A/N: Please be aware that Hermione's introduction to corset-wear is completely from my own imagination. I have never personally worn one, and the reading I have done on the subject indicates that one should slowly accustom oneself to tightening the stays and build up wearing time gradually.
You can see pictures of Hermione's corset on my LJ: snape-submiss dot livejournal dot com
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 48: Before the Dungeon
Seated before the fire, they ate a sustaining meal as the winter daylight waned beyond their windows. Hermione found it difficult to tear her gaze from her Master. She watched as he consumed everything on his plate.
'Is the food good, where you're staying?' she asked.
He snorted. 'No,' he answered shortly.
She smiled tenderly. 'I'm sorry to hear it,' she said. 'Are your quarters comfortable?'
He glanced at her sardonically. 'We are not quartered at the Ritz, Hermione, but neither are we sleeping out of doors. Don't probe for information. The less you know, the better.'
She felt the rebuff and turned to look into the fire, the reminder of the difference in their situations goading her to comment. 'You're furthering the cause—I'm living in luxury and revising for my NEWTs. I should be with Harry and Ron. I can't bear to do nothing.'
He grasped her upper arms and dragged her across his lap. 'No, pet,' he murmured into her hair, his hands soothing up and down her back. 'No, I would run mad if you were in danger, and I did not know where you were.'
His usually smooth, silky voice was rough with emotion, but she could not identify what it might be. Was it … affection? Or simply another manifestation of possessiveness? She pressed her cheek to his chest, stroking through his hair, her whole body flushed with heat at the notion that he was expressing feeling for her.
'You don't need to worry,' she assured him, pressing a kiss to the hollow beneath his ear. 'I would have gone with the boys in a heartbeat had I been with them when they left the Burrow, but I have no idea where they are to join them now.'
He became rigid in her embrace, and she sat straighter in his lap, watching his face.
'You must learn to adjust your thinking,' he said sternly, disapproval lacing his tone. 'You belong to me now, Hermione. You do not make these sorts of decisions without reference to my wishes.'
Hermione frowned. 'But they are my friends, sir,' she began.
'And I am your Master!' he thundered, his brow darkening. 'Desist this arguing! I have you safe, and you will remain here, per my wishes.'
Hermione struggled, and he released her, allowing her to stand on the hearthrug before him. 'Sir,' she said, 'please allow me to speak.'
His jaw was set, his lips pressed together in a thin, white line. 'Speak,' he commanded.
Hermione took a deep breath. She loved him—loved him!—and she wanted nothing more than to be in harmony with him. But loving him—submitting to him—did not eradicate her past or obliterate the other people in her life.
'Ever since I was twelve years old, my path has been linked to Harry's,' she said. 'I've helped him in every way I could, whether it was solving your logic puzzle so he could reach the Philosopher's Stone or fighting with him in the Ministry of Magic. My usefulness in his quest to defeat You-Know-Who hasn't ended just because I discovered I am submissive. Sir, this is a job I have to finish. You wouldn't have me abandon my friends now, would you?'
She was careful in her tone, to sound reasonable; in her posture, to appear open; in her expression, to look calm. Her heart hammered uncomfortably, and her knees trembled, but with all her might, she strove to hide her fear. If she made her case respectfully, surely he would be receptive.
His fathomless eyes studied her, his face pinched with annoyance. 'You rate Potter's claims on your loyalty above my own?' he inquired dangerously.
Hermione shook her head. 'I don't see it that way at all,' she said earnestly. 'He is my friend; you are my Master, my lover—you have my heart. Please don't say that I must choose between my friendships and my submission to you. Must you control every facet of my existence?'
He glared at her. 'I am responsible for your welfare,' he said implacably. 'I must certainly be involved in every facet of your life. Such decisions as where you will go, with whom, and what you will do are not to be made without consulting me.'
'But you're not here all the time,' she said in a small voice.
'You have your journal,' he pointed out. 'If you need my input on a subject, you need only communicate it to me. I will answer you.' He indicated the place beside him on the love seat. 'Seat yourself, pet; there's no need for all this heat.'
Hermione felt her spirits sag. Was she making her point? It felt as if he had taken her reasonable tone and reflected it back to her—almost like a weapon!—and she still hadn't got him to say she had as much right as he did to contribute to the war effort. She sat again on the love seat, disconsolate, and it seemed to her as if he relaxed, almost imperceptibly.
'I feel as if I'm not doing anything worthwhile,' she said, looking down at her hands.
'Do you consider me to be worthwhile?' he asked, sounding pensive, and Hermione shot him a suspicious glance. Was he play-acting? Surely he knew how she felt about him!
'Obviously,' she said somewhat tartly.
His arm circled her shoulders, scooping her closer to him. 'You are … important to me,' he said, holding her against him but staring into the fire. 'I have no objection to you making contributions to the Light—but let those contributions come from your strengths, rather than your weaknesses.'
Hermione resisted the arm about her shoulders, holding herself stiffly beside him. 'My weaknesses?' she said. 'What do you mean?' She knew her voice was showing her agitation, but she couldn't help herself. He was dismissing her, and she wouldn't stand for it!
'Well, let's review, shall we?' he said, continuing to sate into the fire. 'You assist Potter with research, such as discovering the identity of Nicolas Flamel and determining the use of Polyjuice Potion.'
Hermione gasped, and he glanced down into her face with a sardonically raised eyebrow. 'Yes, the Headmaster kept me well informed of your illicit progress through the years.' Continuing to hold her gaze, he continued, 'Your cleverness, tireless erudition, and incomparable memory have helped Potter time and again—but are you as helpful to him as a warrior? You are relatively competent in defence, but how well do you actually perform in duelling, Hermione?'
She opened her mouth to deliver a heated retort, but words failed her. What could she say? She had not exactly succeeded in her duel with the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic. She had been quickly disabled, waking up only in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, where she had spent rather more time than she cared to remember.
He watched the emotions playing over her face, and when she did not speak, he said, 'Precisely so.'
Hermione stared down at her hands. It was rather disheartening to be told by the person whose opinion mattered most to her that she was rubbish at something. She was used to thinking of herself as, well, the best at things. She knew she wasn't as good as Harry at defence, but surely her wand was of some use in a fight?
Firm fingers compelled her chin to rise until she met her Master's eyes again.
'We're a remarkable team, you and I,' he told her, and she could detect no irony in his tone. 'I didn't have the patience for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy in school; I didn't continue with either class after my OWL year, and I have lived to regret it. You are the top of your year in both subjects, and your professors proclaim you to be the best student they've had in recent memory. I, on the other hand, am rather well versed in potion brewing, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and in duelling. Together, we are a formidable force to be reckoned with.' The previous signs of his annoyance had dissipated, and Hermione was aware of the warmth in his eyes as they rested on her face. 'Never believe that your talents are unappreciated,' he said quietly.
Hermione felt her lips tremble at the sudden onslaught of relief and acceptance. He did value her intellect and her input—he wasn't discounting her abilities. 'Thank you,' she whispered.
The pad of his thumb passed over her lower lip. 'You're welcome,' he said. 'Now, to business.' He Summoned his cloak and pulled a book from its pocket. 'Your instruction in Ancient Runes has been centred around latter day Celtic runes, from Medieval times. I would like for you to familiarise yourself with the Elder Futhark alphabet, which dates back to 150 A.D.'
Hermione accepted the heavy book from him, thrilled by the appearance of antiquity and the unmistakeable smell of aged parchment. 'Of course I will,' she said, opening the book cover and smiling at the ancient typesetting. 'May I know why?'
He settled against the cushions, his ebony eyes intent. His hair hung down on either side of his narrow face, and she was compelled to run her fingertips along his jaw line.
'The spell which brought the Dark Lord back—the one for which he needed Potter's blood—predates even the information in this book.' He flicked a long finger and tapped his fingernail against the brown leather binding. 'It is believed—Dumbledore believes—that a counter-spell exists.' He took the book from her and set it aside. 'Your friends are currently searching for that spell. If they find it—and I wish to go on the record as saying I believe that to be highly unlikely—I want you to be prepared to translate it.'
Hermione's eyes grew wide. 'If such a thing exists!' she said, her mind darting ahead to examine the possibilities.
'If it does, time enough to dwell on it when you have it in hand,' he said. 'For now, it is time to dress for the evening.'
She wore the corset Taffy and Kell had bullied her into buying, and when she saw how pleased her Master was with her choice, she resolved to thank her friends at the next opportunity. She came out of the bathroom after magicking it on, not wanting him to witness her unfamiliarity with it. He was sitting in an armchair near the fire, already dressed in his customary black robes over his black suit, and his expression as he rose to meet her robbed her of breath.
She was quickly to find out what being robbed of breath truly felt like.
'Is this your first time to wear a corset, little one?' he inquired silkily, circling her in that predatory way that made her wet for him.
'Yes, sir,' she answered, moving to survey her image in the long mirror. It was a frivolous garment, pale pink satin overlaid with black lace, holding her rigidly in the confines of its steel bones, the black laces neatly tied in back.
'Allow me,' he purred, stepping up behind her and deftly untying the laces.
'Sir?' she said uncertainly.
'It's a bit loose,' he explained and began to methodically tighten the lacing. 'You'll learn to take slow, shallow breaths, my pet.'
Hermione could only stare at his reflection in the mirror as he expertly tightened the steel-boned garment until she could scarcely draw breath. Before her eyes, her waist became smaller, emphasising the generous curves of her breasts and hips. He tied the laces again and drank in her reflection, his hands now resting on her impossibly small waist, his eyes eloquent with desire.
'Exquisite,' he breathed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her nape, bared by the up-do of her brown hair.
The corset ended an inch or two above her pubis, and she wore black satin burlesque knickers to conceal her private parts. The ruffles at the legs gave her some semblance of modesty, and the naughty underpants tied in bows at the bottom edge of the flaring line of the boned corset. Her Master slid his hand inside the satiny knickers, cupping her mons.
'Another time, we'll leave these behind,' he said, his teeth scraping along the arch of her neck as his other hand played with the bow of fabric holding the knickers in place. 'Your pudendum is far too beautiful to keep covered amongst friends.'
Hermione felt a clutch of fear, compounded by her shortness of breath. He wanted her to go amongst a houseful of strangers with her quim and her bum uncovered? But he'd said 'another time'—clearly not this time. Thank Merlin for small favours!
He raised his face and looked into her eyes in the mirror. 'Ah, my pet, when you blush, you match your corset very nicely,' he observed with a smirk. The fingers in her knickers parted her labia, making her moan and squirm, and his long finger penetrated her, his posture stooping to accommodate the movement. 'Shall I bring you off before I take you to the Dungeon?' he wondered aloud. 'Or shall I bring you to edge of orgasm and then take you downstairs, perfumed with the aroma of your own arousal?'
Hermione could not prevent herself from moving on his fingers, and he slipped out of her channel, spreading the lubrication he had found over her folds, rolling her clitoris beneath his fingertips like an olive in oil. She leaned into him, watching herself in the mirror, doubly aroused to see how she reacted to his touch.
'Yes, you are very beautiful when I finger fuck you,' he whispered, his lips at her ear, his black eyes burning. 'My lovely, lascivious pet.' Abruptly, he removed his hand from her knickers, straightening up and holding his fingers to her lips. 'Suck them clean,' he told her, and she obeyed, her quim aching for the orgasm he had not delivered, wishing it were his cock in her mouth.
At last, pulled his fingers away and turned to the dressing table. 'Have you any red lipstick?' he inquired, his eyes travelling over her cosmetics.
Hermione crossed to the table and plucked a tube of lip gloss from the sparse collection. 'I don't wear lipstick,' she said, 'but I have this.'
He nodded his approval, and she spread the crimson shine over her lips. When she finished, she turned to face him, and he looked slowly from her face down her corseted body, along her smooth, naked legs, all the way to her spike-heeled black pumps.
'You'll do very nicely,' he proclaimed before opening the door and sweeping her along the corridor, away from the stairwell she had always used to reach the lower floor.
'Where are we going?' she asked.
He offered his arm, a courtly gesture, and she tucked her hand there, smiling up at him. His answering smile was devilish, unlike any expression she had ever seen before on his austere face—he actually looked mischievous, not unlike his best mate, Rafe.
'We're making an entrance,' he informed her, and as they rounded the corner, she realised they were going to walk down the formal staircase in the entry hall.
'Chin up,' he said solemnly as they paused within sight of the balustrade-edged gallery above the entrance hall, his eyes boring into hers. 'I am proud to have you on my arm. Show your pride in being there.'
Hermione swallowed, desperately drawing on her reserves of dignity, trying very hard to concentrate on the elegant wizard at her side rather than the fact that she was about to parade amongst a host of strangers in her underwear.
Then he was moving forward, and she was moving with him, her chin raised, onto the landing above the crowd of people milling about the entrance hall. As she and her professor descended the curving staircase, Hermione quickly saw she was lucky to be dressed for the evening, for some of the submissives she saw were naked, save for their collars. Most wore at their waist a diaphanous sheath, much like the one Hermione wore, to holster their wands. She had never seen so many naked and nearly naked women in her life. She tried not to gape.
Then an elaborately corseted woman entered the hallway with three collared men tethered to her by dog leads, each man's genitals gathered into a gold lamé pouch, providing less modesty than a loincloth. Otherwise, the men were completely naked; they did not even wear shoes.
'What in the world?' she murmured, glancing up at her professor.
He smirked. 'You read in t's book that there are female Dominants and male submissives,' he reminded her. 'I'll introduce you to Mistress Drusilla. The Femdomme community have their own social events, but Drusilla enjoys the tenor of Roissy House and often brings her submissives to our gatherings.'
'I see,' Hermione said, realising that this evening was going to be one learning experience after another.
Many faces were raised to mark Professor Snape's progress down the staircase with his submissive at his side, and Hermione felt a flush of pride at the admiration she read in the faces, both male and female. Her Master was a person of note amongst these people; they esteemed and respected Severus Snape, who had never before collared a submissive as his own—and she, Hermione, was his choice. The knowledge imbued her with a feeling of triumph so powerful that she felt as if she might burst with it.
The glow of empowerment carried her effortlessly through the introductions which commenced when they reached the marble-tiled floor of the entrance hall. Once again, Hermione was introduced to her professor's fellow board members, and she was quick to note the state of dress of their submissives. She was surprised to see that neither age nor pregnancy stopped a Dominant from showing off his possession. One submissive was easily the age of Hermione's mother, her greying blond hair pulled into an elegant chignon above her silver collar, wearing a bridal-white corset which left her breasts bare, her pierced nipples crinkled against the cold. The woman's wrists were shackled before her, a thin chain running from the shackles, through her nipple rings, and attached to the ring on her collar. The submissive of the next board member was easily eight months pregnant, her belly tautly rounded above her shaved quim. She wore a collar flashing with emeralds, and her Master favoured her with frequent fond looks and tender caresses.
'Lucky cow,' a voice murmured behind her, and Hermione turned to see t. Her friend wore long black satin gloves, very high spiked black heels, sheer stockings attached to a frilly black suspender belt … and nothing else. Hermione was not surprised to see that t had a lovely body, but could not conceal her shock at seeing so much of it.
Taffy giggled. 'You should see your face!' she teased, pulling Hermione a few steps away as Rafe joined in the conversation the professor was having with the Master of the pregnant woman. 'I know, it's a shock the first few times,' she said consolingly. 'But you'll see that it's so commonplace that, in time, you will scarcely notice it.'
Hermione smoothed a hand down the boning of her bodice. 'I feel over-dressed,' she admitted, 'but terrified of not being dressed.' Then she asked, 'Who's a cow?'
Taffy nodded toward the pregnant submissive. 'Jane,' she said.
'But why?' Hermione persisted.
Taffy made a moue with her lips. 'She's going to have a baby, isn't she?' she said.
Hermione blinked. Did t want a baby? How in the world would a baby fit into the D/s lifestyle?
'Do you want to have a baby?' Hermione asked her tentatively.
Taffy looked surprised. 'Don't you?' she asked. 'When you're older and more settled in life?'
Hermione shrugged. 'I haven't thought much about it,' she admitted. 'Someday, yes, I'd like to have a baby—but how does that work out?'
Taffy smiled. 'People do it all the time,' she said. 'Most of the couples I know who have children relegate their D/s interactions to the bedroom—or to the playroom, if they have one. But Doms and subs have children together, just like any other couple would.'
Hermione nodded, though she still felt confused by the very notion. 'Do you think you'll try for a baby soon?' she asked Taffy, continuing to dart surreptitious looks to the pregnant Jane.
Taffy giggled. 'What do you think we've been doing for the last week?' she said.
Hermione laughed as well. 'Well, then you're hoping to be pregnant; it makes sense that you think Jane and her Master are lucky.'
Taffy looked blank for a moment. 'Master Aulus isn't the father of Jane's baby,' she said. 'Jane's husband is.'
Now Hermione was shocked. 'Her husband lets her come here?' she said.
Taffy shrugged. 'We try not to judge one another,' she said. 'Many submissives only find out about their sexual preferences after they're already married.' She sighed. 'Some of them try to teach their husbands to dominate them—introducing spanking and blindfolds and handcuffs—and others find that they are not satisfied with less than a true Dominant.' She nodded toward Master Aulus and his Jane. 'Doms who accept the submission of a woman who is in a vanilla marriage know what they're getting into up front. They can't require their women to be sexually faithful to them, and their plans are frequently interrupted because the sub is leading a double life—a vanilla life, about which the whole world knows, and a D/s life, which is her secret.' She shook her head. 'Jane's husband doesn't know where she goes when she comes here.'
Hermione looked grave. 'I couldn't do what she's doing,' she said softly. 'I wouldn't be able to pretend.'
Taffy gave her a one-armed hug. 'Be glad you found out about your preferences young,' she said. 'You can make sure the man you marry is a Dominant you can trust with all your heart.'
Hermione glanced to where her Master stood, talking with his friends and associates. 'I trust him with my life,' she said, knowing that it wasn't the same thing Taffy had meant. Before this afternoon, she had felt a total confidence in him, but his reaction to her comments about assisting the Order had been distressing. It was true that he had talked her round to his point of view—but did he respect her as a person? Could she trust him not to discount and dismiss her for her youth, or even worse, for her gender?
As she watched him, he turned from his conversation, his eyes seeking her out. He held out a hand to her, and she went immediately to him, incapable of withstanding his irresistible pull upon her.
The strolled along the corridor, her professor nodding and exchanging greetings with others they saw, but he did not stop to converse. They went into one of the receiving rooms, which contained tables of party foods, punch, coffee, and tea, but no alcohol. Hermione declined her professor's offer of punch and asked him about it.
'It is considered to be bad form to mix alcoholic beverages with D/s play,' he said. 'A Dominant should always be unimpaired when dealing with the safety of his submissive.'
Hermione nodded, then felt a flutter of alarm as her Master backed her up against a wall, an arm braced on either side of her head, blocking her in.
'I think it's time to go down to the Dungeon, don't you?' he asked, lowering his head and kissing her throat.
Hermione's eyes darted wildly around the room, where other guests partook of the refreshments at small tables. She saw a Dominant who was lazily tonguing his submissive's nipples as he conversed with another man, and a couple farther in the shadows who might have been shagging on a tabletop. A bit of public snogging seemed positively tame by comparison, and she relaxed, tilting her head to offer her throat more completely.
'Yes, Master,' she agreed, hoping very much that nothing too difficult would be required of her there.
'Good girl,' he murmured and captured her lips in a sultry kiss, his single-minded attention to it rendering her, as always, a vessel of liquid desire, his to use as he would. She wound her arms about his neck, her hands twined in his hair, lost to all save his presence. When his hands were upon her, nothing else mattered—how could she have thought she couldn't trust him?
When he released her, she swayed lightly on her feet, and he smirked at her, remnants of her lip gloss on his face. That meant her lip gloss was smeared and ought to be repaired. He removed his handkerchief and wiped his mouth clean, but he didn't offer it to her.
'Should I reapply my lip colour?' she asked, touching her lower lip.
'No,' he answered, cupping her cheek. 'I like the way it looks now.'
She flushed, knowing she looked like a girl who'd just been kissed hard enough to smear her lipstick. 'Yes, sir,' she said and tucked her hand once again in his arm.
He led her into the corridor again and down the hallway to a door she had never noticed before. A burly wizard dressed all in leather stood sentry. He nodded to Professor Snape, then looked inquisitively at Hermione.
'She's mine,' the professor said, and the sentry opened the door down to the Dungeon.
