For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 31: Hard Lessons
Sunday afternoon found Hermione in the library, her revision materials open before her and her mind far away from her studies. To her frustration, she had found virtually nothing on the shelves of the Hogwarts library concerning sexual practices outside the norm. There were references to 'deviance' and 'fetish' but no very specific explanations of either of these terms. How was she supposed to educate herself in this field of study if no materials were available to her?
With her quill, she began to sketch the clamps her Dominant had used on nipples in the wee hours of the morning. She had seen them when she woke up, discarded upon the bedside tabletop. She was glad, in retrospect, that she had accepted the blindfold. If she had seen the clamps beforehand, she might not have had the courage to submit to their use … and to be honest, it had been quite a turn-on. Somehow, the pain of the clamps had intensified the pleasurable feelings in her quim. What did that say about her?
And what did it say about him?
She dropped her quill and frowned at her parchment. She knew what it meant. It sexually excited Severus Snape to hurt her. No, that wasn't quite right. She had been watching him verbally flaying her classmates since she was eleven years old, and there had never been a hint of enjoyment in his demeanour. It was her consent that sealed the deal for her professor—her desire to experience the pain he offered, in conjunction with the pleasure. He was a sadist, but he was also a Master, whose chief motivation was the domination and control of his submissive.
A shaft of pure desire pierced her, and her mood swung abruptly to near giddiness. The very idea of her Dominant spending his time thinking of things to do to her—planning their encounters—left her breathless. She should also be thinking and planning how she could please and amaze him, but she didn't have enough information. Hadn't her professor told her that he had other books for her to read after she finished reading Master Maximus' and t's book, The Sensuous Symmetry of Submission?
Suddenly in a hurry, she shoved her books into her bag and set out for the dungeons. Perhaps she could obtain permission to read the book this afternoon in her professor's study—and who knew what wonderful things might happen afterwards?
She entered his study with her skirt lifted, her nether parts naked to his eye. He sat at the table, an array of odd-looking objects laid out before him on a white towel. He rubbed at one of the unidentifiable items with a rag, and a strong smell of disinfectant, such as Hermione had smelled in Muggle hospitals, was in the air.
What in the world was he doing?
'Good afternoon, Hermione,' he said, still concentrating on his work. 'Have you completed your revising for today, then?'
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, conscious of her utter failure to accomplish any studying thus far today. 'I want to study more about Dominance and submission, sir,' she said truthfully.
His head swivelled in her direction, one coal black eyebrow arching. 'Has D/s been added to the NEWT curriculum while I wasn't looking?' he inquired sardonically.
'No, of course not,' she admitted. 'But I'm well ahead of schedule on my studies in my NEWT classes—and I can't stop thinking about …'
'Come here,' he said.
She crossed to him. 'May I undress?' she asked.
He studied her before speaking. 'I would like to be able to say, you may always undress in this room, but there are situations and circumstances under which it would not be appropriate. You may, however, undress now.'
Hermione made quick work of it, placing her discarded skirt, bra, and jumper on the floor behind her. She knelt at his feet, feeling a strange sense of pride as she did so. She was permitted to kneel for him as was no one else. He was her Master. He hadn't said so, but oh, please Nimüe, let it be so!
'Come,' he said, 'show me your breasts.'
Hermione stood again, leaning forward slightly to bring her breasts closer to his face. He studied them with clinical interest.
'Are they sore?' he asked, his eyes flicking to her face.
'No more than when you've sucked them for a long time,' she answered.
'But what an excellent notion,' he said and pulled her onto his lap, burying his nose between her breasts, startling a laugh from her.
He latched onto a nipple, his lips about her areola as his tongue laved and probed. Hermione smiled, lacing fingers in his hair, and he began to suck, the insistent tug upon her nipple stoking the embers of arousal which seemed ever ready to flare into fire. After giving considerable attention to one breast, he switched to the other, seemingly content to hold her in his lap on this winter afternoon and drive her crazy with want. She shifted slightly with a murmur of arousal, and his half-lidded eyes, like liquid pools of ebony, rose to her face.
'Yes?' he asked.
Hermione felt nonplussed. How was it that he, who seemed to know every thought that flickered across her mind, could not know what his attentions were doing to her? 'Nothing,' she whispered.
Professor Snape frowned. 'Hermione, when I ask a question, I expect an answer. I do not speak simply to hear the sound of my own voice.'
She flushed. 'But … sir, surely you know I'm aroused by what you're doing?'
His eyebrows arched. 'Of course I know.'
Hermione swallowed, wondering why he was being so difficult. 'Well, I was only reacting to what you were doing. I didn't mean to interrupt you.'
He studied her face, the silence serving only to make her more discomfited than before.
'Hermione, are you under the impression that every sexual encounter between us should end in orgasm for you?' he asked neutrally.
Hermione bit her lip and averted her eyes. Well, if she was under that impression, wasn't it because they had usually ended that way? What did he want her to say? 'No,' she said finally.
'But …?' he prodded.
She looked up again and smiled. 'But I wish every encounter could end with orgasm for us both,' she admitted.
His eyes seemed to smile, although his lips did not curve. 'A submissive is not always permitted gratification of her desire to come,' he admonished. 'There are Masters far more strict than I, who permit far fewer orgasms.'
Hermione felt the discomfort in her tummy that she experienced every time he spoke of her in conjunction with 'other Masters'. 'I'm sorry,' she said.
'Very well,' he replied, his posture changing with his mood.
Hermione glanced about for a change of subject and her eye fell on the assortment of implements on the table. 'What are these things, sir?'
He urged her off his lap, and she regained her feet. He picked up the object he had been handling before. It was made of a black, shiny substance, not unlike vinyl. The shape was a conical tapered length, ending with a significantly flared bottom. There were two other near-identical items lined up on the towel, each slightly longer and thicker than the one preceding it.
'These things?' he said, flicking the smallest with a negligent finger. 'They're yours, Hermione.'
Hers? Why did she not find that reassuring? 'M-mine?' she stuttered.
'Certainly,' he purred, watching her face. 'Part of your training—I purchased them just for you. I was giving them a good cleaning before we begin to use them.'
'But what are they for?' she asked again. She could only think of one use for something of that particular shape …
'They're butt plugs, if you'll pardon the expression,' he answered. 'The purpose of the device is to slowly, over time, stretch and relax the muscles of your anus to allow for your arse to be fucked.'
Hermione retreated one step in horror. 'Sir! You don't … don't want to fuck me—' she couldn't bring herself to say it 'there, do you?'
He watched her impassively. 'It is not my preferred activity, but I would be remiss in your training if I were not to prepare you for it, Hermione. Many Masters enjoy anal intercourse on a regular basis, and for you to be properly trained, you must be acquainted with it.'
Hermione staggered back another step. 'But I don't care about other Masters!' she cried, tears starting to her eyes. 'I only care about serving you! And if you don't care for it, I don't care for it!' She fell to her knees, feeling her tears begin to fall in the same instant. 'Please,' she said, hearing the break in her voice and unable to stop it, 'please don't make me do it. I s-said "yes" to the clamps, didn't I? Do I have to do everything all at once?' Now she was crying in earnest, unsure of how they had gone so quickly from nipple-sucking pleasure to the threat of terrifying anal intercourse.
She remained where she was, sobbing at his feet, and for several minutes he did not move or speak. At last, he stood and scooped her up, carrying her to the sofa and placing her on the floor, between his knees.
'Accio Hermione's hairbrush,' he said, and when it had zoomed into his hand, he passed her a clean white handkerchief.
Hermione mopped up her face, feeling the soothing motions as her professor began brushing her hair. With infinite patience, he created order from chaos, and after a time, he spoke while he brushed.
'I would like to point out, Hermione, that your visit this afternoon was unscheduled,' he said.
'Oh!' she said, turning her head to apologise, but he firmly directed her face to the front again and continued to brush.
'You'll note I did not say it was unwelcome,' he added rather acerbically. 'Simply unexpected. And if you had not asked about the plugs, I would not have broached the subject with you today.'
Hermione felt the combination of his hair-brushing and his voice like a Calming Draught; before she knew what she was about, she was clinging to one long leg, her cheek pressed blissfully to his inner thigh.
'Please keep in mind that it is my duty, as your Dominant, to push your boundaries—to assist you to find your true limits—and because you are a novice, it behoves me to introduce you to many different D/s practices, not just the ones of most interest to me.'
The brush made the journey from the top of her head to the middle of her back, the flat of his free hand following in its path, smoothing her bushy hair.
'We will not begin anal training today,' he informed her, 'but we will discuss it again, in greater detail and at length, at some future date. Do you agree, Hermione?'
'Yes,' she responded, lulled and soothed by his tender attentions. It wouldn't be so horrible to discuss it with him, would it?
At the sound of her voice, the brushing ceased. 'Then are you ready for your spanking?'
Hermione turned to look at him. 'Am I in trouble?'
He looked steadily into her eyes. 'Certainly not. But you are in need of discipline, are you not?'
Hermione felt weak at her very core. How did he know these things about her? Without speaking, she placed her hands upon his thighs and pushed herself to a standing position, then stretched across his lap. His hand, firm and reassuring, rested first upon the back of her lower leg, then stroked up to her bum before repeating the process with the other leg.
'Who knows what you need?' he asked.
'You do, sir,' she said.
'That's right,' he replied, and the back of her hairbrush impacted her bottom, drawing a cry from her lips.
Oh, it had been too long since she had been spanked!
Her professor seemed to realise this as well, for he went about his business with the concentrated intensity he brought to his most lascivious acts upon her body, and Hermione gave herself over to the cleansing effects of a good spanking. As ever, he placed his strikes carefully, never in the same place consecutively, and built up both speed and force incrementally, until Hermione sobbed unashamedly into the sofa cushion, a clean, empty vessel.
He stopped striking her and lightly caressed the inflamed tissue with his fingertips. 'Such a perfectly reddened bottom,' he said, slightly out of breath. His hands fumbled at her hip, and she thought he must be straightening himself in his trousers. Then he turned and lifted her until she rested with her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He wiped her face with a clean handkerchief before lowering his head and kissing the corner of her mouth. 'Better?' he asked.
Hermione smiled at him mistily, and he stroked a hand down her torso, cupping her damp mound. 'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Much.'
'Good,' he murmured, and he kissed her mouth while he slipped a finger through her pubic curls and touched her clitoris, drawing a moan from her.
'Do you know what happens to nasty girls who get wet cunts when their professors spank their naughty bottoms?' he asked her, curling two fingers down to enter her body.
Hermione ground against his hand. 'Something wonderful,' she gasped, wriggling her bottom—but something was wrong. She was feeling flesh, not fabric, against her bum.
'We'll see how wonderful you think it is when I've fucked you so hard you can't walk straight,' he growled, shifting her weight and reaching between them to situate his cock at her entrance.
'Oh, please,' she said, already aflame with passion as she slid down on his shaft.
He didn't speak, for the logistics of sex from this position seemed to require a great deal of his attention. He held her hips forcefully in one spot as he thrust up into her, and Hermione did not attempt to move, for fear of disengaging the searing connection between their bodies. She knew from his breathing that it required tremendous exertion on his part to impale her from beneath and behind as he was, and when she looked down between her thighs, she saw his thick, glistening cock pumping in and out of her hole. The mere sight increased her excitement, and it seemed as if she felt more intensely each grunting thrust he made into her body.
'Fucking hell,' he panted, he voice ragged in her ear, 'you're so fucking tight …'
Hermione allowed her head to fall back on his shoulder, giving herself over to the experience of having her Dominant—my Master, her heart insisted—fucking her with such animal abandon.
'Fucking you,' he growled, his voice thready, and his hand darted to her sticky wet quim, beginning to rub her clitoris in a deft, circular motion. 'Sweet Nimüe,' he breathed, and Hermione didn't know if he was calling out to the sorceress of old or if he had somehow mistaken Hermione for her, but it didn't matter, because his ever more insistent caresses were dissolving her. 'Come for me pet,' he insisted, his strokes on her clitoris now matching those up into her cunt, 'come with me!'
His climax began, his language deteriorating even as his thrusts intensified, and Hermione was carried on the tide of his insistence and his passion, crying out her own climax as he spent himself deep in her womb.
He moved her beside him, and then they were stretched out together on the sofa, eye to eye, and she felt as if she breathed his every breath. She kissed his mouth, and he allowed her to do so, gently parrying the thrusts of her tongue.
'You're mine,' she told him, though his eyes were nearly shut as he succumbed to drowsiness.
'Hmm,' he replied, cradling her to his heart.
Clinging to him, Hermione listened to his slow, even breaths until she drifted to sleep as well.
When she awoke, he was sitting at the table. There was no sign of the unsavoury butt plugs. Professor Snape had tidied himself, his hair freshly combed, and he now wore the dark green jumper. Hermione stood, clutching around her the blanket with which she had been covered. She saw there was a meal set out on the table; a bowl of thick stew, bread and butter, and a tall glass of milk.
'Did I sleep through supper?' she asked, trying not to give in to the alarm licking along her thoughts. Something seemed wrong.
'Yes,' he said, not looking up from the green journal in which he was writing. 'You sent a note to your Head of House letting her know you were having a sandwich in your room.'
Hermione nodded, still standing near the end of the table. 'Where's your dinner?'
He finished writing and replaced the cap on his bottle of ink. 'I will eat while I'm out,' he said, rising to place his writing things on the nearby bookshelf.
Hermione felt as if she had taken a Bludger to the abdomen. 'You're going out?' she said.
He turned to her, his black eyes snapping. 'This is Sunday evening, Hermione. You are aware that I go to the village on Sunday evenings.'
Hermione felt her lips tremble. 'But you said you wouldn't go to her on nights when you've been with me,' she said.
His lips thinned. 'Our agreement was that I would not go to the village on Saturday nights, when we had our standing appointment,' he pointed out.
'Please don't leave me for her,' she said brokenly, knowing she sounded pathetic but unable to prevent herself from pleading.
'If you do not wish for me to leave your presence to visit Miss Smith, Hermione, then it will be necessary for you not to come to my study on Sundays,' he answered tersely.
She approached him, allowing the blanket to fall to the floor, and placed her hands on his arm. 'I can't bear to think of you with her,' she said. She looked pleadingly up into his face. 'I'm being as straight-forward as I know how to be, sir—it's torture for me.'
She didn't speak the invitation, but she felt it as he accepted and slipped into her mind, examining the forefront of her thoughts and emotions. When he disengaged, she sagged against him, bereft by his withdrawal.
He took her arm and propelled her to the chair before the food. Hermione sat, and he tucked the fallen blanket around her as he spoke.
'I've told you before that your impressions of my association with Miss Smith are incorrect,' he said. 'We do not engage in sexual congress.'
Hermione glowered at him. 'Do you "play" with her as you play with me?'
A suddenly implacable look came over his face. 'I will not discuss Miss Smith with you, Hermione,' he said, and she could clearly hear the anger underlying his tone. 'You may eat this food, and if you choose, you may sit in this room and read Master Maximus' book while I am out. You have my permission to wait up for me to return, if you wish, or you may return to your own room.'
He picked up his cloak, which was draped over the back of a chair, and strode out of the room without another word.
'Well, fuck a duck,' Hermione said crossly, taking up her spoon and attacking her bowl of stew as if it had done her some wrong.
And although she finished reading The Sensuous Symmetry of Submission, and the fire in the hearth burned down to mere embers, and Hermione fell asleep on the sofa where he had taken her with animalistic vigour, still Professor Snape did not return.
A/N: Well, don't be shy! Tell me where you think he is …
