For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 22: Choices

The next few days were very difficult for Hermione. Knowing that she was not permitted to orgasm was not new; her professor had taken control of her climaxes some time before. No, the difficulty was that she was required to deliberately excite herself and deny herself completion. She had never attempted such a thing before, and she certainly didn't look forward to it. In many ways, it made her resentful. What was the point of this exercise? Yes, she wanted to please her Dominant—she wanted to be with him, she wanted to submit to him—but this was difficult, and the pay-off was so far away that it was hard to believe she would ever reach it.

In another way, it excited her. His interest in this most personal part of her life was delicious. It meant that he thought of her when she was not with him, that he spent time away from her thinking about her pleasuring herself. How could that not be terribly arousing for him? And then what did he do? Did he touch himself? Did he take his cock out and fist it while he thought of her touching herself? Did he use a lubricant when he did it? Was it an oil or a lotion—or did he spit in his palm to make himself slick? Just thinking about her professor wanking himself to thoughts of her made her ache with desire for him. In some way, he managed to make everything between them sexual, and she was completely wrapped up in the interaction between them.

She thought of little else, these days. She attended her classes, she completed her assignments, she revised according to her schedule, but always, at the back of her mind, was the awareness of Professor Snape. When she sat in her classes, she often daydreamed about him. When she was walking down the castle corridors, she imagined him watching her—she also imagined him watching her when she bathed and when she masturbated … which meant that she frequently masturbated in the bath. It seemed that he wanted her to be essentially a sexual creature, and at the same time, he was restricting her sexual activity more all the time, bringing it—bringing her—more under his control with each passing day.

And in spite of her rebellious moments, she could not have chosen anything she desired more than to belong to Severus Snape, body, mind and soul.

Before you sleep tonight, you will pinch your nipples until they ache, then you will soothe them by rubbing oil into them for two minutes. At the end of that time, you will lift your breasts to your mouth and lick all of the oil from your nipples. Spend no less than three full minutes on this task. When that is done, spread your thighs wide and use the oil to rub your clit. Do not orgasm. When all you want is to come, stop. Suck your fingers clean and write the experience in your journal.

His instructions to her were explicit and exacting. She found it very, very difficult. Only the knowledge that he would invade her mind and review her memories forced her to remove her fingers from her aching quim before climaxing. Her dreams were non-stop erotic scenes from which she awoke in nearly a worse state than she had been when she went to sleep.

On Wednesday, feeling very much as if she would like to kill anyone who dared to speak to her, she was on tenterhooks when she entered her professor's classroom. She was hanging on to her composure by a very slender thread, and she did not know how she would react to being either ignored or taunted by her Dominant.

She took her place between the boys and busied herself with removing her things from her Potions kit before class began.

The door to the room slammed as Professor Snape entered, robes billowing. He jabbed his wand at the chalkboard and familiar instructions appeared there.

'Your pathetic attempts at brewing this simple nose-hair remover were more than usually dismal,' he said, his voice low and dripping with disdain.

Hermione grimaced. The solution had not been a simple one to brew, but how like him to describe it as such.

He continued, 'I am creditably informed that this potion will appear on your NEWT examination. I would suggest that you actually read the formula before brewing it. You have one hour to turn in a properly brewed potion. Marks today will be either passing or failing. Begin.'

With a scowl, Hermione began organising her ingredients. How tedious to have to brew it again—she had done it properly last week!

'Miss Granger,' the silky baritone of her teacher purred from behind her.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all jumped, as if in a choreographed move.

'Sir?' Hermione squeaked, rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirt.

'Your attempt at this potion was … adequate,' he said with a sneer, his black eyes glittering. 'You may, instead, restock the storeroom shelves.'

Hermione jammed the contents of her Potions kit back in her bag with a show of annoyance. 'Yes, Professor Snape,' she said in an obviously insincere tone.

Harry and Ron gave her commiserating looks which she answered with a resigned shrug before flouncing off to the storeroom, a wild cacophony of emotion slamming about in her tummy as she did so. What was he going to do? The last time he had cornered her in here he had pleasured her—was he going to sabotage his own orders?

Sweet Merlin, she hoped so.

Bending to remove Abyssinian Shrivelfigs from a crate, she did not hear her professor as he entered the storeroom and wasn't aware of his presence until he had closed the door and cast an Imperturbable Charm upon it. Straightening, she allowed the Shrivelfigs to fall from her fingers and found herself backing away from her professor's aggressive advance, the twist of his lip and glittering of his eyes bringing her heart to a thundering crescendo. He was like a man possessed.

When she felt the shelving at her back, he was upon her in a swirl of black wool, the spice of his aftershave triggering a scent memory of such overwhelming pleasure that all thought of fear left her. Her arms lifted to embrace him, but he grasped her wrists and pulled them over her head, a murmured spell holding them there, suspended.

'Let's see how you're doing on your assignment,' he said, and he was in her mind, perusing at leisure and in great detail her orgasmless masturbatory adventures.

Hermione could scarcely breathe for the excitement of being held so utterly in his thrall. She was helpless to do aught but re-experience each of her obedient quim-rubbing, no climax experiences, while being acutely aware of her professor's arousal. His panting breaths, flavoured by the spearmint tea he had doubtless imbibed in the staff room, and the bulge pressed against her midsection told their own tale.

'Oh, well done,' he murmured, watching as she laved her nipples clean of the oil which she next spread over her wide-open quim before rubbing herself to the edge of orgasm.

Watching with him, Hermione was unable to prevent herself from feeling the arousal all over again. Powerless to free her hands, she stood with his body pressed to hers, her breasts and cunt aching with the pure need to be ravished by him.

Then his lips descended to her ear. 'Do you know how much it excites me when you're obedient?' he demanded, the tip of his tongue teasing the shell of her ear.

'No, sir,' she sighed, arching her throat, wishing to feel his teeth scrape along her jugular vein.

Then her hands were free, and he was pressing her palm to the iron rod of his erection, even as his other hand slipped up beneath her skirt, rubbing insistently at the gusset of her tights.

Hermione grasped him through his trousers, squeezing gently before stroking his length with the heel of her palm. His fingers pressed against her quim, and even through the thin fabric of her tights and her knickers, she was so tightly wound it felt as if his fingers were teasing her bare quim. She moved desperately against him as he buried his nose in her hair, his teeth at her throat.

'I could let you come now,' he said, raising his face to stare into her eyes. 'I could finger you to orgasm right here and now—but then you'd give up your chance at unlimited orgasms on Saturday night in my study.' He delved beneath her jumped and pinched her nipple through her bra and blouse. 'Do you want to come now, Hermione, or do you want to finish your assignment and receive your reward?'

She strained against him, feeling as if her mind had liquefied and slid to her quim, a burning lake of what once had been grey matter. 'Don't make me choose,' she begged, her voice rough with desire.

He kissed her mouth, the taste of him so fraught with testosterone that Hermione sucked at his lips and his tongue, wanting to devour him. His tongue teased hers, sliding against it, and retreated, enticing her into his mouth, where he sucked and teased her tongue as if it were her clitoris. When his lips released hers, she sagged against him with a whimper.

'Sometimes, Hermione,' he said, 'giving me your choice is the same as yielding your will to me. There are times when I will wish to choose for you, but this is not one of those times.' He cupped her molten quim and gave it a squeeze, using his free hand to stroke her hair from her face. 'Choose,' he commanded gently.

Dear God how she needed to come! But she felt this was a test of some sort, and she desperately wanted to surprise him—to please him—with her answer.

'I—I'll wait, sir,' she said, trembling in his arms.

The ragged breath he drew told her more than any words he could have spoken. He released his hold on her mound, smoothing her skirt down and straightening her jumper as he pulled her away from the shelves. The tips of his fingers stroked her cheek with infinite tenderness, and he brushed a kiss across her lips before releasing her and stepping back.

'You're magnificent, Hermione,' he said, looking directly into her eyes, his expression sober. 'Very few submissives as new to their training as you are could have chosen so wisely.'

Hermione felt herself swell with pride and pleasure—she had chosen correctly! It was what he had wanted to hear, even if not what he had expected. He had given her an out, but she had declined it. She was jubilant. She swayed toward him, hands outstretched, pure joy bubbling inside of her.

Professor Snape's face changed as he looked at her, as if a curtain had been pulled between them. He swallowed and took another step away from her. 'Your training is progressing very quickly,' he said quietly. 'You should be very pleased with yourself. I feel quite sure that you will be prepared to offer your submission to the Master of your choice when you leave school. I will give you very good references.'

Hermione felt her heart plummet. What was he babbling about? She didn't want to hear about something so distant—she wanted to receive his tender caresses—she wanted to think about the reward to come in three days' time. She couldn't—wouldn't! —think about some unknown Dominant …

Professor Snape turned from her and moved to the door. 'Please use the remainder of class time to stock the shelves,' he said and slipped out the door.

Sexual arousal doused by the cold dash of reality delivered by her professor, Hermione attacked the task of putting away the potions ingredients as her mind gnawed away at her dilemma: How was she going to convince Severus Snape that she, Hermione Granger, was the submissive he had always wanted to have for his very own?