For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 80: Uplifting
That night, Hermione sat at the table in her small flat with her journal open before her. She knew she had to confess her transgression to Master Claudius, but she was having a bit of trouble focussing on that because she kept playing her encounter with Professor Snape over and again in her mind. He had been right there, close enough for her to smell his aftershave—close enough to touch!—and she still felt electrified by the exchange. Yes, she had blurted out her rather pathetic invitation with all the grace of a schoolgirl, but he had seemed unfazed by it. He had, in fact, taken the time to explain why he was declining her invitations, then had lingered long enough to say …
Another time, perhaps? She breathed the words aloud, and again, a shiver of delight went through her.
She had been wrong about him many times before—after all, wasn't it his business to keep her off balance?—but there was new certainty in her, born of the hours Master Claudius had invested in earnest conversation with her and the further hours she had spent in quiet contemplation. This calm centre was possessed of the surety that his interest was true—sincere—and the knowledge buoyed her with a giddiness she could scarcely contain.
Nevertheless, it was her duty now to report back to Master Claudius what she had done. It would also be her obligation to submissively accept the punishment he meted out as gracefully as she could. With a slight frown of concentration, she applied herself to the business of writing about her day.
That night, she dreamed of Severus Snape more vividly than she had done in months.
Master Claudius responded to her entry, though it took longer than she had thought it might for him to do so. When his response appeared, Hermione read it with some perturbation.
We will discuss it when next we meet, his response read.
Hermione found her giddiness somewhat tempered now by concern over what her training Master would do or say to her.
Friday afternoon, Hermione entered the Claudius family rooms at Roissy House with mild trepidation. Vi met her with a gentle smile and a hug.
'How are you?' Vi asked, stepping back to look into Hermione's face.
'I'm well,' Hermione assured her.
Vi nodded and released her shoulders. 'Do you need the loo before you meet with Master?'
Hermione felt a flicker of unease. 'No, thanks,' she said.
Vi took the overnight bag from Hermione's hand. 'I'll put this in your room,' Vi said. 'Go to the study. Master is waiting for you there.'
Without giving herself time to feel concerned, Hermione slipped through the door into Claudius' study. He sat in an ornately carved chair at the far side of the room, facing her. He wore a high-necked black jumper, which provided a stark contrast to his silvering blond hair. He looked particularly solemn.
On the floor midway between them was a rectangular blue mat, not dissimilar from the ones Hermione remembered from the gymnasium of her grammar school.
'Are you well, Hermione?' Claudius inquired, his tone aloof and distant.
'I am, sir, thank you,' she replied.
'Then you may kneel for me upon the mat,' he said. 'There will be no need to speak.'
Hermione advanced obediently to the mat and lowered herself to her knees, assuming the submissive's pose. Her wristwatch showed the time as half-five.
She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly as she calmed her thoughts. It was not uncommon for her to kneel for Master Claudius, but before, he had always had her do it at his side, and never had he employed a mat.
When her wristwatch showed that ten minutes had passed without Master Claudius having spoken another word, Hermione realised she was experiencing either a test or a punishment. The realisation did not alarm her. She was serene, she was focussed, and she trusted Master Claudius implicitly. There was nothing to disturb her peace.
She resumed her slow, even breathing and allowed her consciousness to drift along. Time passed, and she was just beginning to note some physical discomfort when the door behind her opened. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, knowing such a thing would be improper, and then she smelled Vi's delicate, floral perfume, and the other girl was bending over her.
'Give me your hand and stand up,' Vi instructed, and Hermione did as she was bid, relieved to change positions.
Master Claudius remained as he had been when she first entered the room, his cool grey eyes watching her steadily. Vi gently massaged her neck, her shoulders, and down each of her arms to her wrists. Next, Vi's hands gripped Hermione's waist, her fingers spanning down to rub the small of Hermione's back. Moving ever downward, Vi knelt and reached beneath the hem of Hermione's skirt to massage down one leg, then the other.
'Do you need the loo?' Vi asked softly, standing straight again and gently squeezing one of Hermione's hands.
'No, thank you,' Hermione responded.
Vi placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, easing her down again. 'Back in position, then,' Vi said.
When Hermione resumed her position, she saw that her wristwatch reported the time now to be five minutes past six. Vi's fingers then grasped the watchband.
'I'll keep that for you,' Vi said. "It will go faster that way, I promise you.'
Hermione allowed the wristwatch to be removed without demur and drew a slow, deep breath. Clearly, this was going to go on for a while, though she didn't know still if it were a punishment or a test. Emptying her lungs of all air, she felt a smile curl her lips upward. It didn't really matter, did it? She didn't have to be concerned with why; all she had to do was obey, and there was a freedom in that lack of responsibility that she had only ever encountered in D/s.
Her muscles and joints had been uncomfortable for a few minutes when next Vi helped her rise to her feet. Still, Master Claudius watched her from his place across the room, and it seemed to Hermione that he had remained as unmoving as she had done. Briefly, she wondered if his bum were becoming sore and numb, as were her legs.
This time, after gently rubbing Hermione's sore spots, Vi led her to the door and back again to the mat, as if to exercise her legs. As they walked, and Hermione felt the sensation tingling through her limbs like shooting electricity, she glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece and saw it was just past half-six.
They're having me change position every thirty minutes, she noted.
'Do you need the loo?' Vi asked.
Hermione declined, and Vi assisted her to her knees. She was unaware of Vi's retreat this time; she was too occupied with her dilemma. Already, her knees were uncomfortable, and her hips objected to the position, as well. But she was determined that she would endure the minor discomfort, for it was Master Claudius' will that she do so.
Concentrating on her desire to please him, she began the calming ritual of the deep breaths, releasing the reality of the moment with each exhalation, willing herself up, out of her physical body and into the welcoming warmth of sub-space. Ah, yes! Here was where she wanted to be, where she had spent the most compelling moments of her life, and she allowed herself to remember that as she floated happily along.
She was surprised when next Vi helped her to her feet, and she stumbled, her hands closing about Vi's upper arms to steady herself.
'Are you well, Hermione?' Master Claudius inquired, just as he had done before she first knelt on the mat.
Hermione answered promptly, 'I am well, sir, thank you.'
Claudius nodded once, a tiny show of approbation, and Vi began the now familiar routine of massaging Hermione's muscles.
'I think I need the loo,' Hermione said quietly, pitching her voice for Vi's ears only.
'Come along, then,' Vi said, wrapping a supportive arm about Hermione's waist and walking with her to the door which led to Master Claudius' personal bathroom.
Hermione crossed the threshold and reached to shut the door, but Vi shook her head and propelled Hermione gently to the toilet.
'Sit,' Vi said sweetly.
Hermione bit her lip and looked through the door, where she could see Master Claudius, his face turned to watch them, his expression unchanged. 'Can't we close the door?' she asked.
'We do not close doors on Master in his study,' Vi said firmly, beginning to lift Hermione's skirt hem.
'I'll do it,' Hermione said hastily, lifting the back of her skirt just enough to sit on the toilet seat. 'Can you stay in front of me?' she asked in a small voice. She was trying so hard to be accepting and obedient—Claudius and Vi had already given her so much!—but the lack of privacy was extremely difficult for her to endure.
'Of course,' Vi said, and true to her word, she remained between Hermione and the doorway. After a moment during which nothing happened, Vi leaned over to twist the tap. The water splashed into the basin, and Hermione was able to let loose a stream of urine, bringing a smile to Vi's lips. 'That wasn't so bad,' Vi murmured, taking the toilet tissue in hand and bending as if she meant to wipe Hermione dry.
'I'll do it,' Hermione said again, and Vi surrendered the tissue with a knowing smile.
The mantel clock proclaimed the time as ten minutes after seven when Hermione knelt again on the mat, and she was extremely pleased to note the ease with which she settled into sub-space this time. In this most submissive of postures, she was surprised to note how remarkably empowered she felt. The next thirty minutes passed as a whisper of time, and then large hands gripped her elbows, and the distinctive scent of Master Claudius' cologne filled her nostrils.
'Up you get,' he said quietly, lifting her completely off her feet and depositing her on the sofa. She lay supine, and he knelt beside her, massaging her calves with his strong, sure fingers. 'You did well,' he said, his eyes looking into hers. 'I am very pleased, Hermione.'
She flushed and smiled. 'I'm glad, sir.'
He stood. 'Do you feel steady enough to walk to your chair?'
'I'm fine,' she averred, and she stood and crossed to her usual wingchair.
He turned its mate to face her and sat down. 'Do you feel your training with us is complete?' he asked her abruptly.
Hermione blinked, taken aback. 'Why do you ask, sir?'
He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. 'Because you took a serious step this week without thought of consulting me, which speaks of one of two things. Either you are a thoughtless trainee in need of more severe supervision and discipline, or you are near the end of your training and eager to find your Master.'
Hermione's lips parted; she was profoundly struck by his words. 'I ... I hadn't thought about it that way, sir.'
Claudius nodded. 'I know you haven't,' he agreed. 'I think much too highly of you and of your progress in these last three months to believe you thoughtless or in need of more severe discipline, Hermione. I believe you are the latter girl—the one near the end of her training who is ready to find her Master.'
Hermione felt her heart lifting, the residual bliss of the sub-space visit sweetening her mood. 'Am I really?' she said, leaning forward, too.
He nodded and took her hands. 'Yes, you've done very well. This is my plan: You'll complete your period of abstinence, as we agreed previously, and at the next party weekend, you'll make your debut. I will put you on display at the Dungeon party, after which your training will officially end. At that time, Dominants may approach me in regards to you—and you may choose the Dominant with whom you will play that night, from amongst those who wish to participate. You may choose one, or as many as you like, for your first night out of training. It's all about you, that night.' He smiled, and Hermione saw a bit of wickedness in him—a streak of playful sexuality that drew an answering smile from her. 'You'll have to ask Violet about the night she finished her training.'
Something he had said repeated in her mind, and Hermione licked her lips nervously. 'Sir, what does it mean, to be "put on display"?'
'You know that at the next Dungeon party, you will appear naked,' he began, and Hermione nodded her agreement. 'You will be escorted directly to the Dungeon, usually by your Training Dominant and those of your sisters whom you wish to have by you for moral support. In the Dungeon, there will be an elevated square pedestal in place, which can be approached by steps up each of its four sides. You will kneel on the pedestal, which rotates slowly around, and remain there, on display to everyone in attendance, for roughly two hours.'
Hermione could not prevent the gasp of dismay she uttered.
Claudius smiled and released one of her hands to lightly stroke her cheek. 'You will handle it like the serene, centred submissive you have become,' he assured her. 'You will cope exactly as you have done tonight, and your sisters will attend to you periodically, just as Violet did. And just think, petite—when the period of your display is at an end, you will be free to play with the Dominants of your choice. Those Dominants with a serious interest in you will be free to approach me with their inquiries about becoming your Master.'
Hermione felt a queer sense of unreality. She had come here today expecting to be chastised and perhaps even punished, but instead, she felt as if she were being praised and rewarded, even if her reward seemed a touch anxiety-producing.
'I thought you would be angry with me for asking Professor Snape out on a date,' she admitted.
Claudius nodded. 'And had it been any other man you had asked out, I would have been unhappy with your behaviour. But you have opened yourself to me, Hermione. I know the place Master Severus occupies in your heart and in your hopes. It would be unreasonable in the extreme for me to expect you to pass up such an opportunity to connect with the man you love. From this time forward, I have no rules for you where he is concerned, save for the two orgasms a week restriction. If you have the opportunity, you may do as you will with Master Severus, providing you do not exceed your orgasm limit for the week.'
Hermione didn't know she was going to do it until she lunged impetuously at Claudius and clasped her arms about his neck. He accepted her embrace, pulling her gently into his lap, where she perched, her face pressed to his neck.
'You're so good—so kind!' she cried, tears of thankfulness wet against his skin.
He rocked her comfortingly. 'My objective is to see you in a life of happy submission, Hermione, not to exert my control and authority for the sake of my ego.' With the tips of his fingers, he moved the escaped unruly strands of brown hair from her tear-damp cheeks and looked into her eyes. 'I told you in the beginning that I could not promise you a successful outcome with Master Severus. That is still true. I do not know his plans where you are concerned. But Hermione, please know that if things do not work out for you with him, Violet and I would be honoured to have you here, as part of our family.'
Hermione looked up into the handsome, sober face of the man who had given her so very much of himself, and she felt her heart turn over in her chest.
'I know you would come to us as a second choice, at best, but I do not despair of being able to make you happy, given time and opportunity.' He smiled, a crooked, tender smile which exposed the first crack of vulnerability Hermione had ever seen in his smooth facade. 'Violet and I care for you deeply, petite, and we know you are fond of us. We've never offered another trainee a place with us before. You would make us very happy if you made your offer of submission to me.'
Hermione continued to gaze, dumbfounded, into the grey eyes of the man—the loving, giving Dominant—in whose arms she was cradled. A vision of herself, in bed between Claudius and Vi, receiving the attention of both of them, curled through her lower abdomen with the warmth of low-burning coals, and she became acutely aware of the breadth of his chest, the strength of his arms, and the hardening length of him beneath her bum. She ached with want, but she realised it was not desire for this man as much as it was desire for a touch other than her own. She felt an obligation to Master Claudius, but her whole being ached for Severus Snape.
'Thank you, sir,' she said, lifting her face to kiss his cheek. 'I won't forget what you've said.'
He smiled again and assisted her to rise to her feet. 'Good girl,' he said. 'We'll discuss your debut more tomorrow. Now, go wash up for dinner. I don't know about you, but I'm very hungry.'
It was two weeks before she saw Professor Snape again. She was a bit late leaving her office one afternoon, and as she entered the ministry Atrium, he was at the other end, queuing before the exit Floos. She hurried as fast as she could across the vast Atrium to reach him, but she arrived at the gilded fireplace after he had climbed into it. As she stared into his face, the Floo Powder hit the flames, turning them bright green, and his eyes locked with hers just before he spun away.
Her knees felt weak from mere eye contact, and she wished she had arrived soon enough to hear him name his destination. Then, she could have followed him...
Not, of course, that she would have followed him home, uninvited.
Would she?
She wondered why he had been at the Ministry and where he was staying, now that the summer hols had begun. Roissy House? Hogwarts?
But most importantly, she wondered if he would be present at the next party weekend, when she would make her debut and be placed on display. What if he did not attend? What if she was there without him when her display period was over and she was supposed to choose a Dominant to play with? Could she decline the playing and think of another way to reach her former Master? She pondered these questions often, then calmed and centred herself as Master Claudius had taught her to do, seeking and finding the balance that permitted her to endure the wait until the July party weekend with grace.
There was a large tearoom at the Ministry of Magic, where the employees could spend their lunch and tea breaks. There were pots of tea and coffee available at no charge, and cakes, tarts, and other simple fare available for purchase for those who did not bring their own food.
Hermione invariably spent her lunch breaks in the tearoom with a sandwich, a cup of tea, and a book. Tom and Patty, her co-workers, occasionally persuaded her to set her book aside and chat, but most often, she sat alone with her book and her thoughts.
It was on a Friday in mid-July when she was stirred from her solitary meal by a familiar voice.
'May I join you?'
Hermione jerked her head up and saw Severus Snape standing across the table from her, a tray bearing a cup of tea and a slice of shepherd's pie in his hands. His hair had been trimmed since last she had seen him, just brushing his shoulders, now. He wore new robes, black with a faint chalky pin-stripe, over a smart new severely tailored black coat. His boots were buffed to a mirror shine beneath the faultless crease of his black trousers.
'Miss Granger?'
Her eyes rose to his, which were gleaming with something perilously akin to mockery.
'Please,' she said, pulling her book and teacup closer, as if to make room for him.
He settled across from her, and she watched him without breathing, fearful that the least movement on her part would dispel the solidity of the wizard across from her into a mist of smoke. He took up his fork and glanced at her again.
'I trust you've been well?' he said neutrally. 'You certainly appear well.' He took a bite of his food.
'Yes, very well—thank you, sir,' she answered, pleased that she sounded as she normally did, rather than as excited as she felt. 'And you? Have you been well?'
He sipped from his teacup. 'Quite, thank you,' he answered. He took another bite of shepherd's pie, and when he had swallowed it, he wiped his mouth and spoke again. 'Your work is progressing, I see, if the Prophet can be believed.'
Hermione nodded. 'Yes, we're pleased with the first stage of integration. There have been some bugs, but that's only to be expected.'
He quirked an eyebrow. 'What an imprecise field is your Information Technology,' he said, his tone bearing a trace of a taunt. 'I am surprised you are able to adapt to such an inexact science—after all, how is a know-it-all meant to function in a world where "bugs" are permitted to exist?'
Hermione found herself watching and listening to him in a way she had been unable to achieve before her formal submissive training. Breathing with deliberate slowness, feeling her centre beneath her like a steadying foundation, she was able to recognise his mockery as a ploy to unsettle her. Focussing on her serenity, she responded to his remark with a tranquil smile.
'What sort of challenge is to be found in a subject where all of the questions have already been answered?' she replied lightly, darting a glance at him from beneath her lashes. After all, where was it written than a serene woman must not be flirtatious?
She was rewarded by the way his black gaze settled on her face, his expression arrested. She lowered her eyes to the table surface and watched the slow deliberation with which he replaced his cup in its saucer.
'Indeed,' he said, and a thrill of possibility rippled wildly down her spine, drawing an involuntary, breathy exhalation from her. Feeling as if a cage full of butterflies had been set loose in her stomach, she raised her face to his and their eyes locked.
'Indeed,' he said again, drawing the word out in his low-pitched, silky voice, as if he were answering her look rather than her statement.
And as if guided by an otherworldly spirit, Hermione rose from her seat, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the wisest course now was to walk away, leaving him wondering ... and, Circe willing, wanting ... more.
'Enjoy your lunch, sir,' she said.
As if responding to a lesson too deeply ingrained to resist, the professor stood as well. Smiling radiantly up into his flabbergasted face, Hermione dropped the merest ghost of a curtsy and left him alone with his tea and shepherd's pie.
That weekend at Roissy House passed much as the last two had done, with Hermione practicing her 'display' routine each day, complete with Vi's ministrations and Master Claudius' intent, expressionless eyes upon her for the entire time. In her long stretches of immobile inactivity, she reflected that though he had done nothing to cross the line she had drawn between psychological and sexual Domination at the beginning of her training with him, the charming, handsome man appeared more frequently, now, and Hermione could easily see how a woman could come to love him.
'Hermione?' Vi said that Sunday morning as the two girls sat in the Roissy House nursery, Vi with Marcus at her breast and Hermione knitting little green booties.
'Hmm?' Hermione responded, her head bent over her knitting.
'Did Master speak to you about coming to live with us?'
Hermione heard the tentative, almost shy tone in Vi's voice, and she gave the other girl her full attention. 'Yes, he did,' she answered carefully.
Vi smiled at her. 'I just wanted you to know that I would be very happy if you offered your submission to him—oh, only if things didn't work out with Master Severus, of course.'
Hermione nodded gravely. 'I can't tell you how touched I was when he told me,' she said honestly. 'I had always thought he mostly disapproved of me.'
Vi shifted Marcus onto her shoulder and began to pat his back. 'Oh, he did,' she said softly, 'but it's because he has no use for politics, and he didn't understand your involvement in the Order of the Phoenix. Now that the war's over, and he knows you better, it all makes more sense to him. He admires all you did to bring down You-Know-Who.'
Hermione bit her lip. 'The thing I don't understand, Vi, is how you can bear to share him.'
Vi laughed softly. 'I knew when I offered myself to him that Master Claudius prefers to have two submissives,' she said. 'He had two submissives when I first met him, but one decided to get married and moved away to Derbyshire, and the other asked for her release soon afterwards, because she, too, wanted to marry and have a family. At that time, you see, Master had no desire for those things.'
Hermione watched Vi's pretty face, amazed that her friend could remain so serene while discussing her predecessors. 'How long have you been with him?' she asked.
'Six years,' Vi said. 'We've trained a fair few submissives in that time, but I've never found another girl I would want to share our lives. You see, I trust you, Hermione. I trust you not to try to exclude me.'
'Oh, no!' Hermione said, surprised. 'No one could exclude you—he loves you too much.'
'I know he does,' Vi agreed, settling the sleeping Marcus in his cot. 'And I know that you love Master Severus,' she added, turning to look down at Hermione. 'But I wanted you to know that I agree with the offer Master made to you. It would make me happy for you to come to complete our family.'
Hermione set her knitting aside and stood to embrace Vi. 'Thank you,' she murmured into the soft blond hair of her friend. 'I don't know what I've done to deserve so much kindness.'
And they stood together in the nursery, giving and taking comfort from one another.
The Tuesday morning before the July party weekend, Hermione was late to work. The Atrium was strangely deserted as she hurried across the floor. She had overslept and was in a mad rush as she dashed into the lift and punched the button for the seventh level. Small lavender paper airplanes fluttered about above her head as she jabbed impatiently at the button and pulled her compact from her handbag, distractedly applying the lipstick she had had no time to put on before she left her flat. She was therefore otherwise occupied when the lift doors finally began to close, only to be stopped at the last moment by an imperative hand and pushed resolutely open to allow another person to enter the lift.
'I was in a hurry!' she snapped crossly, snapping closed her compact at the same time. 'Couldn't you have waited?' She shoved the plastic case into her bag and turned to face the interloper.
'Why should I wait?'
Severus Snape stared down into her face, his expression unreadable, and as the lift shuddered into motion, he insolently held her gaze and reached without looking to press the button to stop the lift between floors.
'What are you doing?' Hermione demanded, her heart slamming about in her chest as if it had been somehow dislocated, her breath coming in gasping pants.
He did not answer but stepped closer, moving into her personal space, driving her to retreat, which she did, until she felt the lift wall at her back. Still, he crowded closer, until they almost touched, and Hermione pushed the back of her head against the cool metal wall of the lift, watching him in shock and awe. How did he dare to press her so?
He stared at her with black eyes so dark that the iris was indistinguishable from the pupil. The scent of his aftershave permeated her senses, flooding her mind with memories and her body with arousal, until she felt her nipples crinkle against the cotton of her bra as heat pooled in her lower abdomen. Then he moved his face closer, as if he would kiss her mouth, and her lips parted in anticipation.
'Where are you hurrying off to?' he murmured, the peppermint of his toothpaste puffing across her face as his eyes lazily travelled her features.
'W-work,' she managed, and one long-fingered hand rose, and the tips of his fingers ghosted along her cheek.
'Still so soft,' he said quietly, and Hermione thrilled to the sheer want in his voice, so clear and acute that she felt it like a blow to her midriff, impeding her breathing. 'What are you doing out, wandering about, hmm?' he asked, the same fingertips now stroking up her throat. 'Shouldn't you be—' chained to a bed somewhere? his eyes plainly said 'otherwise occupied?'
Her lips parted again to answer him, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, and this drew from him a groaning sigh. The hand at her throat cupped her chin as the pad of his thumb traced her lower lip, then dipped inside to run over her saliva-slick inner lip, a sensation not unlike the feel of his finger teasing the desire-slick lip of her inner labia.
Her quim ached for him.
'You like this, don't you?' he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone, his eyes like inky pools in whose depths she could easily, willingly drown. 'You like it when I put you against the wall and whisper filthy things in your ear.'
The stroking of his thumb, back and forth across her inner lower lip, was both arousing and hypnotic; she could not vocalise an answer, but she gave a minute nod of her head, taking care not to disrupt his thumb.
'This reminds me of touching you … elsewhere,' he breathed, softly emphasising the last word, and Hermione moaned in her throat, as if he had, indeed, rubbed her clitoris. He smiled a predatory smile, his eyes glittering wickedly in the weak light of the oil lamps. 'I wonder what the filthy girl is wearing beneath her oh-so-proper skirt?' he mused, and then his thumb dipped deeper, past the barrier of her lower teeth, to touch her tongue.
Hermione could not help herself. Her lips closed hungrily about the invading thumb and her eyes closed and she suckled, laving the digit with her tongue, wishing it were his cock instead.
'That's right,' he breathed, moving his thumb slowly back and forth between her lips. 'Suck it.'
She continued the suckling and the slight bobbing her of head, completely unconscious of the vague movement of her hips, in time with her head, her deprived quim in search of something to rub against.
'I wonder what you're thinking about, little slut,' he mused, his voice between a taunt and a caress. Then he abruptly removed his thumb, and she opened her mouth to protest, her eyes opening as well.
'Wha—' she began, but he stepped back from her then, and she swayed forward, as if in protest.
'Let's see what's under the skirt,' he said again, as if it were the most reasonable request imaginable, and feeling somewhat dazed, Hermione allowed her handbag to drop to the floor and grasped the fabric of her skirt in both hands. 'That's right,' he purred, his black eyes moving from her hands to her face and back again, as the lift alarm bell began to ring.
Hermione's eyes opened wide, and it dawned on her that she was preparing to flash her former professor in a Ministry of Magic lift.
'Don't stop now, filthy girl,' he said caressingly. 'It will take them ten minutes to get the doors open—plenty of time for you to show me what you want me to see—and you do want it, don't you, Hermione?'
She swallowed, the anxiety-producing alarm raising the stakes in this game, increasing her heart rate as well as her desire, slicking both the palms of her hands and the swollen lips of her cunt. 'Yes,' she whispered, inching the skirt up until her tights and her plain white cotton knickers were clearly visible.
'What?' he said, his eyes flicking from her crotch to her face. 'No stockings and suspenders? What an odd little slut you are, wearing these schoolgirl things.'
Hermione bit her lip to keep from saying what she was thinking, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. How many seconds had passed since the bell began to ring? Would she be caught in this compromising, humiliating position by fellow Ministry workers? Oh, she wanted him to stop talking and do something!
He stepped closer again, his eyelids at half-mast, his voice barely above a whisper. He bent his head, his black hair swinging forward to caress the side of her face as he spoke into her ear. 'What do you want, filthy girl?' he asked, and even more than before, his familiar, beloved voice caressed the degrading name. 'Do you want to—' his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, sending an audible shudder down her body '—come for me?'
She gasped, her hands reaching to clutch him, but he easily captured her wrists and stretched her arms above her head.
'Do you want it?' he hissed. 'Time is running out, girl!'
'Yes!' she cried, and he released her wrists, simultaneously stepping back.
'Pull down your tights and your knickers and let me see you,' he said, and as she frantically tucked the front of her skirt in its waistband, as she had done so many times in his study at Hogwarts, he squatted before her, his face on level with her quim. 'Faster!' he urged.
In a fever of want, she grabbed her underthings and yanked them down furiously, inadvertently tearing a hole in the tights. As she bent, her face was close to the top of his head, and for a second, his eyes left her naked quim to look in her eyes. Then she was upright again, quivering in her frantic need, with the alarm bell ringing and ringing, seeming to grow louder. For an endless time, he inspected her nether parts, then he was standing, crowding her again against the wall.
'I can smell your wet cunt, you filthy girl,' he hissed, pressing a leg against her needy crotch. 'You want me to push you up against the wall and say filthy things and make you come, don't you? Don't you?'
Hermione humped against his leg. 'Please!' she moaned. 'Please!'
'Do it,' he said inexorably, taking her hand and forcing it between their bodies so that it passed over the iron rod of his erection until her fingers touched her labia. 'Finger yourself. Come for me.'
'Touch me!' she begged, reaching for him with her free hand, but he caught that hand in an iron grasp.
'Touch yourself,' he reiterated, and the thumb she had sucked like a cock touched her lips again.
Her lips parted, and he ran the pad of his thumb along her wet inner lip. Desperately, she touched her clitoris, and a guttural sound escaped her.
'Good girl,' he breathed, pinning the hand he held over her head as he slid his finger along the wetness in her mouth. 'I'll finger your mouth, and you finger your clit—I want you to come for me, Hermione.'
Her head sagged back against the wall as she wriggled her fingers deeper into her slit, gathering the pool of lubrication her body had made in anticipation of receiving his thick cock—More fool you, stupid cunt! she thought wildly—and spreading the slickness up, rolling her nubbin beneath her fingertips, her eyes glazed with desire.
'Yes,' he said, watching her face, his eyes burning and insistent, as was his voice. 'Imagine my thumb is my tongue and your mouth is your cunt—and come for me.'
She rubbed herself in a circular motion, the heel of her hand pressed hard against her pelvic bone as her hips jerked and her fingers danced on her clitoris. Gazing helplessly into his rapacious face, she felt herself falling, falling for him, though she remained in place, masturbating in a public lift at his command.
'Filthy, dirty, beautiful girl,' he crooned, and his thumb and index finger were sucked into her greedy mouth, her tongue engaged in an orgy of caresses with the teasing, grasping digits. 'They're outside, Hermione—do you hear them?' he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. 'They're going to pry the doors open and find you here with your knickers at your knees and your fingers buried in your hot little cunt. Do you think they'll pull out their cocks and wank while they watch you?'
Lost to all reality, she moaned as she writhed, her eyes closed, her entire being wrapped up in the stimulus of him, his eyes, his voice, his fingers, and she pleasured herself shamelessly.
'No more malingering, little slut,' he said. 'Do as I command you, Hermione—come for me now!'
And the tip of his tongue flicked into her ear as he pressed his leg roughly against her busy hand. An explosion of light strobed behind her closed eyes as she orgasmed, an unuttered cry trapped in her throat by the fingers receiving a fucking from her tongue.
'Good girl,' he said, releasing her wrist and encircling her with his free arm as the aftershocks shuddered through her body. 'Filthy, nasty, dirty girl,' he said, retrieving his fingers from her mouth and pressing her face, now streaked with tears, against his scratchy wool coat.
'I'll get you out! Don't panic!'
The voice shouted from a distance, and the lift began to creak and shake protestingly.
'Here—allow me.'
Hermione opened her eyes, dimly aware of her location and her state of dishabille, watching in some bemusement as her former Master tenderly drew her fingers from her quim and placed them in his mouth, his eyes closing in a near-orgasmic expression as he sucked her secretions from them. Then the lift began to rise, and he was on his knees.
'These are clearly unnecessary,' he said, magically removing her knickers and tucking them away in his pocket. Then he deftly pulled her tights up and smoothed her skirt down. He pressed her handbag into the hand still wet from her juices and his saliva and turned away from her just as the lift doors slid open.
'Are you all right, sir, ma'am?' asked the pimply young man wearing the navy blue robes of the Magical Maintenance team. 'I don't know why the lift stalled—terribly sorry for the inconvenience!'
Severus Snape drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the hapless young man. 'See that it doesn't happen again, Hopkins,' he snapped, exiting the lift and striding impatiently down the corridor without a backward glance.
The young man, whose ruddy face Hermione recognised from Hogwarts—hadn't he been in Hufflepuff?—stared at the departing wizard with his mouth agape. 'I say—was that Professor Snape?'
Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, noting that it still smelled of her cunt, even after he had sucked her fingers greedily in his mouth. 'Yes, it certainly was,' she agreed. And walking past Hopkins, she trudged to the stairwell, as if unwilling to risk the lift again.
In truth, she needed the time to savour the experience. When she finally arrived at her office, she glanced at the little ormolu clock on her desk, realising her entire episode in the lift with the professor had taken less than fifteen minutes.
