Chapter 8
Severus picked up his wand from the surface of his desk and cast a cleansing charm at his penis, and Miss Granger's hand, which was still wrapped around his shaft as if she wasn't quite sure what to do next.
Once he had cleaned all traces of his frantically-sought orgasm, she unfurled her fingers and withdrew her hand, pushing herself to stand up by leaning on each of his bare knees. Granger stood before him, like the most delectable treat in that tiny vest and shorts, her wild hair bouncing around her shoulders and down her back. He wanted to wrap his hand in it and pull her face to his, to snog her deeply and passionately like a desperate teenager.
Even though the desperation and sheer agony of his heightened compulsion had passed, a low thrum of desire was still present, and Merlin, he desired her.
"I thank you for relieving my distress, Granger. But I fear that the ramifications of your actions will cost us both dearly."
"I don't care. You were suffering greatly, and I had the means to help you."
"You care too much. I advised you that the more you relieve the symptoms of the compulsion curse, the more you will be compelled to seek relief. It is a perfect, never-ending circle of exquisite torture, which can only be satisfactorily controlled if the two victims are in a regular and consensual sexual relationship."
To his surprise, she shrugged.
"I will do what needs to be done. It wasn't exactly difficult, Sir."
His eyebrows flew up into his hairline at her words. What did she mean by that?
"For now, Granger," he replied, choosing his words carefully, "I suggest that you return to bed. My chamber is at your disposal, since we have no choice but for you to spend a lengthy amount of time here tonight, since the Death Eaters present are aware of the strong curse cast upon me, and will expect me to use you to satisfy it."
She did not answer, but turned and walked across the room to the open door in the wood panelling that led to his private bedchamber. He could not help but watch her little arse as she walked, barely contained in the shorts, and thought how very much he would like to bite into one of those peach-like cheeks.
"Don't forget to ward the door," he called, as she stepped through.
He could have sworn that he heard her tut as she closed the door. Little chit. Belatedly, he realised that he was still sitting in his chair with his trousers and shorts around his ankles, his naked and now very limp penis hanging out in a most unappetising manner. He stood and pulled them both up, fastening his trousers and stretching the cramps from his legs.
The pain and anguish of a few minutes ago was completely relieved, and he was forced to guiltily admit that he felt fantastic. Severus wasn't sure he'd ever wanted or needed to come as badly as he had done, under the effects of a double compulsion curse, and the intense pleasure he had felt as he'd spilled over her small hand wrapped around his cock had been immeasurable.
What about the next time?
Surely this had to be a one-time only situation. He had already touched Granger far more in the last two weeks that he ever had over the preceding seven years, and had just allowed her, a student, to wank him to orgasm in his very own desk chair. Admittedly, it had been a desperate situation, suffused as he was with the additional curse, but they would simply have to return to their original plan, because the alternative was unthinkable.
Severus sat down, rolled his chair under the desk and summoned a pile of parchments and several leather-bound ledgers towards him. If he was unable to access his bedchamber, he would work, instead.
-xxx-
Hermione entered Professor Snape's private bedchamber for the second time that evening, padding across the thick green rug, past the bed and through an open door that beckoned into a bathroom beyond that was already dimly lit.
She couldn't help but be surprised at the beautiful, sumptuous room – containing not only the toilet and sink that she was seeking, but also an enormous circular bathtub, sunk into the floor with a dozen taps, each one ornately wrought from different metals. Across from that there was a huge shower area, enclosed on three sides with stone walls.
Letting out a low whistle as she used the loo, she admired the room, supposing that it was the Headmasters' privilege to have such a luxurious bathroom.
She was distracting herself from what had just happened by admiring the interior décor. Hermione could not get away from the fact that she had just masturbated Professor Snape to a roaring climax and he had come all over her hand – and she had liked it. It had made her feel a raw power that she had not experienced before.
It was the compulsion, of course, for she was hardly attracted to Snape, of all wizards, but for the first time she had touched a penis it hadn't gone at all badly.
Thus far, her sexual experience was limited to a few snogs with Viktor Krum in fourth year, and a few more when she had visited him in Bulgaria the following summer. Much to Viktor's disappointment, she'd balked when he had touched her breast over her blouse, and once she returned to England their communication had ceased almost entirely, apart from the requisite seasonal greetings.
Ron Weasley had kissed her. They'd destroyed the Hufflepuff cup that had been a Horcrux with a Basilisk fang, and had been overcome by the all-consuming sensations, hidden deep in the claustrophobic environs of the Chamber of Secrets. It had been a beautiful kiss, full of love, tenderness, and the promise of a thousand more. They'd both laughed awkwardly afterwards, despite the intensity of the situation.
She looked in the mirror above the sink as she washed her hands, and saw a few tears spring from her eyes and roll slowly down her cheeks.
Oh, Ron! How can you not be here?
Who knows where their relationship would have led, had Ron lived – had he not been cut down in his prime whilst doing something so noble as attempting to save his mother?
Hermione splashed water on her face to remove the tears, and patted herself dry with a soft, dark green towel that was hanging on a metal ring by the sink. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she re-entered the bedchamber, and climbed back into the huge four-poster bed that dominated the room. She felt tiny in it, and couldn't deny it was extremely comfortable.
The pillows smelt of Professor Snape, and she supposed it was what his hair must smell like. Not unpleasant at all. It had a familiar, reassuring scent, and she nestled her face against one of them. Moving around in the bed to get comfortable, something touched her hand, and she grabbed hold of it, pulling it out from under the covers.
It was an old nightshirt, crumpled from wear, that must have been pushed under the quilt the last time he wore it. Before she could think about the good sense of what she was doing, she drew the faded grey garment to her nose and inhaled deeply, her olfactory nerves assaulted by the scent of his body. Her stomach lurched with the now-familiar pull of the compulsion, and she lay back against the pillows, looking up at the dark green canopy above, the nightshirt held against her face.
Hermione felt a pulse between her thighs, and opened her legs wider to accommodate it, sprawling herself across the mattress, and undulating her hips in tight little circles as if to try and dissipate the strange feeling, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. She quite liked it.
She closed her eyes, breathing in his smell and feeling a definite dampening in her pyjama shorts. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have a wizard's penis inside of you? She had yet to find out. Would it hurt so very badly? Or would it be a quick pain as you tore, and then pleasure? She remembered how Snape's had looked, large and purple in her hand as she'd rubbed him. How would that feel, pushing inside her?
A sudden flash of her dark professor above her in this very bed, with his long raven hair hanging down as he pounded into her, caused her gut to turn over with a vicious flop, and the pulse between her legs increased in speed and pressure, like a second heartbeat thumping in her crotch.
Hermione had rarely explored herself further than a mildly-curious poke and prod in her bedroom at home, never in her dormitory at school, and to be honest, she'd been far too busy keeping control of Harry and Ron and making revision timetables to think about her own sexual needs. But now? Now she felt the need.
Slipping her hand down the top of her floral shorts, she extended two fingers down towards her labia, seeking the little bud that she knew would be there, although the pulsing seemed to be coming from lower down.
No sooner had she touched her clitoris, the sharp zap of a dark hex burned her fingers, and sent a stab of pain running through her genital area. Ouch!
This was no doubt Voldemort's piece de la resistance; the compulsion would arouse her, but the hex would prevent her from seeking even the smallest amount of relief from her own hand.
Oh, fucking hell.
Would this dissipate if she left it alone, forced herself to think of something else? She began to recite the twelve uses of dragons' blood, amused as always that the final one was in fact oven cleaner, but the memory of Professor Snape's erect, needy cock hovered around the edges of her psyche like a looming spectre.
She felt empty. She felt aroused. She felt … alone.
For the second time that night, and goodness knows what time it was now, Hermione quietly left the Headmaster's giant bed and stole across the green rug towards the chamber door, opening it without a sound, and tiptoeing across the office towards him.
Snape was seated at his desk, a quill held loosely in his hand and parchments spread out before him. He was leaning fully back in his chair, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, emitting light snores through his large nose. His white shirt was only partly fastened, although she noted that he had put his trousers back on.
"Professor?"
-xxx-
"Professor?"
His eyes were open in a split-second, and his mind was awake in a second more. Granger was standing by the side of his desk, still in those tiny pyjamas, the moon still high in the night sky. He raised an eyebrow at her. What was she doing out of the bedroom again?
"Sir … please."
Please what? What was she asking for?
He saw her body shiver and tremble in the chilly air, and realised that he knew exactly what was the matter with her. It was laughable that he'd thought that her touching of his most intimate skin would not affect her own compulsion, even though it was lesser than his own.
"Are you compelled?"
She nodded.
Damn it all to hell.
It had been too much to hope for that their contact earlier would not have affected her. At her admittance, he felt his own, double-strength, compulsion, stir again.
"Do you wish for me to assist you?"
Granger stared at him, as if she wanted to answer but was scared to do so. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded, again.
He picked up his wand and waved it over the desk, sweeping all the books and parchments to one side, and casting a cushioning charm over the remaining surface. Then, he rolled his chair back a little, and indicated that she should stand in front of him, in the space between his chair and the desk.
To his amazement, she moved there immediately, and stood before him, visibly shaking with the compulsion that was no doubt tearing its way through her body. If he carried on, if he assisted her, he'd no doubt give himself another dose, too. But this was not about him. This was about a young witch who had lost so much and had suffered so greatly. She needed help, and he was the only one who could provide it. He must do what needed to be done.
Severus lifted his hands to her waist, taking hold of her floral shorts, and tugged on them, bringing them slowly over her hips, revealing her mound, and pulled them down to her knees, where they fell the rest of the way to the floor. She stepped out of them, unbidden, and he watched her intently, not able to pull his staring eyes away from her most private area, for she wore no knickers beneath her pyjamas.
"Lay down," he murmured, his voice low and instructive, and hopefully calming.
She sat on the edge of the desk and leaned back, laying herself down on the top, which was long and wide enough to support her from her head to her knees, and she would be comfortable on the charmed surface. He could see her stomach rippling and trembling, and he placed the flat of his hand upon it, eliciting first a gasp, but then a relieved exhale of breath. Her compulsion knew that its target was there, and providing it with the attention it craved.
When her breathing had slowed, he removed his hand from her belly and placed one hand on each of her knees, slowly opening her legs as he rolled his seat forwards, approaching her exposed pussy and settling a bare foot on each arm of the large, wide Headmasters' chair.
He heard a small sob. She was crying.
"Granger?"
"I'm … I'm sorry, Sir. It's just, I've never … um, never …"
"Do not say any more. I shall take care of you."
He turned his attention, as if his eyes had ever left it, to her luscious cunt, which was there for his delectation but a mere few inches from his face. He hated himself for drawing pleasure from her agony, but with his own compulsion, and the sheer allure of this beautiful young witch spread before him, he had little chance of thinking otherwise.
Trailing his fingers slowly up the soft skin of her inner thighs, his long fingers reached her pussy, stroking her outer lips gently, getting her accustomed to the new feeling. Her sobs quieted, and were replaced by the sound of shallow breathing, and the odd gasp, especially when he slipped his fingers between her labia and began to open her, spreading her wider, looking for the hidden secrets within.
Her clitoris was already swollen and aroused, much like his cock had been earlier, and without thinking too much about the good sense of what he was doing, he leaned forwards and began to lick it, circling his tongue around the hard little bud whilst keeping her splayed open with his hands.
A squeak of pleasure from above told him that she liked his touch, and this erotic thought alone, the thought that he pleased her, caused him to deepen his kissing of her pussy, attaching his mouth around as much of her genital area as he could, sweeping his tongue along all her inner walls, and as she began to writhe, pushing it inside her vagina, drinking all the potent juice she had been making.
If only this were real! If only his tongue had really been invited deep inside Hermione Granger's willing cunt, sucking her orgasm closer and closer, instead of the fake desire caused by the compulsion. He could never land a witch like this for his own if he lived to be two hundred.
Severus was astounded to feel a hand scrabbling in his hair, threading her fingers through the limp strands and clutching a handful, as if trying to force him deeper inside her. He redoubled his efforts, urged on by her enthusiasm, opening his mouth wide and attacking her clit with a maddening flicking motion of his tongue, her little screams driving him faster.
As her hips began to rise from the surface of the desk, he knew he had her, but did not cease his attentions until she had crested her hill and fallen over the edge of her climax. His tongue swept around and inside her vagina as it oozed the silky clear fluid that tasted purely of her. He was already drunk on the exquisitely sweet taste.
Once he had removed his mouth, he could not resist pulling her labia apart and watching the heaving pulse of her cunt as her orgasm died down. What he wouldn't give to stick his worthless cock in her, right there across his desk. At the thought, said cock twitched painfully in his trousers.
-xxx-
Hermione sat up as soon her head stopped spinning, and feeling the wet mush that was now her crotch squish on the desk top, she quickly stood up instead, rather than remain on the hard surface, standing between Snape and the desk. He had pushed back his chair to allow her to stand, and was now slouched back in it, rubbing at one of his temples with the tips of two fingers, and his mouth was glistening with her juices that he had not seen fit to wipe away.
She picked up his wand, for hers was in the bedchamber where she had left it.
"May I?"
He waved a vague hand to indicate, go ahead.
Hermione cast a cleaning charm between her legs to tidy up the moisture that was now making her thighs feel wet and sticky. He watched her intently, his black eyes focused entirely between her legs. It made her feel admired, until she remembered that he was magically compelled, as she was.
Casting another cleaning charm at his face, for it was making her feel awkward to look at her own emissions smeared around her professor's lips, she then handed him back his own wand, which he took, and began to roll it thoughtfully between his long fingers, as if he was surprised it had worked for her.
"Thank you for helping me, Sir."
He sighed, deeply, his eyes flicking away from her and looking at something unknown across the room.
"I am not sure that either of us have helped one another in the long run, Miss Granger."
"I was thinking …"
"Yes?"
"We have a difficult path ahead of us, Sir. We cannot rid ourselves of this curse until we eliminate Voldemort, or somehow persuade him to lift it from us. Since the chances of that are slim to none, I suggest we proceed with our plan to locate the other Order members, and regarding the curse, I think we should just … do what needs to be done."
"Are you suggesting that we allow the curse to repeatedly force us into unwanted sexual congress?"
"Do you have a better suggestion?" she demanded. "Because the agony you were in earlier looked pretty incapacitating. Plus, the Death Eaters in the castle expect to see you with me, using me. Wouldn't it be easier to just … do it? For that reason, and for our own comfort and relief from the symptoms of the curse?"
"You are an innocent. Under normal circumstances, you would never have chosen me."
"I am a virgin; however, I am not innocent, I've seen and experienced too much for that. And under normal circumstances my friends would be alive, my family would not be lost to me, and an insane fucking madman would not be ruling the wizarding world. We have only what is here now, Professor. And let us not forget, you would never have chosen me, either."
I'd have chosen you every time, he thought, not that you'd ever have looked that way at an old scrote like me.
"Your logic is, of course, impeccable, you over-achieving little chit."
She smiled at him, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"I'm so tired. I need to sleep."
"By all means, be my guest," he replied, waving his hand to indicate the bedchamber door through which he had already sent her through twice that evening.
"You should come too. You also need sleep."
"That is inappropriate. I shall remain out here."
"Don't be a martyr, Sir, it doesn't suit you. I think we have become intimately acquainted enough tonight that we may share a frankly enormous bed without too much trouble."
He arched one quizzical, dark eyebrow in such a way that it made him look rather sexy.
A little devilish, and a lot dangerous, but unquestionably sexy. How very curious. She reached down to pick up her pyjama shorts from the floor.
"Leave them," he growled, standing up and taking a firm, definitive hold of her hand, leading her towards his bedchamber.
