For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 23: Another Saturday Night

On Saturday night, Hermione knelt in a perfect submissive's pose for her Dominant, her naked body rosy with excitement. The fire in the hearth roared, dispelling the chill of the December night.

'Look at me, Hermione,' Professor Snape said, his voice warm and inviting.

Hermione raised her eyes to his.

'I'm going to examine your memories now,' he told her. 'Did you follow your instructions? Did you deny yourself orgasm all week, as I asked you to?'

Hermione took in his easy, relaxed posture upon the cobalt blue sofa. He wore the midnight blue jumper over black trousers, his raven's wing black hair hanging loose upon his shoulders, still slightly damp from the shower. She wanted him with an ache which burned in her quim and emanated in waves throughout her entire body. 'Yes, sir,' she answered, offering herself for his examination.

He sat forward and placed his hand beneath her hair, at the nape of her neck, then he slipped into her mind. Together they viewed Hermione's memory of their encounter in the Potions storeroom, followed by her careful performance of each day's detailed instructions from him. Seeing it all again, knowing he was watching with her, was almost unbearably erotic for her. Then he released her mind, and before she could protest his sudden absence, he pressed a kiss to her mouth.

'Good girl,' he murmured, then sat back again, his dark eyes upon her face. 'Do you trust me, Hermione?' he asked.

'Yes, sir,' she answered without thought. It was a true answer. She had followed him so deeply into this—she would have followed him into fire.

His eyes glittered oddly as he produced the black silk scarf with which he had blindfolded her before. 'May I cover your eyes?' he asked. 'Will you yield your will to me for the evening and allow me to do with you as I will?'

'Oh, yes,' she said, swaying towards him, her heart beating an uneven tattoo in her ears.

He smiled that rare, heart-rending smile that never failed to thrill her to her toes. 'Excellent,' he said. 'Turn and sit between my knees, for now—I wish to brush your hair.'

Hermione subsided between his long legs with a sigh of contentment, closing her eyes and feeling her heartbeat slowing and evening with every stroke of her silver-backed hairbrush down her long, bushy mane. 'I would like for you to make a conscious effort to relinquish responsibility for yourself this evening,' Professor Snape said, his hand smoothing her thick hair in the wake of the hairbrush, soothing her to compliancy beneath the twin persuasions of his touch and his velvet voice. 'It is one of the privileges of the Dominant to take responsibility for the decisions of the submissive—to relieve you of the necessity of deciding anything. For the space of this evening, give yourself permission to do nothing but feel.' The motion of the hairbrush paused, and Hermione was aware of the forward shift of his body, so that his lips were at her ear. 'Will you try?' he murmured.

'I will, sir,' she promised, leaning back into the vee of his thighs, turning her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his.

'Good girl,' he said, kissing the corner of her mouth before leaning back and resuming the brushing of her hair.

Hermione sighed again and subsided with one cheek leaning on his knee, allowing her will to seep from her more fully with each stroke of the brush through her hair.

'There you go—now we'll just tidy it out of the way.' The long-fingered hands relinquished the hairbrush and gathered her hair at her nape, twisting it up and magically securing it at the back of her head. 'Now, the blindfold,' he continued, and the whisper of silk pressed over her eyes.

Hermione obediently closed them as deft fingers tied the blindfold in place, then warm lips pressed a kiss to her nape. 'You are very beautiful when you yield your will to me, Hermione,' he said, and she quivered with full-bore, helpless love for him.

Love … oh sweet Circe, she loved him.

She was well and truly lost.

And the epiphany of her love flowed seamlessly into the evening of exquisite pleasure, as her professor led her from one mind-dissolving orgasmic incident to the next.

He began simply, drawing her up from the floor onto his lap. 'Your obedience pleases me more than I can say,' he murmured into her hair, his fingers gently squeezing the globes of her breasts before beginning to apply pressure to her nipples. 'For tonight, little one, I would like for you to confine your utterances to sounds of pain or pleasure or words of passion. Allow yourself to be an instrument of sexual sensation, and I will seek to play your body and your mind to the benefit of us both.'

And before she could respond, his lips claimed hers, his tongue delving into the depths of her mouth, silencing her most effectively. Hermione moaned to have his tongue dominating hers again, desperate for the orgasm she had been denied for so many days. He kissed her as he caressed her breasts, then his hand was between her legs, his fingers sliding in and out of her body as his tongue mimicked the action with her mouth. Hermione clung to him, her arms about his neck, and sucked hard on his tongue as her orgasm exploded through her.

She rode the euphoria in the safe haven of his arms, thrumming with contentment, until he murmured again into her ear.

'Stand for me, Hermione,' he commanded, and she did so instantly. He stood and took her hand, leading her across the floor. She knew she was farther from the fireplace, because the air was cooler, but not uncomfortably so.

He took her hands, one by one, and affixed broad cuffs to her wrists. The cuffs smelled of leather, but were soft inside, against her skin, as if lined with the softest down.

'Up they go,' her professor commented, and her arms were pulled above her head, as if by ropes attached to the cuffs. When her arms were extended above her head, the pulling stopped. Curious, she tugged and found that something did, indeed, secure her wrists together. She wondered if it would be difficult to keep her arms up for a long time—perhaps it would be a test of endurance for her, to see if she would complain. Resolving to bear any discomfort, Hermione waited to see what next would happen.

'I know you enjoy your spankings, little one,' her professor's voice stated, from some distance behind her. 'We're going to discover if you will enjoy a flogging, as well.'

Forgetting the enjoinder to remain silent, Hermione gasped, 'Wait!'

An instant later, his breath was upon her cheek. 'It's hard to remember not to speak, isn't it?' he murmured, cupping her cheek. 'Never mind—I can help you with that.'

Hermione bit her lip. She had already disobeyed, but he didn't seem angry. It was difficult to remember to be quiet, that was quite true—and what did he mean by flogging? Wasn't that something that happened to miscreant sailors in the Napoleonic wars? She shivered, feeling gooseflesh pebble her skin.

A round, smooth object pressed against her mouth. 'Open, little one,' he purred, and Hermione opened her mouth, surprised and not a little panicked when what felt to be a rubber ball was thrust between her teeth. She made a sound of distress but her professor continued, fastening something at the back of her head, and she found that she was unable to expel the ball from her mouth—he had gagged her with it.

Then his lips were on her throat, his hands stroking soothingly along her flanks. 'So beautiful,' he murmured. 'Don't be afraid, little one. You may make all the noise you wish, now, and you will not be guilty of disobedience—the gag will prevent you from speaking. If you find any of my attentions somewhat painful, you may bite into the rubber of the ball—you will do it no harm.'

He moved away from her, and Hermione stood in an open space in his study, naked save for the leather cuffs which bound her hands, gagged and blindfolded, awaiting his 'attentions'. A sane person, she thought with a wild giggle which was smothered by the ball gag, would be out of her mind with fear, but not Hermione Granger: In spite of her very recent climax, her quim already ached in anticipation of what was next to come.

Sightless, her sense of hearing was doing double duty, and she heard the very slight rustle of movement as he approached her again. Tensing, she was surprised when what felt like a thousand rubbery strings flopped harmlessly onto her shoulder and were stroked from one shoulder to the other, their knotted tips dragging slightly as the strings were drawn over one furled nipple.

'This is your flogger, little one,' he informed her. 'I am going to whip you with it—do I have your consent? A simple nod or shake of your head will suffice.'

Hermione found herself twisting toward his voice, even as he withdrew the flogger strands from her body. How would it feel? Would it be like countless belts striking her flesh, or something different? Scarcely realising she had done so, she nodded her head in acquiescence.

'What a good submissive you are,' he praised her silkily. 'Now, listen to me carefully, Hermione. It's important for you to stand still; I will strike your bottom with different force than your back. If you're unable to stand still I will be forced to shackle your legs. Nod if you understand me.'

She nodded once, eager to discover the sensation of the rubbery cords upon her skin.

'We will begin very lightly, little one—this flogging is for pleasure only.'

The first landing of the knotted rubber strands upon her bottom stung, yet Hermione found that she loved the sensation. The professor lashed the thin cords against her backside in slow, measured blows, and Hermione purred in her throat, scarcely moving beneath the slowly increasing speed of the flogging—save to sway, as if to music, losing herself completely in the bliss of the rubber strands.

When he stopped, she whimpered her protest, and he was right beside her, his breathing slightly ragged, as if from exertion—or sexual excitement. 'You like that, don't you?' he asked, and she nodded, humming and straining towards him, but he side-stepped her. 'Would you like to see how it feels on your belly and your breasts?' he purred.

Good God, of course she wanted that—she wanted it directly on her quim—would he think of that?

She nodded emphatically, and he chuckled. 'This is your night of rewards, little one—your wish is my pleasure to provide.'

She was conscious of him moving around her, and she arched her back, offering her naked breasts to him. Her heightened hearing was so acute, she could not fail to detect his gasp at her action, and she wondered if perhaps her blatant desire was responsible for the exquisite stinging blow which then landed directly upon her nipple. The strands slapped the tender flesh of her breast even as their knotted ends impacted her crinkled areola, wringing a groan of sheer animal pleasure from her and sending desire straight to her slick cunt.

His answering grunt sent a thrill of power coursing through her, flavouring the next several strikes of the flogger upon her breasts and belly with pure intoxication—he was as overwrought from the act of flogging her bound, naked body as she was.

Dear Merlin, she loved him.

She had not yet realised he had stopped flogging her before he was on her, hands at her hips, lifting her as if she were weightless. Her legs wrapped automatically about his bum, even as he drove his clothed erection against her wetness, sending a happy shock to her womb—fuck me! her mind screamed—and then her arms were released. Shifting her up and rather inelegantly over his shoulder, he lurched to a spot before the hearth, where they tumbled together, his strong arms keeping her safe. She was sprawled over him, his hands massaging her tingling arms. 'We must always be careful not to keep your arms in that position for too long,' he murmured as he rubbed.

Hermione was happy for the attention to her protesting arm muscles, but she was far more aware of her needy quim and the erection beneath her bum. Even as she permitted him to attend to her aching arms, she undulated on his erection, desperately seeking more contact.

Next his hands were at the back of her head, and the ball gag was loose, then gone. He shifted, a hand delving into his trousers pocket beneath her bottom, and he used his handkerchief to tenderly dry her face of the saliva which had been present on the rubber ball of the gag. 'My God but you're good,' he said to her, his voice oddly thick and strained. 'Never a moment of fear—you are the epitome of the best traits of your House, my pet.' Then he was kissing her, kissing her mouth as if he were communicating information for which there were no words.

My pet … pet … pet …

In a world now boiled down to nothing but his voice—My pet—and his touch, Hermione responded to him with every emotion at her command. Her arms, still wearing the leather cuffs with which he had bound her, wrapped about his neck; she shimmied against his chest, brushing her nipples across the softness of his jumper, and she spread her legs wide, opening her dripping quim and rubbing her bottom against his hard cock, hoping to gain some measure of relief for her desperate need of him.

With a growl, he pushed her from his lap, and for a moment, Hermione flailed, bereft of him. But before she could begin to wonder if she had somehow offended him, he shifted himself, as well, and he was on top of her, the wool of his trousers scratchy between her open thighs. He thrust against her, the glorious weight of his body holding her pinned to the hearthrug, and she gasped her approval, grinding her hips against him. His mouth was everywhere, raining bruising kisses down her throat, suckling and nipping at her breasts, then invading her mouth with his demanding tongue, even as he teased her cunt with his cock, the tip of it clearly delineated even though the fabric of his trousers as it rasped roughly over her clitoris.

'Please,' she begged, arching up to meet the thrust of his hips.

'Quiet, little slut,' he snarled, his tone hot and jagged. 'You'll take what I give you and beg for more.'

And dear God but he was right—she certainly would. It was as if he had unleashed his lust, and the sheer power of it flattened her. She grasped at him, exulting in her helplessness against his superior weight and strength, and she writhed beneath his thrusting, still clothed cock until she came, screaming, shattering beneath the onslaught of his merciless aggression. She was deprived of the sight of his face when he climaxed, but she felt the final jerk of his hips and heard the guttural cry that accompanied his ejaculation, and she clutched him tightly to her, proud of her ability to bring him to this state.

He slipped to one side of her, keeping her close against his side, and she realised he had placed a cushioning charm upon the hearthrug to more comfortably accommodate them. She turned on her side, and she felt his hand at the back of her head; after a moment, the satin of the blindfold fell against her cheek, but the light from the fire was too bright for her. She closed her eyes and nuzzled closer to his face.

'Merlin's ghost, girl, you'll be the death of me,' he grumbled, the tenderness of his hand upon her back belying his complaining words.

'Hmm,' she replied, mindful of his restriction on her speech, quite content to cuddle with him for eternity.

'That was my first time to come since I jerked off for you in my bed,' he murmured.

Amazed, Hermione raised her head, staring at him, hoping more detail would be forthcoming.

'I would never ask something of you I would not do, myself,' he said seriously, brushing a tendril of loose hair from her cheek. 'It was very difficult—particularly when I read your journal accounts of your activities—and ten times harder, so to speak, after I had looked into your mind, that day in the Potions storeroom.'

Hermione listened to him in astonishment, reflecting that even had she been permitted to speak, she would not have been able to utter a syllable. His tone was confiding—he was sharing with her quite openly—and her newfound love for him burgeoned in her heart, making it difficult for her to breathe. Quite against her will, tears filled her eyes.

The first drop fell on his cheek, drawing his drowsy eyes back to her face. 'Here, now—what's this?'

He wiped a tear from her face, sucking the saltiness from the pad of his thumb. Unaccountably, Hermione was aroused by this act, and her recently sated libido flickered low in her womb. Moving over him, she kissed his mouth, and he permitted her to do so, lying upon his back on the floor before the fire with Hermione hovering over him, devouring his mouth as if it were the finest of Honeydukes sweets. Time ticked by as the fire burned lower, and soon their relative positions were reversed, his slow, tongue-fucking, drugging kisses filling her entire body with languorous, slick-cunt desire. In a rather desultory fashion, he began to finger her quim, and Hermione moaned into his mouth.

'Who's a needy little slut?' he purred, watching her face. 'Who needs my fingers in her cunt every second of every day?'

'Me,' she gasped, spreading her legs wider still, receiving an additional finger up her cunt for her trouble. Groaning her appreciation, she moved against his hand.

He lowered his head and fastened his lips around her nipple, sucking. She buried her fingers in his hair, tugging, and he sucked harder, drawing another groan from her. The he released her nipple and his face was over hers again, his expression intent.

'Whose slut are you, little one?' he demanded.

'Yours!' she gasped, then cried out when he removed his fingers from her quim.

'Fucking right you are,' he growled, shifting to a sitting position. 'You're my little slut, and you're going to receive your reward. You may have as much of this as you can bear before your curfew.'

Then he lifted her leg and ducked beneath it, burying his nose in the damp curls between her thighs. 'Just say "when",' he instructed before he began to eat her out. With admirable single-mindedness, he slipped two fingers inside, angling for her sweet spot, and began to suck her clitoris, playing the instrument of her body like a master.

My Master, Hermione thought. And giving her uninhibited response in such a way as to earn her repeated encouraging praise from her professor, Hermione managed to say 'when' four more times before curfew.