A/N: Happy 4th of July to my readers in the US! I hope you have a terrific holiday. For everyone else, happy weekend!
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 38: Belonging
Hermione was struck speechless. He'd never collared a submissive before? Had never been anyone's Master before? She was simultaneously astounded and thrilled. Unconsciously, her fingers stole to the strip of leather she wore about her neck, and words poured from her.
'But why have you never collared a submissive before?'
His eyelids were at half-mast now, and he watched her quite keenly from beneath them. 'I am a live-in teacher at a boarding school in a rather sparsely populated area of Scotland,' he pointed out. 'I have frequently had long stretches of my holidays free to spend as I liked, but I do not, in my position, have the freedom to come and go as I please all the time. My responsibilities prevent that—and that makes me a singularly unlikely candidate for a long-term relationship.'
A long-term relationship? Hermione felt a tremor begin in her hands, mimicked by the cloud of butterflies which had erupted in her mid-section. What was he saying? What did he mean?
'Have you mentored other students, before me?' she asked.
'I have mentored two other students,' he said. 'Both are now active members of the D/s community, serving Masters. When you go to London, you will meet them.'
Hermione gave her head a slight shake, as if to empty it of the words 'when you go to London'. She still didn't like it when he spoke as if they would part company when she left school.
He paused, then added, 'And before you ask, I would not have wished to collar either of them. They were … unsuitable for me.'
Hermione felt a frisson of pleasure at this utterance; they had been unsuitable, but she wore his collar. Still, she persisted.
'But you could have had a wife here, to live with you, and your inability to leave the school wouldn't have mattered,' she pointed out, pleased that her voice sounded so steady when her insides felt as if they were melting.
He arched an eyebrow at her. 'I fail to see how that would have led to me collaring a submissive.'
'Your wife could have been your submissive,' she explained.
He snorted derisively. 'Wives make notoriously poor submissives,' he informed her.
'But what about Master Maximus and t?' Hermione demanded, somehow stung by his derision.
Professor Snape sobered, a faint frown between his brows. 'Master Maximus and t are a special case,' he said quietly. 'It is quite rare to see a couple well-suited for both marriage and D/s.'
Hermione really couldn't argue that point; t had written as much in The Sensuous Symmetry of Submission. Instead, she nodded her comprehension, and before she could properly consider it, she blurted out the question for which she truly wanted an answer.
'If you've gone all this time without collaring a submissive, sir, why did you collar me?'
His manner became very grave, and Hermione felt some misgiving. Perhaps it would have been better not to ask that particular question …
'I have told you before, Hermione, that you and I are a bad idea.' He gestured between them. 'Nevertheless, neither of us listened very well to the voice of reason.' An ugly sneer touched his lips, and with a suddenness that startled her, he grabbed her arms and jerked her violently against him. 'Collaring you is the most selfish thing I have ever done, make no mistake,' he ground out. And then he was kissing her, his mouth hard on hers, his tongue thrusting ruthlessly into her mouth.
Hermione grabbed him back, holding him as best she could in the close confines of the armchair, his urgency communicating itself to her as clearly as spoken words. She could scarcely absorb this new information and knew better than to push him any further on the subject tonight, but his overall meaning seemed clear enough: He collared her when he had never before collared another submissive, and that was all she cared about.
He broke their kiss. 'On the bed, on your back,' he ordered her, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.
She scrambled to obey him, unsurprised when he shed his dressing gown and followed her. He straddled her torso, staring down at her naked breasts and her face. He extended his hand, and a nonverbal spell sent a stoppered phial zooming to him. He thumbed the cork from the phial in a practised manner and upended it over Hermione's chest. A thin stream of fragrant oil landed between her breasts, and he drizzled it generously in the valley of her cleavage. Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, he spread the oil between her breasts, then took himself in hand, the slick lubricant coating his hardening shaft.
'Push your tits together,' he commanded, his tone sharp, his manner abrupt and decidedly unromantic. He had never used a slang word for her breasts before.
Even so, Hermione found herself excited by his words and actions. She loved it when he thought only of his own pleasure—when he was far enough beyond himself to lose his usual smooth, controlled manner. It told her that he trusted her, and there was no more precious gift he could give her. How many of the other women who had accepted his Dominance had experienced this level of intimacy with him?
While he straddled her, stroking himself to a rock hard erection, Hermione obeyed his instructions, pressing her breasts together and holding them that way. What was he going to do?
His eyes held a wild, nearly daemonic light as he placed the dark red knob of his cock against the tight crease Hermione had made with her breasts and thrust between them, as if she had created for him a faux quim to fuck.
'Merlin's balls,' he breathed, his sneer becoming more pronounced as he watched his cock slide until its glistening tip protruded on her chest, his length still sandwiched between her breasts. He drew back until only the head was in the channel, then thrust again with a groan, the sight of his accomplishment seemingly as satisfactory to him as was the sensation.
Hermione lay like a statue, pressing her breasts together, conscious of his body balanced over her ribcage. He supported much of his weight on his knees, but she was aware that if he sat back on her, she wouldn't be able to breathe. More important to her, though, were the sounds he uttered and the expression on his face. Clearly, this act was particularly arousing to him. She focussed on him, her eyes darting from his face to his cock, aroused by the mere sight of him fucking her tits.
He thrust forward again, and his cock slipped from between her breasts into the cool night air, drawing a growl of frustration from him. He reached down and his larger hands pushed her breasts together, his thumbs passing over her hardened nipples. She gasped, feeling the caress all the way to her clitoris.
'Cup your hands over the top,' he said, and she instantly understood him. Her hands would be like the ceiling of the channel into which he thrust—it would prevent him from slipping out from where he wanted to be.
She did as he asked, and the two of them worked together to create the artificial passage through which he moved. Now that he held her breasts, his thumbs passed rhythmically over her nipples, each touch arousing her further, until her bottom squirmed on the bed, as if she could find friction for her clitoris on the bedclothes. His breathing was becoming laboured as he moved over her. Hermione's aching quim wanted the action her breasts were getting; she wanted him between her legs, fucking her cunt, rather than slipping and sliding along her chest wall while his thumbs on her nipples drove her insane.
But there was something so primal about his actions; it was like watching him wank, only this time, he was using her body as an aid to accomplish his goal. She became riveted on the sight of his purpling knob thrusting between her breasts, the slit in its tip pulling wide as it came through, leaking small amounts of a natural viscous lubricant as it did so. It occurred to her that she wanted to taste him again, that when he thrust between her breasts, it should be directly into her mouth, where she could lick and suck him. Fruitlessly, she craned her head up, her mouth open, her tongue sweeping out as he thrust through again, but she simply couldn't reach him from her position.
'Good God, girl,' he snarled, 'do you know what you do to me?' A spasm crossed his face. 'Ah, fuck,' he breathed, and he was moving forward, pushing her arms up above her head. Her wrists were bound, and he was crouching above her face, wanking furiously. 'Open your mouth, pet,' he commanded breathlessly, and as she did, he began to come, somehow maintaining the presence of mind to decorate her face with his hot, salty ejaculate. As his climax slowed, he thrust shallowly into her open mouth, and Hermione closed her lips greedily about his cock, sucking him clean.
He moved from atop her, sagging onto his pillow, his breathing an uneven panting. 'What were you trying to do?' he asked.
'I was trying to see if I could get my mouth on you,' she admitted, feeling the sticky semen beginning to cool on her face.
He rolled on his side, staring down into her come-splattered face. 'You wanted me to fuck up through your breasts into your mouth?' he asked.
Hermione nodded, wondering if that desire made her somehow even too perverse for D/s.
'Christ, but you're a filthy little girl,' he growled, fastening his lips to her throat.
Hermione felt the suction of his lips on her throat and knew he was marking her; in her state of arousal, it seemed a perfectly reasonable thing for him to do. 'I'm your filthy little girl,' she gasped, tangling her legs with his, trying desperately to bring some part of him in contact with her slick, aching quim.
'What do you want, little girl?' he murmured, pressing his thigh between her legs.
'Oh, please, Master,' she pled. 'I want to come.'
He increased the pressure against the apex of her thighs. 'Why should I let you come?' he asked her, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear.
Desperately, Hermione bucked her hips, riding his thigh. 'Please,' she begged, unsure of how to answer him. 'I need to.'
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Her wrists were released, and he dragged her on top of him. 'You need me in your cunt all the time, don't you, Hermione?' he purred, his hands seeking out and finding her bottom cheeks, giving them each a squeeze. 'You need my cock and my fingers and my tongue in every crack and crevasse of your body—say it.'
Hermione struggled to move up his body, wanting to see his face. 'I need you inside me,' she said, taking his face between her hands. 'I need every part of you inside every crack and crevasse of my body every hour of every day.'
For a long moment they stared into each other's faces. Hermione braced for his entrance into her thoughts, but it didn't come. At last, a crooked smile touched his thin lips.
'Well, why didn't you say so, little slut?' he purred. 'Climb up and straddle my face—I'll lick your hot little quim until you scream.'
Feeling awkward, Hermione climbed off him and crawled up to the headboard, then looked down at him. It still seemed like such a rude thing to do! Trusting him not to suffocate, she lifted one leg over his head and shifted over his face.
'Heaven,' he said, his large, hooked nose nuzzling into her pubic hair.
Hermione was too needy to worry after that. He licked her clitoris, several quick flicks of his tongue, then his lips closed around it, sucking gently. She rocked very slowly, increasing her pleasure, and his hands grasped her hips, pulling her down more fully on his face. She groaned, bracing her hands on the headboard, feeling as if her Master was between her labia lips from his chin to the top of his considerable nose. Plainly, he relished this position, for the sucking and smacking noises he made as he devoured her quim left little doubt.
'Stop thinking,' his muffled voice commanded, and Hermione bit her lip, knowing he was right—she was thinking too much.
Consciously, she relaxed, closing her eyes and simply feeling what he was doing. Almost instantly, the spiralling of her orgasm began, and when he detected the change in her breathing, her professor insinuated a finger between her bum cheeks, fondling and probing her arsehole as he sucked and licked her clitoris. Bright lights exploded behind her closed eyes as she began to come, and he deliberately worked the tip of his finger into her bottom even as he subjected her quim to insistent sucking. When she would have pulled away from him, one hand at her hip held her in place. He pulled her clitoris and the surrounding flesh into his mouth and flattened her nub between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, all the time fucking her bum up to the first joint of the invading finger. The stimulation was too intense, too much, and she wanted him to stop—then the finger was gone from her bum, and the broad flat of his hand slapped her arse cheeks, pulling her clitoris from his mouth and causing her to slide up his face, colliding with the bridge of his nose. Hermione heard her Master groan, but she didn't have time to wonder if it was in arousal or pain, for she was screaming as the second wave of climax roared through her body.
She was still shivering as he manhandled her onto the bed, pulling the covers over her shivering limbs and wrapping her up in his arms.
'My perfect little pet,' he crooned, passing a soothing hand down her back. 'You've pleased me very much, Hermione.'
She clung to him, tears of sheer exultation streaking her cheeks.
'You thought you had gone as far as you could go,' he murmured into her hair, 'but you trusted me, and you found out I was right and you were wrong, didn't you?'
'Yes,' she admitted, her voice small and shaky.
He tightened his hold on her, and she knew she had pleased him.
'Who's your Master?' he asked, gently rocking her.
'You are,' she said, rubbing her cheek against his pectoral muscle.
'To whom do you belong?' he continued inexorably.
'I belong to you, Master,' she said, raising her face and looking into his glittering ebony eyes.
'Then you may sleep, little one,' he said, and with a wave of his hand, the candles were extinguished.
And you belong to me, she thought, pressing a kiss to his lips before she lowered her head again. You don't know it yet, because you've never belonged to a woman before—but you are mine.
And pressing her ear to his chest, she listened raptly to the bright thunder of his heart.
