For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 51: Dominance, Discipline, and Desire
She was sleeping, an uneasy state filled with distressing dreams, when he woke her. He was naked, his breath smelling faintly of brandy, and the length he pressed to her bottom was a silken rod. He gathered her against him, his lips cool against her sleep-warm shoulder, his hands stroking her flesh. Fresh tears filled her eyes as he touched her, and she turned in his arms, clinging and trembling. Without speaking, he kissed her face, lips ghosting over her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin, the salt of her tears evaporating on his tongue.
He wooed her with dark, silent seduction, coaxing her responses and capitalising on them with a skill so sure that she was lured from the uncertain shelter of prickly resentment to the blissful heights of arousal. The stages of capitulation were so gradual that she was there before she divined her surrender, a collection of nerve endings, whimpers, and at the last, convulsing muscles.
They both slept then, wrapped in one another's arms, as the winter dawn crept over Grosvenor Square, shining on windows resolutely shaded against the coming day.
At mid-morning, when Hermione returned to the bedroom from the bathroom, her Master's coal black eyes were open.
'Come here,' he said, and she went to him, longing for reassurance, even though he was the cause of her emotional turmoil. His difficult rules—his insistence upon treating her as his submissive and subordinate in every aspect of their lives—had created this rift between them. As she climbed beneath the covers, it occurred to her that the perceived rift existed only in her mind. He suffered no such divide. Her offence of the night before had been discussed, explained, judgment had been pronounced, punishment had been decided upon and would be meted out at the directed time. He accepted all of these things with unruffled calm, his treatment of her indicative only of his desire and dominance, with no apparent consciousness of the discipline to come.
She nestled against him, her awareness of the shortness of their time together drawing her to him when her instincts told her to push away. Tonight, or tomorrow, he would be gone, and she would be bereft and longing for him. He held her, seemingly contented by her proximity. She felt his hand in her hair, then he rolled her slightly, his mouth seeking hers. Their tongues touched and tangled, a lazy, tantalising game. Very soon she was wet and aching, just as if she had not experienced frequent orgasms over the last thirty-six hours. It seemed that he could have her whenever he wanted her, and her body would respond to him, overruling her mind and carrying her outside herself in pursuit of the narcotising bliss he offered. He laid a trail of blazing, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, continuing down to her breasts, and there he settled in. He cupped, lifted, and squeezed, never leaving her nipples unattended, either by his teasing lips and tongue or his pinching, rolling fingers. Hermione yielded herself to the pleasure.
At long last, the fingers trailed down her torso to her smooth pudendum, and he fingered her slickness as he sucked at her breasts. The combined stimulation never failed to drive her quickly to climax, and very soon she was gasping, 'Master, I need to come …'
'Then do so, my pet,' he said before closing his lips more determinedly over the nipple wet with his saliva and lightly applying his teeth, sending her careening over the edge. While she still trembled from the aftershocks of her orgasm, he lifted her bent knee to his hip and moved forward, pushing into her with a groan of pure animal lust. Now his movements were no longer leisurely; he fucked her with single-minded purpose, his eyes raking over her body, from her passion-blurred eyes to her bouncing breasts to the heat scorched spot where their bodies joined.
'Hands up,' he snapped suddenly, and from her rather awkward position, she complied, unsurprised by now to have her wrists encircled and bound. 'You're at my mercy,' he informed her, his long, wicked fingers seeking out and finding her pleasure centre. He stared with burning intensity into her eyes. 'I could leave you here, like this, naked and bound, and go into the hallway to call other people to come watch me fuck you.'
Hermione's head jerked, as if in denial, but the combination of his fingers and his words was a deadly one. Aroused by the thought and ashamed of the arousal—he knew precisely what to say to her to draw this reaction.
'Or I can keep you bound and make you come until you pass out,' he said, drawing her awareness back to him, to the plucking of his fingers at her clitoris, the rotation of his hips, moving his cock in her channel in a slightly different way, extracting a keening cry from her. 'Would you like that, little slut?'
Mutely, Hermione shook her head once, but his words had served his purpose, and he read it in her face.
'You may come again, pet,' he told her, and Hermione bucked against his cock, rubbing shamelessly against his fingers until she cried out her completion. He grasped her hip and drove into her with more force, until on the third thrust, he spilled into her again.
He held himself on one elbow, looking down at her with an unreadable expression as he recovered his breath. Hermione raised a languid hand to smooth his oily, sweaty hair back from his face, then she smiled. He did not return her smile, but he leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.
'Do you need the loo?' he asked her.
She shook her head, and he released her wrists, rubbing them gently. Then he climbed out of the bed and went into the bathroom. Hermione lay against her pillows, her mind floating in a happy place, her body humming with satisfaction. She was dozing when he woke her.
'Have your bath now.'
She looked up to see him naked and clean, his wet black hair combed straight back from his forehead. The implacable expression was back in his eyes, but she didn't care: in her very soul, she trusted him. Silently, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bath, which was full of warm water, awaiting her. She immersed herself to her chin, and he allowed her to soak for a time. She heard his voice in the bedroom, then he was with her again.
'Sit up,' he instructed, and with his own hands, he bathed and shampooed her. He did not speak to her as he did so, but she had his full, undivided attention, and she soaked it up like a sponge. When he had dried her, he wrapped her hair in a towel and led her to the loveseat. A breakfast tray sat upon the low table, but her stomach didn't care for the sight.
'Sir,' she said, 'I'm not hungry.'
He gave her a sharp look but did not dispute her assertion. 'You can drink a cup of tea, then,' he said.
Hermione subsided on the loveseat beside him, and he presented her with a cup prepared precisely as she liked it. He then began to demolish a large breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. She found that she could relax before the roaring fire, comfortable in her bath-warmed skin beside her equally bare Master. The tea soothed her, and she watched the economical movements of her professor as he ate, thinking only of what a pleasure it was to have him with her, determined to exist in the moment.
When he swallowed the last of his coffee, he turned to her. 'You will eat a bowl of porridge,' he said, taking it up from the tray. 'It will not upset your stomach.'
Oddly enough, she found that she was rather hungry, so she reached for the bowl, but he did not relinquish it, indicating instead that she was to open her mouth. So they sat together before the fire, and he fed her until the bowl was empty.
'Good girl,' he murmured, and with a flick of his fingers, the breakfast tray was gone. 'Sit on the floor, between my knees,' he told her, and as she slid onto the rug, he removed the towel from her hair. 'Accio Hermione's hairbrush,' he said and began to sort out her hair. With infinite skill and patience, he brushed, untangling, smoothing, and at the end, drying as he went. In little more than a quarter hour, he had dried her hair, and it bloomed untamed about her head and shoulders, a bushy brown mane. 'There,' he said with finality, and he stood, carrying her brush back to the dressing table. 'You can sit on the sofa again,' he told her.
Hermione climbed again to the loveseat, watching her professor dress himself with much less enjoyment than usual. At any other time, having the leisure to study his lean form as he transformed himself into the dour Potions master would have been a delight, but now, she could only attempt to fend off the encroaching memories of the reasons why he was dressing, and she was not.
When he was fully dressed, down to his black suit coat and ever-present robes, he looked at her and with a gesture of his head, indicated she was to come to him. She stood on trembling legs and walked to stand before him.
'You may wear this,' he said, and from the wardrobe, he drew a glossy ankle-length pink cape, trimmed in black lace.
Hermione's jaw dropped. The garment was a near exact match for her corset. 'Where did it come from?' she wondered aloud.
Her professor's answer was a quirked eyebrow. 'I am not without Transfiguration skills,' he said sardonically.
Any other time, donning the black silk-lined cape would have gratified her, but the reason for her wearing it robbed her of any enjoyment.
'Will I wear shoes?' she asked, wincing at the brittle sound of her voice.
'There will be no need,' he said evenly, and he walked to the door. Hermione followed him morosely, the dread she had evaded all day beginning to seep through her body like poison in the bloodstream. At the door he turned to her, and he withdrew clanking metal from a pocket. The tip of his wand touched the engraved silver disk on the front of her collar, and then there was a scrape of metal against metal.
'What—' she began, then she saw that a linked metal chain was hanging from her collar, and he held a black leather loop in his hand.
He had put her on a dog lead.
'Come,' he said and with gentle tug at her collar, he led her into the corridor.
There were far fewer people in the entrance hall than there had been the two previous nights. Hermione knew from information Taffy and Kell had given her that there was a large breakfast on the sideboard in the dining room, and the guests served themselves. In the Dungeon, scheduled demonstrations took place, and some prearranged play between Dominants and submissives would go on until around five o'clock, when most of the participants would pack up and return to their homes to resume their normal, day-to-day lives.
I am a proud witch, she said to herself as she walked down the curving formal staircase beside her Master. I can do this. I can do anything I have to do.
'Good morning, Severus!' one of the other Roissy House board members called as they reached the hallway and began the long trek to the Dungeon door. Hermione held her breath, hoping she would not have to stand about while her Master chit-chatted with friends, when all the time humiliation awaited her downstairs.
But the professor simply inclined his head to the other Dominant, maintaining his steady, unhurried pace. Hermione noted that the people she saw today were dressed in less flashy garments then they had worn the night before, as if last night had been for show, but today was for the serious business of D/s play. As they passed one of the receiving rooms, Rafe and t came to the doorway, as if to acknowledge Hermione's walk of shame. Rafe inclined his head, saying, 'Sev,' in greeting, and t gave Hermione a tender, understanding smile. Then they passed the dining room, and Master Claudius and Hadrian stood in the doorway, with a chastened Kell between them. Kell's lips formed the word 'Luck' as Hermione passed her, and then they were at the Dungeon door, and the keeper opened it to allow them to pass down into the darkness.
As had happened the night before, the first thing Hermione saw was the St Andrew's Cross standing in a pool of light, and though there was no one bound to the cross, there was a group of chattering people standing between it and the foot of the stairs.
'Master Severus!'
Hermione heard the familiar voices before she made out the figures of Diana and Jacqueline. They stood on either side of a short, bald, middle-aged wizard. He was as ugly and squat as they were beautiful and statuesque—and every bit as naked. Hermione turned her eyes away from the nude Dominant and concentrated instead on Jacquie and Diana. The other girls wore matching gold collars with leads attached, and the leads were held in the hand of the wizard between them. The girls held out their hands, as if to clasp those of Professor Snape, but he spared scarcely a glance for them.
'Could you clear the way for me, Master Robert?' he inquired in a no-nonsense tone, and the older wizard called his submissives to order with a word and a stern glance. The auburn-haired goddesses fell back respectfully, and Hermione was led into the over-bright light, only to be halted before the wooden structure.
'Look at me,' Professor Snape said, and Hermione looked up into his face, unable to hide the mounting panic she felt. 'You can do this,' he told her, his voice between a command and a caress. 'Do you know what you need to do?'
Hermione swallowed and shook her head once, her attention wandering past him to the crowd beginning to gather beyond the light. She could see all of her housemates, plus Jacquie, Diana, and Master Robert in the crowd. She couldn't think of a single thing she needed to do, except for running from this room.
'Look at me,' he said again, and again, Hermione raised her eyes to his. 'Focus on me,' he told her. 'Keep your focus on me, on what I'm doing and what I'm saying, and you will be fine.'
Shakily, Hermione nodded her head. Even though she had disobeyed him and given offence in public, the punishment she was about to endure was between her and her Master. The room was full of naked submissives. In addition to the red-heads, Kell and t were unclothed, as were others gathered about whose names Hermione could not recall. Her nudity simply placed her in the social norm for this group. Other than that, all she faced now was a whipping with a leather strap, and had not every whipping she'd ever received been more of a pleasure than a pain?
He spoke to her again, this time, his voice pitched so that everyone could hear him. 'Do you have anything you wish to say?' he asked her.
They hadn't discussed this part, but Hermione needed no instruction to know how to answer. 'I apologise, Master,' she said sincerely, and he nodded his head once.
'Remove your cloak and face the cross,' he instructed her.
Hermione faced the cross and unfastened the cape, allowing it to fall to the floor. Immediately, her Master was behind her, and she concentrated on his voice and his hands upon her, leaving no room for self-consciousness at her nudity.
'Extend your arms along the upper planks,' he instructed, and she obeyed, conscious of his workman-like exertions, adjusting the wrist cuffs to the proper height and securing them with exacting precision.
Up close to the cross for the first time, Hermione saw that the lower planks were not solid, but provided a space for the submissive's feet to fit through the wood, permitting the binding of her ankles. Her Master paid the same close attention to securing her lower extremities that he had paid the upper ones, then he stepped around the cross to look down into her face. Hermione gave him a tremulous smile, focusing on him with all her might. With a flourish of his wrist, the leather strap was in his hand, and he held it before her face.
'It is customary for the submissive to greet the strap with affection,' he said, and without a thought, Hermione pressed her lips to the leather.
'Good girl,' he murmured, and then he was gone.
Hermione stared at the wall, which was the only thing she could see. She wished her Master had offered her the blindfold; it was always so easy to go into sub-space with sight restricted, but this wasn't supposed to be easy for her, was it? It didn't matter; if she focussed on his voice and his actions, she would achieve the state of mind he intended for her.
She was aware of her Master's proximity, and her hair was twisted up and secured. Then the strap stroked from her nape to the cleft of her buttocks.
'You may begin to count, little slut,' he said, his voice for her ears alone, and the first blow fell across her buttocks.
The pain was a burning flash stinging her flesh and making her see lights at the periphery of her vision where there were none. This was nothing like being spanked with his belt. The belt was less than half as wide as the strap, and though folding it over increased its impact, it didn't hold a candle to the wallop packed by the leather strap.
'Count,' the stern voice commanded.
Hermione licked her lips and managed to croak, 'One,' just before the second blow fell, drawing a cry from her. 'T-two,' she stuttered.
The third blow fell upon the upper portion of her left thigh, wrapping slightly about her upper leg, and she felt the shock of pleasure it sent to her quim at the same time she realised that this implement was going to bruise her as she had not been bruised before. 'Three,' she said, and the strap found her other leg, wrapping again, slapping on the softness of her inner thigh, sending a tremor to her clitoris. 'F-four,' she gasped, wishing she had a dildo to ride during this exercise. With a thick cock in her cunt, the strap would feel even better. The fifth blow caught her lower buttocks, managing to impact the edge of her aching labia, drawing an animalistic moan from her instead of 'five'.
Then she heard his voice before her, and she opened her eyes to see him standing on the other side of the cross again, his breathing somewhat unsteady, the pronounced tent in his trousers tweaking the intensity of her want. His black eyes were glittering as he slipped a finger between her labia lips, teasing her clitoris.
'You're so wet,' he murmured, and she knew he wanted to take her right now, to pull out his cock and fuck her where they stood.
'Please,' she whimpered, her hips rocking on his fingers.
'You need not count for the last bit,' he told her, and her eyes opened wide.
There was going to be more? But surely a second blow to any spot he had already struck would really hurt?
Then he was gone, and the sixth blow fell as the first had done, wringing a cry from Hermione. The arousal was still slick between her thighs, but oh! The pain was more than she had endured before, and though she had hoped not to do so in public, she began to cry.
The seventh blow mirrored the second, escalating her cries to sobs. The next two mirrored those that had teased her inner thighs, but the sobs were too advanced to rein them in. Every feeling of anger and resentment and rebellion fell from her with the hot tears, and by the time the tenth blow fell, kissing the edge of her slick, needy mons, she was completely beyond herself, a passenger in the vehicle of her Master's discipline.
His fingers were quick upon the buckles, releasing first her ankles, then her wrists. She pressed her bare back against his chest, cringing from contact of any sort on her bottom, and he reached around her, wiping her face with a soft linen handkerchief. Then his fist wrapped around the link from which her lead dangled, and he pulled her into a kiss, his tongue forceful and insistent as he plundered her mouth. She clung to him, and he lifted her, arm beneath her knees, and strode to the nearest sofa, away from the glare of the lights.
'I am very pleased,' he murmured into her hair, standing her on her feet, and he kissed her mouth again, drawing her hand to the bulge in his trousers. 'Unwrap your reward.'
Hermione felt a bit unsteady on her feet, adrenaline coursing through her body, colliding with the feral greed she felt for her Master's swollen cock. She attacked his belt with Gryffindor determination, unfastening the flies and sliding down his front to take him in her mouth. The salty emission on the glistening, darkened tip of his penis sang in her mouth like fine wine, but he was falling back onto the sofa, drawing her to straddle him. She sank onto him, taking his entire length in one go, and they both groaned. She leaned up, rising to slide down again, and he fastened his mouth greedily to an erect nipple, sucking for all he was worth.
Hermione availed herself of the cock she had so wanted during her whipping, knowing there were figures in the shadows who watched their coupling, but too far gone in urgency to care. She rode the magnificent erect cock of Severus Snape, keenly aware of his hand upon the chain of her lead, keeping her close as he suckled at her breast and thrust up into her as if his life depended on it. She looked down at his inky hair, seeing his eyes closed, his mouth on her breast, felt the girth of his cock spreading her, fucking her, and loved him as she had never done before. She wanted the moment to go on and on.
But their ardour mounted, for neither had the wherewithal to slow their pace. His eyes fluttered open, his expression unguarded, and he spoke in gravelly, ragged tones. 'Oh, fuck, Hermione—come with me.' The hand at her waist slipped between them, the pads of his fingers flattened against her clitoris. 'Now,' he gasped, 'now!'
And she arched her neck, feeling her hair come loose and tumble down her back just as she was filled with the heat and radiance of their joining, his seed rushing into her, his face pressed into the curve of her throat, the cry torn from his throat at once more impassioned and less restrained than any she had yet heard from him, in any encounter they had shared. She twined her fingers in his hair, feeling the pulsing of her climax pushing out to flood every cell of her body with light. When she finally stilled, she saw his cheek pressed to her chest, the fingers of one hand fondling the links of her lead chain.
Awash in transcendence, she stroked his hair and kissed his face, expressing through touch the things he would never permit her to say.
A/N: You may view the photograph which inspired the end of this chapter at the link below. It is on a Live Journal community called ftpma_dishing. It is Non-Work Safe with nudity and sexual content:
Community dot livejournal dot com frontslash ftpma underscore dishing frontslash 1831 dot html
You may see a photograph of a St Andrews Cross on the same community at:
Community dot livejournal dot com frontslash ftpma underscore dishing frontslash 2552 dot html
