A/N: Thank you SO much for all the outpouring of support via reviews for the last chapter. It makes all the difference in the world to me if you let me know you're reading. My readers rock!
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 36: Waxing Eloquent
Hermione drifted in sleep, safe and warm. Her dreams were sweet, filled with erotic images and feelings of belonging. Even now, she could hear his voice, murmuring into her ear.
'Over onto your stomach … Yes, exactly like that. Good girl.'
She obeyed instinctively, smiling to herself. He was here, and all was well. With him here, nothing very bad could happen. He was a presence, a force, the bedrock upon which her life was now built. Even asleep, she could feel his strong hands upon her flesh, soothing and enticing, smoothing away bothersome aches.
Her eyes opened, and she saw that candles were dimly lit about her professor's bedroom. She was on her stomach, and a glance behind her showed the professor on his knees, applying a creamy paste to her buttocks. She recognised the scent; it was a bruise healing ointment he had given her before. It felt divine on her recently paddled bottom, and she sighed in contentment.
'Awake, are you?' he said.
'Hmm,' Hermione responded.
'On your back,' he ordered her peremptorily, and she raised her head to give him a muzzy look.
'But it's so early …' she protested. She hadn't slept long, and her limbs felt leaden with weariness.
His voice cracked over her like a whip. 'I do not care to repeat myself, Hermione.'
At his tone, the fog blew out of her mind and her eyes grew wide. He wasn't happy with her. Swallowing audibly, she rolled onto her back and looked at him apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Master,' she said.
His lips were pressed in a thin line. 'Arms over your head,' he snapped, and she complied wordlessly, feeling the bindings which closed about her wrists, immobilising her arms. 'Wearing my collar does not exempt you from obeying me,' he said sternly. 'In fact, quite the opposite. Nor does it permit you particular license to pick and choose which of my commands you will obey. If you wear my collar, you do as I say immediately, or you suffer the consequences—is that clear to you?'
Hermione tugged fruitlessly at the bindings on her wrists, staring up at her angered Dominant with misgiving. She had accepted his Dominance—had begged for it—and she felt herself to be perfectly willing to obey him in all things, truly. But she had just woken up and was still tired from their earlier activities. She wasn't being rebellious; she just wasn't awake yet. Couldn't he tell the difference?
'I didn't mean to be disobedient,' she explained in a small voice. 'I just wasn't properly awake yet …'
'Did I ask for an explanation?' he demanded, cutting ruthlessly across her.
Hermione quailed under his glare. Where was her lover from mere hours before—the one who had done things to her quim with his tongue that she hadn't known were possible? Had he already forgotten how pleased he had been with her? 'No, Master,' she said in an even smaller voice, averting her eyes from his. This wasn't fair.
'Look at me when I'm speaking to you, girl,' he said. His tone was no less firm, but the heat with which he had spoken before was gone.
Hermione raised her eyes reluctantly. He watched her with unwavering black eyes, his naked skin golden in the candlelight. His cock, despite their activities in the night, was half-erect, even as he lectured her.
'When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it immediately. This is still new to you, but if you are to occasionally share my bed, then you must learn to become alert upon command. When you do not, you will incur my displeasure.' He placed his large, warm hands upon her knees, almost as if in a comforting gesture. 'I have no doubt that you will learn very quickly, Hermione.'
Now his hands were on his cock as he looked at her, spread out before him. Despite her earlier hurt feelings, Hermione could not look away from him as he manipulated his hardening length. He caught the covert look she cast at his busy hand, and his response drew an aching throb from her slickening centre.
'You're my good little slut,' he said, his voice at once rough and utterly seductive. 'You came to me hoping I would tie you to my bed and fuck your hot little cunt, didn't you, Hermione?'
'Yes, Master,' she breathed, all other considerations forgotten.
'Show me your slit,' he said, lazily fisting his hard cock. 'Maybe I'll take pity on you and fuck it.'
She didn't think twice, but raised her knees and opened her thighs to him, the want in her quim like an exquisite pain she could neither deny nor assuage. She was bound to his bed and unable to escape him, a feeling of forced submission which made the entire scene all the more exciting for her. Dear Merlin, but she wanted him.
'I can smell you,' he murmured, and using the hand which was not pumping his shaft, he slid two fingers into her body. 'Wet,' he confirmed. He moved over her, bracing his arms on either side of her head, looking down into her face. 'I could fuck you,' he told her, 'or I could have a wank and make you watch.'
Hermione raised her hips and wrapped her legs about him, clearly casting her vote. 'Please fuck me,' she said breathlessly.
'Why should I?' he asked, rotating his hips, just barely entering her body with the tip of his cock.
'Please,' she said, ashamed to hear the whine in her voice.
'What will you do for me?' he whispered, dipping his head and kissing her throat, nudging a centimetre further into her channel.
'Anything,' she gasped. 'Please …'
'That's my girl,' he purred, and with a jerk, he drove himself fully into her.
'Master!' she cried. She attempted to reach for him, but her wrists were bound, so she simply writhed beneath him, caressing him with her whole body.
'Your hands are tied,' he said, fucking her with slow deliberation. 'You can't get away from me, Hermione—all you can do is submit to whatever I want to do to your body.' He lowered himself to his elbows, and his hands closed over her upper arms. 'You're helpless against me.'
Hermione absorbed his words, closing her eyes and allowing herself to feel their meaning. It was a perverse fantasy, to be sure, but she could not deny that the very notion excited her. His murmurs acted upon her with as much taunting eroticism as his body did, and before she knew what she was about, a spiralling orgasm began to build—it was coming, she was coming, and there was nothing she could do but feel it blast through her.
Moments later, she opened her eyes, wondering why he had stopped his plundering of her body. He was still within her, still hard, and he was watching her with a touch of amusement. 'You're a noisy little slut, you know that?' he said.
'I'm sorry,' she said, suddenly abashed. Had she been the one making that screeching noise?
He pushed himself up until he was kneeling between her legs, his erection slick and glistening with her juices. 'I like hearing you,' he told her. He lifted her legs, his palms warm under her calves, and settled her legs on his shoulders before entering her body again. 'Christ, you're tight.'
Hermione felt her breathing slightly constricted from the position of her body, but oh! The sensation was incredible; he certainly seemed to be reaching deeper inside her than he had ever done before. She watched him as he moved, his eyes now closed, lost in the sensations she was giving him. He was completely unguarded in the moment; there was no sneer upon his lips, no blank expression on his face. He was clearly transported, and she was aglow with pride that she was able to provide such unadulterated pleasure for him.
Then he turned his face, his hooked nose prominent in profile, and his mouth closed over the arch of her foot. Hermione gasped at the profound carnality of the gesture, her womb contracting painfully in extreme arousal, and when his tongue darted from his mouth, laving her sensitive sole, she stuttered unexpectedly into a second orgasm.
Her body was still convulsing within when his hands gripped her ankles. He plunged wildly three times, and he climaxed with an inarticulate shout. She was aware of him sagging down beside her, and she knew her bottom was in the middle of a great slick spot on the sheets, but when he murmured the incantation to release her wrists, she simply rolled against him and clung into blissful sleep.
Sitting down to Christmas lunch with the other inhabitants of the castle was awkward in the extreme. The Headmaster, as was his wont, had caused one table to be laid for the festive meal, and Hermione was the last to arrive. The other students were sitting across the table from the staff, but oddly enough, no one had taken the spot directly across from Professor Snape.
She lifted her chin, conscious of the weightless chain about her waist and the remnants of his seed, deep in her body where she could not reach to wash, and she sat down across from him with as much dignity as the Head Girl could muster.
'Happy Christmas, Professor Snape,' she said politely, spreading her red napkin across her lap.
'Scarcely, Miss Granger,' he snapped irritably, glowering at her.
The Headmaster spoke words of expostulation, but his Potions master made no response. Food was passed round the table, and Hermione filled her plate, thinking that nothing made one as ravenous as rough sex. She ate with enjoyment, responding to the other teachers' comments to her when she was addressed, but otherwise keeping silent. She was aware of her professor's frequent glances, but she gave no sign of it. He addressed no one and was the first to leave the table. She watched him go with rapacious eyes, appreciating his ramrod straight back and the imperious manner in which he swept from the room.
He was hers—only hers—and in time, she would make sure that everyone knew it. She excused herself soon afterward and made her way at a leisurely pace to her room at the top of Gryffindor Tower, her mind a happy whirl of imaginings, all of which showcased Hermione Granger proudly on the arm of Severus Snape for all the world to see.
After dinner, a quiet meal eaten back at their usual House tables, Hermione picked up her rucksack and slipped down to the dungeons. She passed through her professor's office into his study, where she removed from its Disillusioned peg by the door her beautiful leather collar. She fastened it about her throat before she undressed, leaving her things neatly folded, and she advanced into the study.
He sat at the table, writing in his green leather journal, and Hermione saw with a frisson of delight that he used the raven-feather quill she had given him. He had surprised her over breakfast by giving her another gift. She had been delighted by her books, The Story of O and a set by A. N. Roquelaure called The Erotic Trilogy of Sleeping Beauty.
'Just for fun,' he had cautioned. 'Not to be taken too seriously.'
Now she waited patiently for him to acknowledge her presence, absorbing every detail of his appearance. He wore his forest green jumper, and the lamplight cast a blue-black sheen on the hair which fell forward, hiding his face from her. He allowed her to stand for a quarter of an hour before he put his journal from him and turned to her. His glittering black eyes swept over her nakedness before he spoke.
'Now that you wear my collar, Hermione, you may approach me and assume the submissive's pose when you enter my study.'
Hermione crossed quickly to him and knelt at his feet, feeling very much at home. 'Thank you, Master,' she said, her eyes averted deferentially.
He did not leave her there for long, but pulled her to her feet. He palmed her breasts, pushing them together, and buried his face between them, sweeping his thumbs over her nipples. The constant low burn between her thighs kicked abruptly into high gear; he seemed particularly excited tonight. He sucked one nipple, then the other, before producing the nipple clamps from his trouser pocket.
'Offer your breasts to me,' he commanded.
Hermione bit her lip; the nipple clamps had been frightening when she was blindfolded, but now they were terrifying. Still, she did as he asked, cupping and lifting her breasts toward him.
He clipped her nipples efficiently, then pulled her into his lap and kissed her mouth. His hands were plunged into her hair, and he cradled her head with terrific tenderness as he ravaged her mouth, setting her quim to throbbing in time with the pinching of her nipples.
'Up on the table,' he ordered her, and when she sat on the edge, he urged her onto her back. She sprawled upon the tabletop as if she were Christmas dinner, and he buried his nose in her quim. Hermione moaned appreciatively as he began to eat her out. He sucked gently on her clitoris, inserting his longest finger into her cunt and tapping her sweet spot. Hermione writhed beneath his mouth, on fire, and he deliberately tugged at the chain between the clamps.
'Fuck!' she cried, startled by his action and by the entirely delicious pain with shot straight to her quim.
'Perhaps I shall,' he teased. He lapped at her juices, denying her the direct clitoral contact she craved, then closed his lips around the needy little bud again, tugging the nipple clamp chain at the same time.
Hermione was aflame, the aching of her breasts translating to erotic provocation of the most extreme sort. She pressed up into his mouth, but he eased back again, denying her what she wanted.
'Greedy little girl,' he purred. He sat back and reached for her hands, tugging her into a sitting position. The chain hung down, pulling lightly on her hypersensitive nipples.
'Please,' she said, reaching for him.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. Keeping one of her hands, he led her to the centre of the floor before the hearth, and she noticed for the first time that the coffee table had been positioned perpendicularly. On its surface were three tall pillar candles, one each of red, green, and white. He pulled her against him, undulating gently, the cashmere of his jumper abrading her clamped nipples, and she moaned helplessly.
'Clean my face,' he said, bending to her. 'I'm covered in the juices of your naughty little quim.'
Hermione laved his chin with the broad, flat of her tongue, tasting herself on his flesh. When she lapped at his lips, he kissed her hard, wedging a hand between them to finger her quim as he did so. She sucked wildly at his tongue and rubbed herself on his fingers, seeking surcease for the steady burning which now afflicted her entire body.
He released her lips and stepped back from her. 'Time for the blindfold,' he said, producing it.
Hermione allowed him to tie the silkly black cloth over her eyes, her heart pounding with anticipation.
'Lie down on your back with your arms and legs spread out,' he instructed her, assisting as she lowered herself to the hearthrug. 'It is imperative that you remain perfectly still, no matter what happens. Can you do that?'
'Yes, Master,' she replied, trying to hide her anxiety. What was he going to do? Would he remove the clamps soon? She assumed a spread-eagle position, her nipples burning from the clamps, and willed herself to acceptance.
She was aware of him moving away from the fire, toward the coffee table, and he stopped with his booted feet beside her head—she could smell the leather.
'You're very beautiful when you submit to me, pet,' he crooned. 'Naked, blindfolded, clamped, open for anything I might choose to do to you … what will it be?'
She knew it was a rhetorical question and made no effort to answer him. He moved away, then back again, circumnavigating her body, as if he were a raptor in the sky, circling his prey.
'Remember, pet—you will remain perfectly still. Is that understood?'
Hermione took a deep breath, focussing on his voice. 'I'll remain perfectly still, sir,' she promised, hoping she could do it.
'Good girl,' he said, his voice a mere whisper, and then a bead of fire touched her midriff, spreading in a line to her navel. It was just a touch shy of burning, a delicious heat the cooled almost instantly, leaving a stiff trail on her abdomen. 'Superb,' he breathed, and the fire touched again, this time landing between her breasts. 'My little Gryffindor, decorated for Christmas with crimson candle wax.'
Hermione gasped, tossing her head from side to side but remaining still as a statue from her neck down. He was pouring candle wax upon her body, a practice about which she had read in The Sensuous Symmetry of Submission. She had been shocked to read that t found waxing to be one of her favourite games—it sounded almost like torture! But wouldn't whipping and nipple clamping sound like torture to someone who didn't know better? And dear God, but this was exquisitely painful, a sweet counterpoint to the burning of her nipple clamps and the throbbing of her quim.
'Completely still, little one,' he said, his voice caressing, and then the liquid wax hit her clamped nipple, and Hermione screamed, her hands digging fruitlessly into the rug beneath her body. 'Yesss,' her professor hissed, and the line of fire crossed her sternum to coat the other nipple in its metal clamp, the wax hardening upon her skin, leaving her wanting more.
'Such a perfectly submissive girl,' his voice praised her, and she was conscious of him walking away for a moment before returning. 'I think we need some Slytherin green here, pet, don't you?'
Hermione's only answer was a hiss as the glob hit her above her pubis and trailed down to her shaven quim, criss-crossing the flesh, tiny amounts seeping in the crack of her labia lips. He painted her thighs with the wax, murmuring to her as he did so, and she gloried in the attention, loving the feel of the burning wax as it hit her skin, feeling like a bowstring pulled almost to the breaking point.
When at last he was done, he knelt at her head and removed the blindfold, pressing kisses to each of her eyelids as he did so. 'Stay still,' he said, and she was conscious of him stretching out beside her, now as naked as she was. She turned her head to smile at him, but he gestured above them. 'Look.'
Hermione looked up and saw he had levitated a large mirror over them. She gaped at her appearance. He had decorated her upper body, with special attention to her breasts, with red wax, had iced her lower regions with green wax, and had drizzled her with white candle wax from her ankles to her shoulders. 'I'm beautiful,' she said wonderingly.
He shifted beside her, and the mirror winked out of existence. 'You are beyond beautiful,' he said with a sudden ferocity which she did not know how to answer. He shifted on top of her, easily penetrating her wet, aching cunt, and began to thrust. 'Do you know how long it's been since I've fucked so many times in one day?' he bit out, glaring down at her as if she were somehow at fault. 'You're going to be the death of me, girl.'
Hermione wasn't sure what answer he wanted, for his words seemed at utter odds with his actions. So instead of speaking, she hooked her legs around his hips, feeling the candle wax flaking off onto the rug as he moved over her body.
'Look at me,' he growled, and she opened her eyes, feeling him slip into her mind. Already beyond herself, deep in sub space, she simply enveloped him. As she did, the burning in her body translated to burning in her soul, as well, and she knew when he felt it, for he gasped, his actions becoming erratic, losing the rhythm of their coupling.
Please fuck me, Master, she said, rotating her hips encouragingly. I'll be such a good girl, I promise.
A snarl touched his lips, and he rested his weight on his elbows, his long fingers reaching for the nipple clamps. Hermione didn't have time to prepare herself; the clamps were off and the blood was rushing to her nipples, a feeling so intense that she had no reserves of strength to withstand it. The tsunami of her orgasm hit her at once, bowling over her professor as surely as it sundered her. Her last awareness was of his frenzied thrusts and the echo of his climactic shout, his eloquence resounding in his own mind as well as hers as she lost consciousness.
Hermione!
A/N:"Sub-space" is a term that a submissive uses to describe the happy place to which she goes during intense sessions with her Master. You may read more about sub-space at wikipedia under the "subspace" subject. I found it to be mostly correct from my experience. :)
