For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 47: His Most Prized Possession

She awoke at mid-day, alone in the bed. She was instantly bolt upright in the bedclothes, terrified beyond speech by his absence. Had she dreamt it? Somehow, the sticky residue between her legs did not reassure her. Then, the door to the ensuite bathroom opened and steam billowed out, followed by Severus Snape, naked save for the towel with which he vigorously dried his hair. He was too thin, his ribs clearly delineated, his hipbones too prominent, but he was perfection to her eyes, and she flew to him, throwing her arms about his waist.

'Good morning to you, Hermione,' he said drolly, tossing aside the damp towel.

'Good morning, Master,' she replied happily, rubbing her cheek along the black hairs between his flat nipples.

He took her wrist and led her to the wardrobe, where he pulled open the door and took down a box from a shelf above the rail.

'I never saw that there,' Hermione said, puzzled.

'You weren't meant to,' he replied, lifting out a set of silver handcuffs. 'Give me your hands.'

Hermione eyed the metal Muggle contraption with some misgiving, but presented her hands as requested. Her professor fastened them with care, checking to see they were snug without being too tight, then he stepped back, surveying her with her shackle-bound wrists. His lids fell to half-mast, and Hermione could not help but know he viewed her with pleasure, for his cock stirred in its nest of wiry black hair.

'Good girl,' he said, placing a hand at the back of her neck and propelling her forward to receive his kiss.

Unable to hold or caress him, Hermione conveyed what appreciation she could with her receptive lips. His hands found her breasts and he caressed them gently as he sucked her tongue, only releasing her when she was thoroughly aroused, and his own erection jutted between them.

'Come along,' he said, slipping past her to the bathroom. 'Do you need the loo?'

'Yes,' she said, wondering how she was to manage with her hands bound.

She entered the bathroom, which contained a toilet, a sink, and a bathtub. Her Master leaned a negligent shoulder against the doorframe and watched her. Hermione stood beside the toilet, feeling the need to urinate but confused by her professor's continued presence.

'Relieve yourself,' he said calmly, 'and I shall assist you.'

Oh, no. Surely he didn't mean to wipe her with toilet tissue? She felt her face flushing such a deep crimson that it burned beneath his gaze, and she lowered her eyes.

'I am waiting, Hermione,' he said, his observation of her discomfort causing him no apparent concern.

'I don't know,' she began, and her throat was so dry she could not continue. She swallowed and tried again, her voice sounding scratchy and strained. 'I don't know if I can, with you watching me.'

He did not reply but crossed to the sink, twisting the cold water tap. The sound of the water rushing down the pipes made her feel as if she would wet herself, so she sat upon the toilet seat and emptied her bladder, her eyes closed, her face still burning with mortification. What if she had been in need of a bowel movement? How would she have managed that, when she could only make herself do it in a public restroom by casting a Silencing Charm, giving her the illusion of being the only person there? How did he always seem to hit upon the situations in which she felt the greatest embarrassment—where she was the weakest?

'Part your legs for me, Hermione,' he said, and she knew he was kneeling before her. Turning her face to one side, she obeyed him, wishing she were anywhere but in her body as he deftly and competently dried her nether regions. 'Move into the bathtub,' he said.

Hermione stood, her face turned from him, and walked over to step into the tub, hearing the flushing of the toilet behind her. She felt miserable and violated in a way that no liberty he had taken with her body sexually had ever made her feel. She sat down in the cold porcelain tub and stared down at the handcuffs as his hands came into her line of sight. He fitted the plug in the tub and turned the water on, a murmured spell guaranteeing that the water splashing down was the perfect temperature for her. She knew he knelt at her side as the water rushed to fill the tub, but he did not speak, and she did not look at him. She couldn't. She was far too humiliated to do so.

At last, he turned the water off. She felt his hands in her hair, and it was twisted up and off her neck, magically secured atop her head. She saw him dip a flannel into the water, rubbing it against a bar of soap. Gently, he began to wash her. 'Are you ready to talk about it?' he asked her mildly.

Stubbornly, Hermione continued to stare at her bound wrists, trying not to relax into the divine sensation of him washing her bare back.

'Very well,' he said. 'Then I will talk about it.'

He rinsed her back, sluicing the soapy residue from her skin and moved slightly to facilitate washing her front. He began with her throat.

'I am your Master now,' he said. 'You belong to me—you realise this, do you not, Hermione?'

His fingers rested upon her collar, and when she turned her eyes to his, the profundity of emotion she saw in the unbelievably dark depths stopped her breath in her throat. Unable to vocalise, she nodded once; she did, indeed, know that she belonged to him, heart and body and soul.

'I am responsible for your care and welfare,' he said, his tone gentle, slipping over her, warming and comforting, insinuating itself even into her closed-off places. 'I can and will wipe you when you piss and poo; insert your tampons when you bleed and remove and replace them; wash your hair; bathe your body; apply lotion to your skin; brush the tangles from your hair; dress you from head to foot; feed you with my own hands; spank you when you need discipline; finger you and lick you and fuck you when you need to come; teach you and learn from you; read to you and talk to you and sing to you—I will clamp your nipples and whip your bottom and flog your cunt; plug your arse and fuck it; teach you to swallow my cock and tongue my arse—I can and will do everything it is possible for one person to do to another, Hermione, and you will not only permit it, you will welcome it, because you belong to me.'

He had not looked away from her through this whole recitation; his hand now spanned her throat, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the collar she wore. Then he kissed her mouth, and she found herself melting into his touch and thrilling to his kiss as she always did, clinging to the pleasure and putting away the thoughts of her shame, praying that he was right, and that she would someday welcome his invasion of her privacy.

He had her stand, and he kissed the chain at her waist, then he washed her legs. He turned her so that her back was to him, and he washed between her bottom cheeks while she bit her lip and fought not to tense against him. Then the flannel hit the bathwater, and his hands were spreading her bottom open wide. She closed her eyes when his tongue touched her arsehole, mortification and shame blending with the horrible flicker of arousal she felt in her quim. Then he turned her and repeated the process, carefully washing her pudendum, then washing her inner labia. When he was satisfied as to her cleanliness, he spread her wide and lapped at her clitoris with the broad flat of his tongue, his eyes closed, an expression of rapture upon his face. She stood in the bathwater, her feet wide apart to accommodate his desire to see and taste her quim, and watched him, her bound wrists resting atop his head, his drying hair soft beneath her fingers.

With a final kiss to her clitoris, he stood and plucked her playfully from the tub, slinging her over his shoulder and exiting the bathroom. She was laughing when he plumped her down upon the unmade bed, and gasping when he entered her. His engorged cock filled her, sliding through the slickness of her cunt, spreading her wide and caressing all her most needy bits. He looked down at her with an intense expression.

'You're my little slut,' he told her. 'What do you want from me, little slut?'

Hermione raised her hips to meet him, spreading her thighs wider, wishing she could merge her body with his once and for all. 'Everything!' she panted, feeling the pressure building as he coaxed her yet again to the peak of her arousal.

'Yes, you do,' he said. 'Who can give you everything?' He thrust and snapped his hips, and she felt the shock as if she had seen the tip of his cock impact her sweet spot.

'You!' she cried, wishing desperately that she could free her hands from the cuffs—how badly she wanted to rake her fingernails across his back, just now! 'Oh, God, Master—only you!'

He slowed and lowered himself to kiss her mouth. 'You want to come, don't you, pet?' he whispered.

Hermione wrapped her legs about his hips, grinding herself against him, burning for him. 'Oh yes, Master, please,' she whimpered, sliding upon the constant of his cock in her cunt. 'Please, I'll be such a good girl.'

He raised his head and began slowly to move again, wringing a cry of approval from Hermione. 'You need my cock, little one,' he informed her, proving it with another gasp-inducing snap of his hips.

'I need your cock,' she agreed, rocking beneath him, desire ratcheting higher, still without reaching the climax she so desperately required.

'Who owns your orgasms?' he asked inexorably, the friction of their slick, interlocking parts nudging her slowly beyond coherence.

'You do, Master, please!' she cried, writhing.

'Then come for me, Hermione,' he ordered, seemingly satisfied with their interchange. 'Let me hear you.'

She unwound her legs from his hips, permitting him greater range of movement, and digging her heels into the mattress, she strove below him, a full participant in this carnal act, taking her pleasure from the iron rod of his cock as surely as he took his from the hot slickness of her cunt. In seconds the completion came to her, a violent rush of sensation, slamming into her, knocking her senseless amidst the screaming orgasm burning through her body.

As if from a distance, she saw in his face the frozen, rigid rictus of his own completion, and one fierce shout was all the sound he made as he emptied himself into her. She wound her legs about him again, gently undulating as he softened within her, wishing to milk every ounce from him, to be as full as she could be of his essence. When they were both as sweaty and dirty as they had been before their baths, he sagged onto the pillow beside hers, magicked the handcuffs back into their box, and gathered Hermione against him.

'My most prized possession,' he murmured into her hair.


A/N: Next chapter will have them going amongst the inhabitants of Roissy House for the Saturday night festivities—do you think they will only watch, or participate with the goings-on?