Arts spells,' he said gravely, 'many so horrid you would never consider using them—but some are less heinous, almost innocuous, and you think to yourself, using this one won't hurt anyone …'
Hermione listened to him, struck by the meditative tone of his voice—and she realised that he was telling her something about himself.
'Then one day, when you're really angry with someone about something, you use a slightly more malevolent spell, feeling that you're quite justified in doing so.' He reached for her again, pulling her to him and twisting her slightly so that she lay across his chest. He lowered his face and began to suck upon her nipple with a gentleness bordering upon reverence, one arm supporting her, the opposite hand fondling her other breast, stimulating her nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through her. He raised his face and looked into her eyes. 'It is much better not to know the Dark Arts,' he said, continuing to caress her breasts. 'I would like for you to trust me in this, Hermione. Will you do so?'
'Yes,' she answered immediately, her heart rate increasing at the expression in his eyes as he looked at her. She picked up the hand at her breast and brought it to her face, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. 'Of course I will do anything you ask of me.'
He grasped her arms and pulled her up so that her breasts were pressed against his naked chest, and a wash of pure desire for him assailed her. He kissed her mouth, his arms crushing her to him urgently, and she opened her mouth to him, opened her very soul to him, wanting his cock inside of her body to seal the deal—dear God, she had to belong to him, body and soul.
They kissed until she was a languid puddle of slick longing, when his lips nibbled at her earlobe, and he said, 'Will you do something for me, little one? Something of a sexual nature?'
She squirmed against him, her fingertips trailing down his belly towards his straining erection. 'Anything,' she averred.
He released her and settled back against the headboard, his black eyes glittering oddly in the candlelight.
'Good girl,' he murmured. 'I want you to move to the foot of the bed, the corner opposite from me, and sit facing me—without the dressing gown.'
Move away from him? How could she touch him and kiss him and lick him and fuck him from across the bed? But she had said she would do as he asked, so she swallowed her disappointment and shrugged out of the dressing gown, leaving it behind as she crawled across the bed and settled as he had asked her to.
He picked up his wand from the bedside table and murmured a spell. Hermione was suddenly illuminated in a bright shaft of light. 'Lovely,' he said, eyeing her up. 'You've been a tremendous help to me, Hermione,' he said. 'You've earned a fuck, if you wanted one, but I'm not, as they say, "up" to it, tonight—I haven't recovered enough of my strength to do the thing properly.'
Hermione watched him, wondering what he was up to. She was happy to know she had 'earned a fuck', whatever that meant, but if she couldn't have it, then what was she supposed to do?
'You want to see my cock, don't you, little one?'
Hermione felt her mouth gape open. She certainly did want to see his cock. She wanted to see it and touch it and taste it and suck it and ride it and … 'Yes, sir—please!' she said.
'Of course,' he added, raising his knees slightly and sliding the palm of his hand over the bulge in his pyjama trousers, 'in your fantasy, I had you tied to the bed when you saw my cock for the first time.'
Hermione gasped. 'You read it?' she blurted, distracted from the knowing way his left hand handled his erection.
'Yes, before you removed the pages,' he said, sounding suddenly stern. 'That will be a discussion for another time—unless you would prefer to discuss it now?' His hand stopped caressing his length and he cocked his head slightly, as if inviting her answer.
'No!' she cried, adding hastily, 'sir.' Hermione bit her lip. Damn, she had hoped it would not be necessary to explain how the pages had been removed from her journal. 'Please—continue.'
'Spread your legs wide,' he ordered her, suddenly falling into the attitude of the dominant who had handled her so efficiently in his study. 'Raise your knees a bit and put your feet on the bed,' he instructed. 'Yes, good.'
Hermione tried not to feel like a bug under glass as he ordered her about. It was so much easier to do what he asked when his hands were on her body, delivering discipline or enticing her to orgasm. It was another thing entirely to be sitting, naked, across from him and following instructions.
But it was about to become more difficult.
'Spread your cunt lips and stick a finger inside,' he commanded.
Hermione reached down and spread her labia with the fingers of her left hand, feeling her face burn with shame, and inserted her right forefinger.
'Look at me,' he said, his voice inviting, and she lifted her eyes to see that he had magicked the pyjamas off and she could see him, entirely naked.
She drew in a shaky, ragged breath as her eyes feasted on him, noting every detail. He was uncircumcised and well endowed, his cock both slightly thicker and slightly longer than those she had seen in pictures. His scrotum was heavy, hanging above what she could see of the crack of his bum, but her eyes were drawn back to his cock, which jutted up proudly, demanding her attention. As she watched, his fist closed about the shaft and stroked down once, pulling the foreskin fully down and exposing the dark pink knob.
'Gather moisture in your cunt and get your fingers wet,' he instructed, reminding her that she was sitting with a finger inside of herself.
She brought the tips of her fingers together, making them slick.
'Now, get the other hand wet with your juice,' he said, he voice soothing, sexy, as if what he were asking was perfectly normal and reasonable.
She repeated the process with her left hand.
'Rub it on your nipples,' he instructed, and when she did, he moaned.
Her eyes were drawn to his face, and the look of undisguised lust left her breathless.
'Pinch them,' he said, and as she did, he ran his right hand over his own nipples, pinching first one, then the other, his left hand never leaving off the slow, sure pumping motion up and down his shaft.
Hermione watched him, wanting that cock inside of her, feeling her body flood with warmth and wetness, as if in preparation to take him on.
'Look at my face,' he murmured, his tone slightly teasing, as if he knew how hard it was for her to look away from him fisting his erection. She raised her eyes to his. 'Now,' he continued, 'pinch your nipples, Hermione—pinch them, slowly increasing the pressure, until it hurts you.' His eyes flicked down to her quim, then back to her face. 'Do it now.'
Hermione had never much relished the idea of hurting her breasts. She had read about it, and the idea had never appealed to her. Of course, until her professor had confessed his admiration for her breasts—her perfect breasts—and made love to them for an extended period of time, she had never realised how much pleasure they could bring to her. Taking a deep breath, she began to pinch, slowly increasing the pressure until it really hurt … and still, she felt an odd ache in her quim, in spite of the pain …
'Sweet Merlin,' he whispered, and Hermione breathed slowly through her mouth, panting through the discomfort. 'You should see your face, little one,' he said, wanking a little faster. 'You're beautiful when you accept the pain I give you.' He spread his thighs a little wider, hips thrusting as he fucked his fist. 'You can stop pinching now and lift your breasts to your face—it will be a stretch, but I want you to kiss and lick each nipple. It will feel very good, I promise you.'
It was difficult, but by curving her neck down as far as possible and pushing her breast up, she was able to touch each nipple with her tongue. Each time she did it, he moaned a bit more, and she lifted her head, watching him. His wrist twisted oddly with each stroke as he thrust up into his hand, but it was the expression on his face, a combination of agony and ecstasy, which mesmerised her. He was doing a filthy, disgusting thing, having her do filthy disgusting things for him to watch as he wanked, and she had never seen anything more erotic in all of her eighteen years. He was exquisite in his extremity.
'Now finger your cunt,' he gasped. 'Spread it open so I can see how pink and wet your pretty little quim is, little one, and finger your clit until you come.'
With no thought any longer for how she looked to him, she obeyed his instructions and watched him, becoming more aroused and closer to her climax with each thrust of his straining cock into his fist. His balls bounced a bit against his arse with each jerk of his hips, and she was entranced by him, by his body, and by how he touched himself.
'Come with me,' he told her, his head falling back as his eyes closed, 'come with me now!'
And her body convulsed, unable to resist the imperative of his command, even as he found his own release, viscous white jism erupting over his fist, the sound of his incoherent shout inexplicably empowering to her. She had brought him to this: She was powerful, indeed.
She pulled her knees to her chest, suddenly cold, and wrapped her arms about her legs as she watched her professor catch his breath. He opened his midnight eyes, even as he sagged back upon his pillows, and said, 'Come here, little one.'
She crawled up the bed into his arms, thankful for the warmth of his body heat. He jerked the covers over their bodies and held her tightly to him, murmuring Nox and covering them over in the utter darkness of the dungeons, their breath mingling as they traded sweet, desultory kisses before sleep claimed them again.
