For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 35: Christmas Chains

Turning his face to hers, Severus Snape inquired, between panting breaths, 'Good God, Hermione—what the fuck was that?'

Hermione opened her eyes and peered up into his sweaty, incredulous face. 'It was amazing, Master,' she answered honestly.

He frowned at her, not seeming to notice her use of his new title. 'That's not what I meant.'

Hermione stroked a hand down his damp chest, tracing through the black hairs there. 'You didn't think it was …' she began, but he forestalled her, pushing up on one elbow and capturing her chin in the other.

'You know exactly how I felt,' he said, his voice low-pitched and pulsing with warning.

Hermione nodded, not daring to speak.

'That is the phenomenon for which I would like to receive an explanation,' he informed her tersely. 'It wasn't Legilimency. What spell did you cast on me?'

'I did feel your emotions,' she admitted, thrilling again to know how intensely he had felt their union. 'But I didn't cast a spell. I don't know a spell that would do that.'

He released her chin, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and laid back, crossing his arms behind his head, a contemplative look upon his face. Hermione leaned over him, solicitous.

'It happened before,' she said hesitantly, 'to a lesser degree, the first time we had intercourse.'

His eyes returned to her face, glittering strangely in the firelight.

'I didn't know what it was then, either,' she said.

'What did you do just before it happened?' he asked calmly.

'I surrendered,' she said simply. 'I consciously opened myself to you, and when I did, I was within you, just as you were within me.' She dropped her eyes, picking at a loose thread on the emerald green blanket. 'I didn't mean to be intrusive,' she said in a small voice.

Several moments passed, and Hermione gnawed at her lower lip, discomfited by the silence. What was he thinking? She hadn't meant to do it—hadn't meant to do anything, except to open herself to him even more fully than before.

At length, the professor spoke. 'If it had been anyone other than you, I would have found it intrusive,' he said quietly, and she glanced quickly his face, relief flooding her. 'To be perfectly frank,' he added, 'I found the experience highly erotic, if rather unsettling.'

Heartened, Hermione moved closer to him. 'You liked it?' she asked.

He reached for her, pulling her against him. 'It was a singular experience,' he said, 'something which I have never before encountered. I don't know what to think of it.'

Hermione remained silent, feeling somewhat abashed. How could he not like it? She relished having him so deeply into her—did he not want her consciousness within him?

As if reading her thoughts, her professor moved her again onto her back, and he rose over her, one long-fingered hand closing over her throat, just beneath the black leather collar. His hair hung limply on either side of his thin face, his eyes an ebony abyss. His fingertips exerted the lightest pressure upon her neck as he looked down into her face. 'It is simply another way in which you are unique amongst women I have known, pet,' he said, and he bent his neck, the tip of his wicked tongue teasing the corner of her mouth.

She let out a tiny gasp at the contact, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue between her lips. Hermione closed her eyes and accepted his sensual kiss, very conscious of the hand at her throat. She was unsure if he was exerting a form of physical control over her movements or if he was simply enjoying the presence of his collar upon her neck, but it scarcely mattered. She raised a hand to his face, tenderly stroking his freshly shaved cheek, and he surprised her by turning his face into her palm, his lips moving there, an action of supplication in strange counterpoint to the hand which slid up the slender column of her throat, passing over the collar and applying slight pressure to the pulse points just beneath her jaw.

For the tiniest moment, Hermione felt lightheaded, her heart rate increasing. What was he doing? Surely he wouldn't throttle her? His lips left hers, and he raised his head, staring down into her eyes, seeming to absorb her acquiescence. Then he released her, rolling away, moving to his feet with a muted groan.

'Come,' he said, extending a hand to assist her to rise. 'I am rather too old for lolling about on the floor for extended periods of time.'

Hermione allowed him to pull her to her feet, forbearing to point out that he had been the one to initiate sex on the floor. She followed him with perfect contentment through the portrait and into his quarters, the glorious presence of the strip of leather about her throat outweighing all other factors.


Twenty minutes later, their skin golden in the candlelight of the bathroom, she rose over his recumbent form in the bath water, her head back, tendrils of hair trailing in the water as she rode his turgid cock. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, occasionally bestirring himself to grind up against her as she lowered herself on him, but otherwise, he received her ministrations passively, only his voice spurring her on.

Hermione slid slowly down him again, constricting her inner muscles, as he had suggested, and his hands settled on her hips, holding her in place, their bodies joined. Obedient to his signals, she remained still, watching his face. One of his hands left her hip and slid down to her naked quim, delving lightly between her labia to rub her clitoris.

'Kiss me,' he commanded, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him, greedily sucking on his tongue as he plucked at her pleasure centre. She writhed on his cock, clutching at him with her hands, electrified by his touch. As the familiar spiral of completion began, he took his hand from her quim and released her mouth. 'Stop,' he said.

Hermione sagged onto his chest, breathless, rather disappointed that she had not been permitted to climax. He ran one hand down her back to her bum and gave her a resounding slap.

'Out of the tub, now,' he said.

Hermione scrambled up, regretfully feeling his softening erection fall from her body, and she padded across the floor to fetch two towels. Unbidden, she began to dry him as he stood on the bathmat, and he permitted her to do so. She knelt to dry his feet and lower legs, and was not surprised to feel his hands in her hair, holding her in place.

'Suck my bollocks dry,' he said, and Hermione did so, opening her mouth wide to hold one testicle, gently suckling and laving simultaneously, proud when his softening prick began to elongate again. She shifted her face, administering the same treatment to the other testicle, feeling her womb tightening with deep arousal when he widened his stance, giving her further room to handle and minister to his heavy scrotum. Mere seconds later the hand in her hair pulled upward, and she lifted her head, pleased when his cock pressed against her lips. She accommodated him eagerly, knowing she was awkward and unpractised, but determined to demonstrate her enthusiasm. The fingers in her hair loosened, caressing her scalp, and she cast a glance up his lean, nude body to his face, finding him staring down into her eyes, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched her suck his cock.

'Good,' he told her, stepping back and disengaging from her lips. 'Come to the bed.' He strode out into the bedroom, and she followed, admiring the muscle movement in his arse. He turned and caught her eyeing him up; his sneer brought a blush to her cheeks. 'In the middle of the bed,' he said shortly. 'On your hands and knees.'

Hermione scrambled up onto the bed, wondering what was going to come next. He was an odd mixture tonight, of solicitousness and command, intimacy and distance. She felt off-balance, but her craving for him was absolute. It was the only important factor. She arranged herself with her knees spread wide, displaying her needy cunt to him. Would he spank her? Flog her? Fuck her from behind? She didn't know, but she ached for him to use her.

She heard the wardrobe open and close, then the bed shifted beneath his weight, and he was kneeling behind her. 'You've been a good girl tonight, Hermione,' he said, his voice settling over her like a velvet mantle. 'You've earned a special reward. Are you ready for it?'

Hermione felt a thrill of fear and tried to look over her shoulder. 'Yes, please, Master,' she said breathlessly.

'Eyes to the front, or I shall blindfold you,' he snapped, and she stared toward the headboard.

A hard, cold, disc-shaped object was placed on the small of her back, as if she were a table.

'This is your leather paddle, Hermione,' he informed her. 'I am going to use it to paddle your naughty bottom.' He stroked down the crack of her bum gently. 'You'll find that it packs quite a wallop.' He lifted it from her back and pressed the broad, rounded leather paddle against first one cheek and then the other. 'Is there anything you would like to say before we begin?'

Already the burn of desire had begun, bringing a familiar ache to her slick quim. She was very glad she had finished reading Master Maximus' and t's book; she knew precisely how to answer him. 'Thank you, Master,' she said in a small voice.

'Very good, pet,' he said, and then he was in motion, and Hermione felt the stunning impact of the paddle upon her arse.

She cried out, startled and dismayed. This was much more forceful than the professor's hand; it covered a larger area than her beloved silver hairbrush; it stung more than his belt had ever done and was far more painful than the flogger. The blow to her bum had seemed to shiver all the way up her spine. Would she able to bear it?

He did not give her much time to consider it, for he swung his arm and the paddle slapped her flesh again. Each impact felt as if it would shatter her into a thousand pieces, and by the third blow, she was sobbing. On the fifth blow, he struck her bottom just above the crease of her quim, and it felt like her clitoris had absorbed impact. She cried out, a new sound, neither gasp nor sob, and he repeated the act twice, then thrice, until her cries were shrieks. Dear Merlin, her bum felt as if it would be bruised black and blue before morning, but her quim was on fire, as if he could paddle her to a screeching climax.

But the tenth blow was not followed by another; instead, he shifted his weight again, and Hermione had the distinct impression of a blunt object broaching her nether lips. Was he fucking her with the paddle handle? Would he do such a thing? Then she heard him grunt, and he grasped her hips, jerking her back onto his cock. He rammed himself inside of her, the fucking like an extension of the paddling. With every jerk of his hips against her arse, his scrotum slapped her labia, and she pushed back against him, wanting more. He moved in and out of her at a cruel pace, his hands holding her hips with bruising possessiveness, driving himself with a lack of restraint she had yet to witness in him. For the first time in their association, she felt herself to be little more than an instrument of completion to him, with his pleasure and his desire all that drove his actions. There was a dimly remembered part of her mind that attempted to send up an alarm against this treatment, but Hermione was virtually deaf to it. If she could bring Severus Snape, her Dominant and her Master, to this level of abandon, she felt nothing but pride and accomplishment, for it could mean only one thing: He felt safe enough in her presence that he could be entirely himself, and he could pay her no higher compliment than that.

His vocalisations grew louder, and he grasped her hair in one fist, tugging until her neck was arched back. His movements became more erratic, and for the second time that night, he spent himself in her body. His slick seed seeped onto her thighs as he withdrew and moved up to collapse on his pillow, eyes closed as he recovered his breath. Hermione remained as she was, afraid to move without his permission. She had been so close to orgasm; if he had persisted for a bit longer …

'Lie down,' he said without opening his eyes, reaching for her with one arm. Happy for the invitation, she slid against him, her cheek against his chest.

They remained in this pose for several minutes, and Hermione decided he had fallen asleep. She needed the loo before sleeping, so she slipped out of the bed. When she came back into the bedroom from the bathroom, she was surprised to see him sitting up against the headboard.

'I thought you were sleeping,' she said, crossing to the bed.

'From this time forward,' he said in tone that brooked no argument, 'you will not leave my bed without my permission. If you must wake me to ask, then you will do so. Do you understand?'

Hermione swallowed. Damn, collared for less than three hours and already she was in trouble. 'Of course, Master,' she responded. 'I'm sorry.'

He surveyed her in silence for a moment, then said, 'You did not know, pet. There are things we must speak of, now that you wear my collar.' He twitched the bedcovers back. 'Climb in.'

Hermione gladly slid beneath the warm covers, and he immediately covered her body with his, pinning her wrists to the sheets. His hot, midnight eyes studied her face, dwelling on her neck. 'Do you like your collar?' he murmured.

'I love it, Master,' she answered honestly. 'I never want to take it off.'

Half a smile touched his lips. 'Nevertheless, you must,' he said. 'I have charmed it to be waterproof, so that you might wear it in the shower or the bath, but you cannot wear it outside of my rooms.' He bent his head and kissed her throat. 'I would gladly chain you up and never let you go,' he murmured into her hair. 'I would keep you here, naked, to serve my every whim, and you would wear your collar always.' He shifted to free the lower half of her body, and his fingers spread her labia. 'Would you like that, pet?'

Hermione spread her legs, moaning as he touched her clitoris. Having him speak to her this way was beyond erotic—she could scarcely believe that four scant months before he had been excoriating her in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, and now he was opening himself to her, whispering his deepest fantasies into her ear as he fingered her quim. 'Yes, Master,' she breathed, 'I would like that.'

He thrust two fingers inside of her, his thumb dancing over her clitoris. 'But because we live in the real world, pet, you must leave your collar here, when you go into the castle. And when you return to me, you will take your collar from its place in my study and put it on before you do anything else. Do you understand?'

Hermione tilted her hips up, taking his fingers deeper into her body. 'I understand, Master,' she assured him, shamelessly rubbing herself against his hand.

The carriage clock in the sitting room chimed the hour, and he removed his fingers from her wet cunt. She sighed her protest, but he was rolling away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes tracked him, her thoughts muddled with arousal.

'It's midnight,' he said, turning back to her with a flat, rectangular box in his hand. 'Happy Christmas, pet.'

Hermione was dumbfounded, staring at the dark green wrapping paper encasing the box, tied with a silver ribbon. He had bought her a gift?

'Don't you want to open your present?' he asked, his tone almost teasing.

'Yes!' she cried, sitting up and taking it from him. The box was oddly heavy in her hand. 'May I open it now?' she asked.

'You may,' he agreed, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'So I can see you face,' he explained.

Hermione smiled at him, then pulled the silver ribbon from the box before carefully slipping her finger beneath the paper and running it along the Spellotaped edge. The paper fell away, and she held a sleek red gift box. Breathlessly, she removed the top to reveal a black velvet oblong box—a jeweller's box, for the top was inscribed, Asprey, Jewellers of Distinction to the Discriminating Wizard. She gasped. She knew Asprey! She looked to her professor with wide, startled eyes, and he watched her with great satisfaction.

'You'll have to open it to find out, pet,' he said silkily.

Hermione pulled the velvet case from its glossy red box and with some effort, snapped it open. Within, she found a silvery chain which appeared to be wrought of gossamer threads. Wondering, she touched the chain with a fingertip, surprised to find that it did not dissolve beneath her fingertip.

'What is it?' she asked.

Her professor stood and murmured an incantation, brightening the light in the room. 'Come here,' he commanded, reaching a hand to her.

Hermione scooted across the mattress to stand with him, and he took the box from her, lifting the silvery strand from the box. He held it at her waist level, and it stretched to the floor.

'This is the chain you will wear for me,' he told her, wrapping it once about her waist and securing it, leaving a ten inch length to dangle down over one hipbone. 'You cannot wear your collar out of my rooms, but you can wear this chain every hour of every day that you're mine. You can wear it beneath your clothing, wear it in your bath, and if your waist grows larger or smaller, the chain will increase or decrease as needed to adapt to your body.'

Hermione stared down at it, marvelling at its lightness against her skin. 'But won't I break it if I roll over wrong in bed?' she asked, wishing she could see how it looked on her.

As if he knew her thoughts, her Master took up his wand and magicked a full-length mirror into the middle of the floor. Hermione turned to view her naked body, adorned now by the black leather collar and the silvery chain. Her professor stepped up behind her, looking at her reflection with her.

'You can't break it,' he explained, yanking on the chain to demonstrate his words.

'Ouch!' she protested. 'Is it charmed not to break?'

'No need for that,' he said, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts. 'It's made of mithril.'

Hermione burst into laughter. 'Mithril isn't real!' she said. 'It was in The Lord of the Rings!'

He pinched her nipples, hard enough to get her attention. She sagged a bit against him, her knees feeling weak from the pleasureful pain, which increased the throbbing in her needful quim. 'Yes,' her professor said severely, 'and Tolkien was in trouble for breaching the Statute of Secrecy until the day he died.'

Distracted from her questions by the reawakening desire, Hermione met her Master's eyes in the mirror, her own muzzy with want.

'You're very beautiful when you wear my collar and my chain, pet,' he told her, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

'Thank you, Master,' she managed. 'I'm very happy.'

He spun her around, his nostrils flared, his lips pressed in a thin white line. 'What did you say?' he demanded, his voice like ice.

Hermione rested her hands on his chest and looked guilelessly up into his face, her emotions as naked to his eyes as her body. 'I've never been happier than I am right now,' she told him, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. She touched the fingers of her left hand to the collar and the right hand to the chain. 'Wearing your collar and your chain—I could die now, feeling as if I have been as happy as it is possible for a person to be.'

A tic jumped in his cheek as he glared down at her, and she could almost see the thoughts roiling through his mind. For some reason, he found it very difficult to accept her words, but he clearly could not discover so much as a speck of dissembling in her, either. Hermione stood without blinking, waiting to see which impulse would win out—whether he would push her away or pull her closer.

At last, a vicious sneer twisted his lips, and he tumbled her back on the bed sheets, following her in one smooth movement, landing between her thighs and nuzzling her damp curls. 'Let's see if we can make you happier,' he growled, then spread her cunt like a ripe fruit and applied himself to devouring her.


A/N: Please don't neglect to leave a note and let me know what you think of how things are progressing with them. Reviews have fallen off a bit, and you must know that I read your comments eagerly, as soon as I receive them. Your responses feed the Muse!