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Hermione ran her fingers along the spines of the books with a small sigh of pleasure. The cool, nubbly leather beneath her fingers was one of her favourite feelings, and being released into a new library, filled with advanced texts and treatises gave her a frisson of excitement. Of course, she’d first been shown this library, this sanctuary of Severus’, on Christmas eve, but she’d had little enough time here that she was still just scratching the surface. She browsed past the wall of potions texts: heavy, leather bound books and delicate calfskin covered volumes, alongside polished wooden boxes of unbound periodicals. Two more walls were given over to a range of other subjects, whilst the last housed the fireplace.
Severus had pointed out to her the magical catalogue, but unless she wanted something specific, Hermione preferred to browse, to see what treasures Severus had acquired over his life. She pulled down an emerald-green book of younger futhark, setting it on the little pile on the table. Severus had left her alone in here after her first two visits, declaring that she took better care of books than he did, so she was in no need of babysitting. She hadn’t been able to control her smile at what she saw as a great compliment, and she’d been treated to the rare sight of a genuine smile from Severus in return. Not a smirk or a grimace or a leer, but a real, open smile. He’d spoiled the compliment a little by then saying that any really dangerous texts were locked in the cupboards, so she couldn’t really get into trouble. He’d pointed out the tall, narrow wooden cabinets at the corners. She reached one now as she came to the end of the run of books on runes. She slipped her fingers over the top cabinet, continuing her trail of sensory experience.
There was a slight creak, and the door opened under her fingers. She froze. The cupboard was open, the lock clicked back, Her heart gave a little quiver. She should just push the door fully closed again. She should pretend that it never happened, that she never even noticed. These were books that Severus didn’t want anyone to see. They were probably filled with dark magic, terrible spells and rituals and potions that would give her nightmares.
Hermione wasn’t someone who could walk away from a book without knowing what was in it.
The shelves in the cupboard weren’t filled like the ones open to the room. Instead, the top shelf was only half full of books, and the shelf below held a polished wooden box. She hesitated, her hand halfway to the shelf of books. There were no titles on the spines. She nibbled on her lower lip, then deciding that it wasn’t like she was stupid enough to be corrupted by a book. She was a rational, intelligent individual, for goodness sake! She took down the slimmest volume, bound in watered red silk, fibrous and cool in her hand. She flipped open to a random page.
Everything tensed. She reached out with her free hand to brace herself against the shelves behind her, stepping back until she could lean back on them. Her breath huffed out in one complete exhalation, and the blood rose in her cheeks. Quite a different fluid rushed to her nether regions.
Moving wizarding pictures played out across the pages of the books. Not photographs, but beautiful, detailed scenes sketched in pen and ink. A woman- the subject was clearly female, given the swell of her full, naked, breasts and the nipped in pen stroke of her waist- had her arms braced against a wall as a fully dressed man swung a flogger against her bottom. An ink-flush developed across her rounded buttocks.
Hermione turned the page, almost breathless. The woman stood, her arms bound behind her, thrusting her breasts forward almost obscenely. her legs were held wide, cuffed to either end of a bar between her ankles. Her… her lover, her tormentor? was behind her, supporting her weight as she leaned back against him. His head was dipped, his mouth beside her ear as if to whisper to her. One hand tugged at the swollen point of her nipple, and the other delved between her legs, his hand hidden in the shadows of her thighs.
Her breath coming fast and shallow, Hermione reached for another book in the cabinet, a thicker leather one this time. She peered at the title page. Erotomancy? She would never have suspected Severus to have an interest in sex magic.
The heavy tome on erotomancy had hidden a small cache of muggle paperbacks. Hermione stood on tiptoes to peruse them. The story of O she had heard of, and she suspected that The Sleeping Beauty trilogy was probably not the Perrault fairy tale. The others, she had never heard of before. She knew that she should just put the books back, close the cupboard, and pretend that she had never seen anything. But would Severus really noticed if some of them went temporarily… missing?
How many times had she fantasised about a shadowy man whispering filthy things in her ear, tying her up, even spanking her? She’d gleaned what knowledge she could about such things from passages in books, occasional short stories in some of her mother’s magazines, and had once found a paperback of spanking short stories wedged in her mother’s bedside table drawer. She’d been thirteen, just about the age where her peers were starting to sneak into each other’s dormitories, or find dusty classrooms to commence their sexual explorations. She’d had her first orgasm reading about a woman tied spread eagled and blindfolded whilst mysterious hands touched her, driving her to pleasure again and again.
With her heart thudding double-time in her chest, Hermione placed the heavy erotomancy tome back on the bookshelf and pushed the polished wooden door closed again. The picture book, though she slipped between the book of runes and another on the history of wizarding law, and hefted her mostly scholarly haul in her arms.
Severus was looking through his owl post in his living room. “Erm, I’m done for today,” she informed him.
He looked up with an arched eyebrow and a slight curve of his lip. “Are you enjoying what you find?” he asked. “I do try not to overlap with the Hogwarts library- there is, after all, little point on spending my galleons to read what I can for free.”
“I… I, erm, yes, it’s really interesting,” Hermione babbled. “I’m interested in the section you have in younger futhark, since we only ever learn elder futhark in class…”
Severus kept his face carefully impassive, but in his head he turned over her odd behaviour. Hermione Granger never stuttered or hesitated when asked about academic matters. She’d been confident and hungry for knowledge ever since she was drowning in her too-large robes in his first year classes. He’d complained that she was a bratty know-it-all, but, though he’d never admit it to anyone else, he was just envious. Envious that he hadn’t been confident enough to share his knowledge with his peers and teachers. Somehow, despite his barbed put-downs through the years, Hermione had never lost her surety.
He put down the scroll he’d been reading and reached for the pile in her arms, twitching the top book to see what it was. She was stock still, every muscle and joint locked tight.
It wasn’t the top book of her pile that made him do a double take. Beneath it was a slim volume bound in crimson silk. He only possessed one such book. He lifted the book of runes, then his album of erotic drawings. “And where, Miss Granger, did you find this?” he asked silkily. “I do believe I left it locked safely away.”
Hermione’s mouth was dry as the Sahara. “The… the cupboard was open,” she choked out.
“And do you make a habit of rifling through cupboards, Miss Granger?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. She looked shamefaced, and shook her head. Se was clearly terrified. “Before I allow you to take this away, Hermione, I need certain assurances from you,” he continued, more gently.
She looked up in surprise. She’d been expecting him to order her to leave, and certainly never to come back. He was going to let her borrow the book? “First,” he continued, “I am sure that you understand that, as a schoolmaster, no question of improper behaviour must besmirch my name. This is not to be shown around or discussed with your peers, most especially not if my name is mentioned. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione replied, wide eyed and with an emphatic nod.
“Secondly, and even more importantly… if you are wont to try any of the practices in this book, you must be very careful. This kind of relationship can only succeed if both partners communicate, and no one is forced into anything. Some of the… practices depicted here can be extremely dangerous if not done with due care and attention.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, debating the merits of asking the question. She was almost sure of the answer, but… “Are you interested in this kind of thing?” she asked quietly.
“I would have thought that obvious, Hermione,” he intoned. “Do I have your word that you will not allow harm to come to yourself or any of your fellow students with this fetish?”
“Erm, yes, Sir,” she whispered. He placed the books back into her arms.
“If you have any questions, seek advice,” was his final command, before he turned to open his door. Hermione scuttled out, all of the books clutched to her chest.
Severus shut the door heavily behind her, running a hand through his hair. He should have been more careful, he should have checked that he’d locked that cupboard last night… he groaned at the unbidden image of Hermione Granger bent over the arm of his chair, school skirt bunched at her waist and knickers around her ankles as he bottom pinkened with every strike… fuck ! He couldn’t think like that- she was a student, though an uncommonly intelligent one who wasn’t half bad looking now that she had tamed her teeth and discovered that a hairbrush wasn’t her best friend. He willed his hardening cock to wilt, trying to remember Hermione-the-eleven-year-old. But she was not eleven years old anymore, and he had to admit, that beneath her school robes, she had the body that he craved… he’d seen her in her tight-fitting jeans and a clinging t-shirt. He knew that she was lusciously curved, with breasts of just the right size, unless, of course, she wore a muggle padded brassiere… He groaned, gave up, and fumbled through his clothing for his cock.
Hermione had never tried to reach her room so fast before in her life. The book in her arms felt as if every student could see it, every person she passed knew exactly what she had. In truth, no one looked twice at the Head Girl dashing through the corridors clutching books- it would have been more unusual to see her without them. Quite aside from her rush to put the book somewhere no one else would find it, though, she couldn’t shake the image of Severus’ stern look coupled with his insistence that she be careful… it was as if he actually cared about her.
***
Four days later, Hermione dawdled packing her notes away after Potions. Severus had lectured on the uses of blood in potions for almost the entire lesson, and his throat was dry and scratchy. He noticed her carefully sliding her rolled parchment into her bag after even Weasley and Harriet had left. “Can I help you, Miss Granger?” he asked shortly.
Hermione’s head darted to the side to check they really were the last two in the classroom. Her throat was constricted with nerves, her intestines in knots. “I have some questions, Sir,” she said as confidently as she could. “I was hoping you could answer them.”
“Then why didn’t you ask during the lesson?” Severus asked short-temperedly.
“They’re not questions about potions,” she explained. “They’re about the… the book.”
His breath hitched slightly. “Very well, Miss Granger,” he said. “You may feel free to call upon me in my chambers after dinner this evening, although I shall be otherwise occupied from 8pm.” Merlin knew it would be difficult checking his Slytherin’s homework with a raging erection, so he hoped she would leave enough time for him to furiously wank before he needed to be in the common room. There was enough blood in his cock now to make the idea that he wouldn’t have an erection laughable. He cursed himself for his weakness. This was ridiculous.
“Thank you, Sir,” she replied, head slightly bowed. He looked at her sharply- where had she learnt that positioning? From the pictures? Was she trying to appear submissive for him? He had to suppress a groan at his own ridiculous thought- of course she wasn’t. She would never think of him in such a way- a beautiful young woman was not going to be interested in a man twice her age.
“You may go, Miss Granger,” he snapped, his fingers tight around his lecture notes. Not that he needed them anymore. He knew his subject inside and out after so many years of teaching it. Hermione looked startled, and was that… disappointment in her eyes? She fled, and he tried to think of the most dunderheaded of his fifth year class to remove the evidence of his arousal before the aforementioned class filed in.
He lectured them with only half his brain paying any attention, and when he set them to making a potion, it was luckily one with no potential terrifying reactions. He stood at the back of the classroom: it was enough to terrify them all into submission, and none of them could see what he was doing precisely nothing.
His hands may have been empty; his mind was not. He agonised. Should he have allowed her to take the book? Perhaps he should have taken it from her. He was her teacher, not her friend! There should be no hint of impropriety between them- he was her teacher! This was not a subject he was in any way supposed to be covering with students! What if he had driven her into the darker aspects of sexuality?
But she was of age, the rational part of his mind pointed out. There were no rules against the discussion of sexual practice between students and teachers, and as long as the student was of age, no rules against a sexual relationship between student and teacher, though he’d never heard of such a thing, and it would surely be frowned on universally. He gave a mental snort: as if Miss Granger would actually wish to sleep with him. He was being ridiculous. It was better, he reasoned, that she had her questions answered in a sensible, knowledgeable way, rather than ending up in an abandoned classroom somewhere with a Slytherin with a grudge and the transfiguration skills to make a cane. She could be seriously hurt. No. It was better that she was able to learn in a safe environment. That was the purpose of a teacher, was it not? To ensure that students had a safe space in which to learn their lessons. This was just a rather… unusual lesson.
The hours until the appointed time dragged for Hermione. She begged off a study session on arithmancy with Imogen, claiming a slight upset tummy. It took a surprising amount of courage to ask the dragon statue guarding his chambers to tell him she was here. Her voice sounded high even to her own ears. The dragon sprang aside: he was expecting her.
“Good evening, Sir,” she said quietly. He was in his big armchair, one leg tucked beneath him as he perused what appeared to be student essays, and his robes pulled tight against his other leg.
“Good evening, Miss Granger,” he replied formally. “Do make yourself comfortable. Would you care for a drink? There is tea in the pot if you would like some.”
He gestured to the big teapot on the hearth, and she set her bag by the sofa, crouching to fill a clean mug with amber tea, and a splash of milk from the jug, charmed to keep it cool. He finished scribbling through the last part of Abigael Murray’s lamentable attempt to explain the effects and efficacy of sleeping potions.
“May I sit?” Hermione asked when he set the scroll and his self-inking quill aside with a huff of relief.
He looked up at her in surprise. She was still standing beside the sofa. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I had thought that we might discuss your concerns as equals. You are of age now, and I admit, I find that I do not find you unpleasant to be around. Of course you may sit.”
She sank down onto the sofa. “I’m… I’m not sure I want to be your equal, sir,” she said, scraping up her courage.
Severus sat back with a frown. She couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like- could she? She couldn’t actually be propositioning him, a man twice her age? He kept his eyes firmly at her face. “You may call me Severus whilst in here, Hermione,” he said silkily. “You said that you had some questions? I can only presume they are regarding the material you found in my library.”
Her cheeks were starting to pinken, staining gently under his unrelenting gaze. “Erm, yes,” she admitted shyly.
He waited as the silence stretched. She fiddled with her teaspoon. “Well, get on with it,” he said eventually.
Hermione took a deep breath. She chased her other dreams; why shouldn’t she chase this one? “I’ve fantasised about the things I saw in that book for years,” she admitted. “I want to be the woman in that book. I want someone to teach me.”
She really was saying that she wanted him to dominate her? He summoned the teapot to refill his cup, stalling for time and something to occupy his hands. “You believe that you have submissive tendencies?” he confirmed. He was reasonably sure that that was what she meant, though if anyone had asked him before he’d found her with that book, he’d have sworn blind that straight-laced, scholarly Hermione Granger was as vanilla as they came. If not vanilla, then certainly the dominant partner. She was sure of herself in everything she did.
She nodded.
“I can provide you with more reading on the subject, if it something that interests you,” he said blandly, shifting to make sure the folds of his robes hid his decided interest in her .
“I’d like to read more about it,” she admitted, taking a large gulp of air and deciding to approach the words as just that: words, as if she were discussing potions ingredients. “But it seems like one of those subjects that you can’t learn from a book. I want to know what it feels like, to be spanked, to be dominated, to be controlled. I want someone to teach me. I want you to teach me.” She forced herself to look at him, despite the fact that she wanted nothing so much as to stare at the floor, or better, run away. But Hermione Granger was no coward. She watched his eyes widen, his nostrils flare in surprise.
“You cannot possibly mean what I think you mean, Miss Granger.”
“I want you to show me how to be a submissive. I want you to train me in everything, and yes, I do mean everything. I want to be reprimanded, punished, spanked, caned, and, yes, I want to be fucked. By you.” She thought she’d better make that one clear. Like almost all witches her age, Hermione Granger found herself in need of regular sexual intercourse, or she became distracted. Hermione couldn’t afford to be distracted from her schoolwork.
Severus swallowed convulsively, fighting to keep his relaxed posture. “What leads you to believe I have the interest, or indeed, the knowledge for such an endeavour?”
Hermione forced her voice to remain calm, fought down a stammer. “Call it a hunch,” she said. “I’ve wanted this for years. When I found that book in your library… when I realised that you knew what I wanted, you knew what was in my fantasies…”
“What, precisely, do you mean when you tell me that you have wanted this for years? Do you mean that you have wanted to experience this type of sexual play, or you have wanted to be dominated specifically by me?”
“Both, Sir,” Hermione muttered.
Severus sucked in a heavy breath. He’d ridiculed her for years, demeaning her for her intelligence and enthusiasm, and somehow, she found him attractive ? Severus Snape, greasy bat of the dungeons? How could a reasonably pretty young girl, with surely, a good pick of the wizards, come to want him ? He was not, however, a man to pass up on such an opportunity as a willing, pretty young girl. If she changed her mind after one experience, so be it… it would be an excellent memory to have. He owed it to her to let her know what she would be in for, though. He had no intention of being cruel, but his tastes did not veer to the romantic. “Come, Hermione,” he said roughly, standing in a swift motion.
In the library, he unlocked the cupboard with a wordless spell. Hermione waited, her heart in her throat, as he took down a thick book. He set it on the table in the middle of the room and pulled a sheet of parchment and a receptacle of black powder from a drawer. Without uttering a word of explanation, he opened the book to the back, flicked a couple of pages, and wedged the parchment over a page. With a light hand, he sprinkled the black powder over the parchment, finally tapping it with his wand and muttering a spell.
Hermione watched, entranced, as the dust began gliding across the page, like iron filings gathering about a magnet. It formed lines, shapes, letters. When it had all stopped moving, he took the parchment and rolled it carefully, tapping excess dust into the pot. Then, he took up his quill (with red ink, of course) and slashed out a few lines. Rerolling it, he tapped it into his free hand. “If you are serious, Miss Granger, you will go away, and you will consider what you want. This is a list of the acts in which I might require you to partake, should we pursue this matter. You will review them, noting which are of particular interest to you, and any that you would be completely unwilling to perform. I have already removed for you any which fall into this category for me. You will also note down any with which you are unfamiliar, and I shall endeavour to ensure that you have an adequate understanding. You will consider this for as long as you need, and when- if- you decide to proceed, you will bring it to me, along with an essay on what you believe the role of a submissive to be, and why you think you would be suited. Is that clear?”
Hermione nodded, taking the rolled parchment from him. What new secrets would be contained within?
***
Hermione shifted from foot to foot outside Severus’ rooms, scrolls of parchment clutched loosely in her hand. She’d read his list, and she’d found herself sodden wet through. It had been tempting to go and find a boy to fuck, any boy would have done at that point, no matter how fumbling, but something told her that Professor Snape wouldn’t like that. She’d dutifully written her essay. And now she found herself in front of the door to his private quarters, too terrified to knock for entrance.
She had been about to turn tail and run, too scared that he might laugh at her efforts to knock, when the door swung open. “Will you lurk in the hallways all morning, Miss Granger?” Severus drawled.
“I… I was…”
“Stop stuttering girl. Come in or go away.”
Hermione came in. She followed him to his chair by the fireside. He settled himself into his chair. “Am I to understand that you have done as I instructed?”
Hermione shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “Yes, Sir,” she replied quietly, her head down, staring at the rug. Severus reached forward to pluck the scrolls from her hands. Keeping his gaze on her as he did, he unrolled them, then letting his eyes glance over her careful handwriting annotating the list he’d given her, and then, marching down the parchment, detailing her views on submission. He raised an eyebrow at some of her sentiments: he’d expected bodily pleasure to feature highly on the list, but she spoke of empowerment and the ability to choose, her desire for structure, her tendency to overwork. The girl had at least a rudimentary grasp of psychology. He was impressed. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m not a kind man, Miss Granger,” he informed her, desire nevertheless colouring his voice. Damn him! Why was he like this over a student? But it was the first time he’d been able to act on his desire for anyone other than a whore in so many years, felt that he didn’t just want to scratch the metaphorical itch. To do what he’d dreamed of, really train a submissive for his own… He’d attended the clubs, he’d tormented enough witches to cement his tastes, but to have one truly of his own… the thought was intoxicating. He imagined, just for a moment, having a collar made, a collar of his own, and that collar wrapped around Hermione’s delicate throat.
“I know that, Sir.” Hermione’s voice was quiet, but enough to shock him from his momentary reverie; she still looked down. Was she making an attempt at a submissive posture? Merlin, he could train her to kneel at his feet, to take his cock in her mouth...
“Do you really?” Severus asked.
“I would never suspect you of being a typically ‘nice’ lover,” she murmured. It was true: there was a reason she’d fantasised of him. He had that air of quiet power, and he brooked no nonsense. The thought of him lecturing her, the idea of the concentration in his eyes when he looked into a cauldron, but having that attention focused on her… it caused a rush of wetness, and she worried that she would dampen her knickers. She’d looked through his picture book, and she’d imagined Severus’ face on the man bearing the whip, holding down the woman… the woman who, in her fantasies, bore her own face.
“I fear, Miss Granger, that my interests would not… suit your personality.” Despite her essay, he still worried that she did not know what she was getting into, could not comprehend the depth of his need to control. He did not want an occasional bit of spanking as foreplay: he wanted everything, everything he had never had. Could she really give that to him? He still could not shake the idea that Hermione Granger, of all people, should be dominant, as sure of herself in the bedroom as in the classroom.
“You might be surprised, Sir,” Hermione replied boldly. He still didn’t really believe her. She would make him believe her. She knew she was up to this… it was just all new. Her stomach was in jumpy turmoil, her heart stopped and somehow thudding all at once.
Severus regarded her from beneath hooded eyes. “Perhaps we should test the theory,” he suggested. He stood all at once, standing close to her. She stiffened at the proximity: not from fear, but from anticipation. For the first time, she smelled the scent that was Severus: herby, almost juniper-y with the slightest hint of anise. Fresh, and not at all what she had expected. “Remove your outer robe,” he commanded quietly.
Trembling, Hermione did so. Her mind was in turmoil. She was suddenly nervous, her stomach settling in a heavy lump. What if he led her on and rejected her, laughed at her? Was he going to make her take off all her clothes? Here? In the living room? What if he didn’t like what he saw? She knew she wasn’t pretty like other girls: she didn’t have the waifish slenderness, or the sleek hair… She held her robes across her arm, unsure. Severus’ long fingers plucked them from her, laying them across the arm of his chair. His cool fingers were beneath her chin then, coaxing her to look up into his face. “If you should find yourself too frightened to continue, all you need do is utter the word ‘Hufflepuff’, and all activity will cease,” he informed her.
She nodded, not sure what else to do. This suddenly seemed very...serious.
“You will call me Sir,” he instructed, though she’d been doing that already. “You will obey me in a timely fashion.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her throat dry.
He stared down at her. “My bedroom is the last door to the left,” he informed her. “You will enter. You will remove your shoes and your jeans and your jumper, and you will bend over the footboard of the bed.” Her breath caught in her throat. Now? She wondered. He wanted to do this right now? She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, really- she hadn’t been able to think past the moment when he let her in, imagine what might happen. He removed his hand from beneath her chin. “Is there a problem, Miss Granger?” he asked silkily.
“N...No, Sir,” she breathed.
“Then do as I instructed,” he murmured. His voice went though her, pooling hot in her stomach. She forced her leaden legs to move.
When he was certain she’d gone to his bedroom, Severus unfurled the parchment sheets she’d given him. He’d glanced enough to make sure that she had actually thought about this, but there was no chance of him entering such an encounter without some idea of what, precisely, she wanted. Carefully, he read through the list he’d given her. There wasn’t much that she’d said she wouldn’t do. At the bottom, she’d written I’ll try anything once in her round, neat hand.
He smiled tightly. She had no idea, he thought, no idea of what he could do to her body. But he didn’t actually want to frighten her off. He could, but he wouldn’t. Not when she was offering herself up to him like this. He didn’t want it to be just once, he decided… not this time. He had to admit to himself, finally, that Miss Granger had occupied more than one of his fantasies over the last year. A witch with intelligence, with interest, a witch he could actually engage with as an intellectual equal, not just fuck… Was it odd, he wondered, to be more turned on by the thought of an intellectual equal begging to be spanked, writhing under his ministrations?
He’d kept her waiting long enough. He picked up the other parchment she’d given him, taking them with him. It would not do for Robin or Harriet to find them.
He struggled not to sigh in appreciation as he entered the bedroom. She was as he’d commanded, bent over the high footboard of his bed clad only in her underwear. He admired the snug pull of her black knickers over the full globes of her bottom cheeks, the narrowing as they slipped between her thighs, shadowed... He did so enjoy spanking a sizeable backside. The give of the flesh, the wide target, yes… he held back a groan.
Hermione wanted to turn around. She knew he’d come in: she’d heard the soft footfall, the click of the door shutting unnaturally loud in the silence. God, she felt so… exposed. What was she doing with her almost-naked bottom up in the air… oh, God, she was a fool. Was he going to laugh at her? She knew she wasn’t so pretty as most other girls, with an overabundance of frizz, a body that was just a bit too round for taste… Her fingers curled into the bedspread. Oh, why had she even come? Surely he’d laugh at her… a strong, sure man like him could never want her, surely… She wanted to run away. Her breath was loud in the quiet room.
Severus’ tone was authoritative. “Good,” he said in silky cadence, drawing out the word in a way quite unlike his usual clipped tones. “Stand, Hermione… no, don’t turn. Stay there. Keep facing forwards. Good girl.”
Hermione bit her lip. She was trembling. He could see her, but she couldn’t see him, oh, she was so very exposed, almost naked… She gasped as a hand settled in the dip of her waist. “Good girl.” Severus dripped honey words into her ear. “Beautiful girl.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He’d called her beautiful?
Slowly, Severus stroked his hand from her waist to the swell of her hip, then to the curve of her belly. Suddenly, she jerked, sucking it in. “No,” he said softly. “Relax, Hermione.” His other hand caught a loose strand of her hair, pushing it over her shoulder. He dropped his head to her neck, his words leaving ghostish puffs of breath against her flesh. If there was something that he was good at, it was talking dirty. It was a particular skill which could leave a woman squirming in humiliation whilst fully dressed. “I’m going to spank you, Hermione. I’m going to spank your pretty bottom, because you went where you shouldn’t have. You took my book. Is that why you took it? Did you want to be punished?” She trembled under his hands. “Answer me, Hermione,” he prompted.
“I… I don’t know, Sir,” she whispered, her stomach tying in knots.
“I think you do want to be spanked,” Severus murmured back. He removed his hands from her, stepping back. “Bend over the bed again, Hermione.”
She gasped, the cool bush of air on her skin a surprise after the protection of his body, his surprisingly warm hands… with a shiver, she bent back over the bed, wincing as she felt her bottom tighten, the flesh pulled taut as her cheeks were offered up. He laid a hand in the middle of her back, pressing down, not hard, just enough to make her arch her hips more. “Down… yes, that’s it. Stay like that.” The wood of the bedstead pressed against her hips.
Her breath came fast as she waited, only able to see a vast expanse of forest green bedspread, and beyond, a heavy wooden dresser. She could hear him move around, heard the rasp of a drawer being opened, a mysterious clink, the quiet thumps and clacks of wood. What was he doing, she wondered? The rasp of the drawer again, and then he was behind her again, his hands on her hips. “Keep still, Hermione,” he warned softly. “Don’t move.”
His left hand stayed on her hip, his right moved to stroke across her bottom. Her breath hitched. Was he really touching her bottom, Professor Snape? The nest of snakes in the pit of her belly writhed, taking her breath. It felt completely unlike what she’d imagined. She didn’t know what she’d imagined. His touch was softer than she’d thought it would be. She hadn’t expected him to stroke her like this. She’d expected him to strike her immediately. When would he strike? Her heart pounded in anticipation.
He drew his hand back and slapped it against her inviting flesh
It didn’t hurt like she’d thought it would. It was loud, it was the sound of the smack that made her jump, the lightest of gasps escaping her parted lips. “Stay still, Hermione,” he repeated, his voice low, his fingertips tightening on her hip in warning. She subsided in time for the second smack, just to the side of the first, overlapping.
Merlin, he thought, she was so innocent, so unschooled… he brought his hand down again, nowhere near as hard as he could spank, relishing the faint buzz in his flesh as it impacted, then he rubbed against the soft cotton of her knickers. Gods, he wanted her knickers off. He’d meant to give her a light spanking, leave her underwear on, but the anticipation was too much. He wanted to see her flesh blush under his dubious brand of care. He laid three more rapid slaps onto her bottom, which gave pleasantly beneath his hand, the waves of impact gliding to her upper thighs. She was beautiful… he wanted to see more.
He came into Hermione’s vision for a moment as he strode to the head of the bed, well, as much as he could stride with the discomfort of his swollen cock held inside the unforgiving fabric of his trousers. He reached for a pillow, taking it back to the bottom of the bed. “Up,” he commanded harshly, and she stood again, nibbling her lip. What was he going to do?
“You remember your safeword?” he questioned. He wanted to make sure she didn’t let this go further than she could manage.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied.
“What is it?”
“Hufflepuff,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a little softer now. “Use it if you need to.” He laid the pillow over the footboard, where her hips had been. Was he concerned for her comfort, she wondered?
He was, as a matter of fact. He didn’t want her to have bruises her first time: he wouldn’t strike hard enough to cause more than temporary reddening on her bottom, but he didn’t want her to impact the bed too hard. The pillow would have the added bonus of raising her hips that extra little bit, displaying her more beautifully for him… his cock pulsed, unwilling to let him forget it was there, hot, hard.
Her hair was caught up in a knot, high on her head, tendrils escaping. His fingers brushed the back of her neck, just where the hair petered out into tiny, baby wisps, Softly, he traced her spine down the back of her long neck, over the bump where it met her back, and down the dip between her shoulder blades. He impacted softly on the tight band of her bra.
He’d unlaced a corset more recently than he’d removed a bra. He needed both hands to press the clasp together, releasing the hooks. She gasped, her hands flying up to hold the cups to her chest. “Let it fall,” he growled, his voice low in his throat. A second’s hesitation, and she did, dropping her arms and letting the shoulder straps drop, the garment falling to the floor. He waited a moment, to see if she would safeword. Her breath came hard, but she didn’t. He crouched behind her to pick up the bra, leaned forward to lay it on the bed where she could see it… could remember that she wasn’t wearing it.
He wanted to cup her breasts in his hands, weigh them in his palms, feel her nipples harden. He wanted to look at her, see the colour and size of those nipples. Would they be dusky brown, like Lily’s had been? A muscle in his jaw clenched, flickered. Hermione had a similar body to Lily, a similar body to Annie: soft, and rounded, without the harsh edges and angles of so many witches. He loved the softness, the vulnerability of their flesh…
Severus Snape was a master of denying himself. He understood the subtle art of delaying pleasure very well. He did not touch her breasts, he did not turn her to look at them. There was time yet. And as much as he wanted to watch her face, watch her expressions, he relied on her body language. She was not as tense as he might have expected. Her breath was slowing, her chest expanding with each deep breath. “Good girl,” he praised.
Why was he being so gentle with her, she wondered? She’d expected a hard hand applied to her backside. But Severus was more subtle than that. She took in a quick inhale through her nose as she felt long fingers hook into the waistband of her knickers, the tug as he pulled them over the swell of her bottom. She knew, that if she looked in a mirror, her face would be pink, and the flush would be spreading down her neck, because she was slick, between the lips of her pussy. Could he smell her, she wondered with a shock of humiliation?
He could indeed smell her arousal as he crouched to pull her undergarment down her legs. He smiled. She really did enjoy this, this display. He grasped one of her ankles firmly, lifting her foot off the floor to remove the black cotton. He unhooked it from the other, and leaned past her to lay them on the bed. Merlin. There was a streak of moisture in the crotch. He said nothing, but turned them so it was visible to her. She knew that he knew. “Bend over again,” he commanded.
She jackknifed down, her movements jerky in her nervousness. Luckily, the pillow prevented the pain of the impact, but the extra inch stretched her legs uncomfortably, and, without thinking, she rose onto tiptoes, pulling her legs taut. Severus couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath in appreciation as her bottom pulled tight also, the cheeks smooth and separating slightly to show a hint of the shadowy cleft between them. If this went well, he’d probably be able to explore there in the future. But for now… her cheeks were entirely the wrong colour. He had to see to that.
Her position also gave him a glimpse of the dark curls covering her slit, fading as they ran into the cleft of her buttocks. Those would have to go if she was serious about this, he decided. He liked submissives bare, unable to hide. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of how exposed she was: he decided it best not to draw attention to it at this moment when he wasn’t sure how she would respond. So far, she seemed to be excited by the exposure, the spanking, but he couldn’t be sure just yet. He needed more evidence. He ghosted his hand over her now-bared bottom cheeks. “Remain still,” he reminded her softly.
He gave her a few more gentle, warm-up style spanks, before bringing his intensity up. The creaminess of her bottom began to blush, little spots of pink appearing in the wake of his attentions. Her breath was coming fast. He might have taken it for fear if he couldn’t see the trickle of moisture separating the fleshy outsides of her sex, spreading them to show delicate pink lips all tucked away. It looked like she had a small, neat pussy, but he wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until he examined her properly. His breath caught at the idea of her spread out, her legs restrained and pulled back, her body completely open and defenceless as he inspected her, taking in every part of her. He tapped her thigh lightly. “Spread your legs a little,” he instructed, his voice hoarse.
She was surprised by his instruction, and slow to comply in her confused headspace. He slapped lightly against her tender upper thigh. She squeaked, and his cock pulsed at the sound. Merlin, he wanted to fuck her, but that wasn’t what this was about. Not yet. She was too innocent. There was too much to enjoy, too much to teach her... She shuffled her legs a couple of inches apart, rising further onto her toes. He praised her, then crouched. His aim wasn’t to see her pussy, though he admired it as he went down. He grasped the handle of a small, light paddle he’d laid on the floor by his feet before he started. Collecting implements and toys had been something of a hobby of his, though they were rarely used. This paddle, though, was a favourite of his. It lent sting rather than the deep ache of heavier implements, and the loud snap of it against skin was enough to shock the more innocent, without really hurting them.
The sound did shock her, she gasped and jumped as the pricking sting bloomed across her bottom. The paddle made a larger impact site than his hand. He pressed his left hand into her back, keeping her down, pleased that she was able to keep her hands to herself, and swung again. Her fingernails dug imprints in his bedcovers.
By the time her bottom had reached the level of blush that he desired, she was moaning softly on each impact: a little from pain, but more from the abandon of pleasure from being completely dominated. Each smack seemed to reverberate through her bottom, tugging on her clit. She’d thought he would be quick, harsh, bringing a deep ache, but the only ache was low in her stomach, and in her throbbing pussy. Her bottom felt warm, tingly, but not as warm as her back, where his hand pressed into her spine. He dropped the paddle on the bed. “You did well,” he told her in a low, hoarse voice, unlike his usual honey tones. Blood thrummed through his cock with every heartbeat. “I am pleased.”
Her breath caught: he was pleased with her? Had he ever actually praised her before? He stroked the length of her back. “Did that live up to expectations, Hermione?” he asked.
It took her a moment to realise that he needed a response. “I… Different, Sir. Better.”
“Better?” he asked in deep caramel tones. “Oh, Hermione, if that was beyond expectation, I have much to teach you.” He continued to press her torso down into the bed and his right hand skated over the warmed flesh of her backside. He traced lower, until he was brushing the crinkle of hair covering her outer lips. She gasped.
He decided not to tease himself or her. He pressed his fingers into her sodden folds. “Drenched, pet,” he murmured. “Good girl.” Her hips bucked and she moaned as he slipped two fingers over the swollen head of her clit. He reversed direction and hooked the same fingers into her opening.
He could have started with one, but he liked the feeling of her stretched tight around him, liked the way she moaned at the stretch as he pressed into her. Severus didn’t make anything easy. She’d learn that, in time. Severus liked to watch a struggle. She whined, deep in her throat as he pushed irresistibly, making her accomodate him. If he gave into his desires, she’d currently be accommodating his heavy cock, but for now, his fingers would do. He bottomed out, curling his fingers against her cervix, and began to pump in and out, just slightly, enough that she could feel the motion. His other hand left her back; he trusted her to stay still. He teased a fingertip over her clit. She moaned. He felt the first flutters of impending orgasm in her channel.
He pulled his fingers from her and stepped back, leaving her gasping and moaning for the sensation. It was time to reward himself. “Stand, Hermione,” he instructed. “Turn around.”
The embarrassment was superseded by her need. Slowly, she straightened, her tired muscles relaxing back into their normal positions. She shuffled on the spot to turn, her eyes downcast, looking at the floor. His dark gaze swept over her.
She was flushed with sexual tension, the pink spreading from her cheeks down through her neck and the upper slopes of her breasts. Her skin was creamy, buttery, unblemished. Her breasts and stomach were a shade lighter than the warmed-sugar colour of her arms and face and throat, like the beginnings of caramel in a pan, completely untouched by sunlight, but he knew that already from the shade of her delectable buttocks.
He considered her breasts: of an average size for her weight and stature, big enough to fill his hands. Her areola were not brown: they were a peachy pink, small, fading into the paleness of her breast in a delicate teardrop shape. Her nipples were pebbled between arousal, the cool air of the dungeon and the rasp of his raw silk bedspread. He kept his hands to himself as he traced his gaze down the exaggerated nip of her waist and flare of her hips with his eyes, lighting again on the heavy thatch of curls at the jointure of her thighs. “What do you want, Hermione?” he asked.
She looked up then. “Sir?” she asked, surprised. Why was he asking her?
“Would you like to continue?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Yes, Sir… please…”
“Do you want me to spank you more, Hermione? Do you want me to spread your legs and torment you? Do you want me to fuck you, take you hard and fill you?”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured, her knees turning to water.
“Which one?” he pressed.
“All of it…” she breathed.
He smiled. A needy, desperate girl. Just how he liked them. “Come and pick a toy, Hermione,” he instructed, beckoning to her.
“Sir?” she questioned.
He dropped to a crouch by the drawers where he kept his collection. “Sit,” he instructed. She dropped to her haunches, keeping her stinging bottom off the ground. He grinned wolfishly at the obvious action, and slid a drawer open.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Neatly laid out here in a nest of black velvet were things, things she’d fantasised of, some things that she didn’teven know the names or, and could only imagine their purpose… a small selection of paddles, a small flogger, sets of strong leather restraints… these things, and others, laid before her. She did not need to know that the larger implements, the whips and the big floggers and the canes were stored elsewhere, too long for this space.
Severus liked beautiful things: Severus’ view of beauty was a little different to most people’s. He trailed his long fingers over the silky wood of the paddles, the butter-smooth leather of the floggers and restraints, and finally came to rest touching the first of the phalluses. “One of these,” he told her. “Pick which one you want inside you.” He wanted to fuck her, but he didn’t want to make that bond if she wasn’t going to come back for more. Better to keep this more impersonal for the first visit. He could deal with himself later.
She looked at the row of dildoes with wide eyes. She’d seen them before, of course. She’d done her fair share of ducking into Ann Summers with a blush, and hoping no one saw her, even if the trip was just to fuel her fantasies. These weren’t the brightly coloured, jelly types she was used to though. No, these were made of glass, of ceramics, of steel. They varied in size, some slender, some huge, some curved or bobbled, others as smooth as a fall of water. “Why do you have all of these?” she asked fearfully. Did he have witches throwing themselves at him left, right and centre? Was he laughing at her, throwing herself at him? Thinking that maybe, he might want her, a young, clueless girl?
His voice was warm and low. “Some men collect portraits, or sculptures, or even beautiful women. Me? I collect these. Implements of pleasure, of delectable pain. It brings me joy to possess them, just as I possess books and albums of pictures. I am a fetishist, Hermione, and I make no apologies for the fact. Pick a phallus.”
With a hand lightly trembling, she brushed her fingers across the cool, smooth items. “When it first slides into your channel, it will be cold, and you will contract around it it shock,” he murmured. He’d bent so he could whisper seductively into her ear. “But it will soon heat to feel like a cock of iron sliding deep into you, frictionless, forcing you open…”
She gasped and felt a new trickle of fluid between her legs. He smiled, though she could not see it. He knew the effect he was having on her. She wrapped her fingers around a ceramic phallus: not the smallest, but nowhere near the largest. It was not completely straight, a slight bend to the delicate blue shaft. It lacked the solid weight of the metal, but a good selection for a beginning. He could do nice things with that particular toy… “A good choice,” he informed her softly, wrapping his hand around hers as she lifted it, slipping the smooth toy from her grip easily. He stood with the grace of a panther, offering her a hand in an unaccustomed gentlemanly gesture. She gulped as she took it. She had no idea what he was going to do next, but arousal was clenching tight in her belly. She wanted him to touch her again.
He led her to an armchair in a shadowy corner of the room; sat. Was he going to put her over his knee? Spank her again? No. “Up,” he said, patting his lap before wrapping a linen-covered arm around her middle. She squeaked as he tucked her into his lap, her back against the hard planes of his chest. Her bottom scraped against the prickly wool of his trousers, reawakening the heat. Her head rested back against his shoulder, the perfect height for him to murmur into her ear. He tucked the phallus between his leg and the arm of the chair. Finally, he allowed himself to caress her breasts.
He began with his hands splayed across her belly, stroking slowly upwards until he cupped the bottom half of the globes, his index fingers resting just millimetres below her areolae. He let himself enjoy the soft heaviness, like no other sensation in the world. Warm, and pillowy. It called to his mind the feel of proven bread dough- soft and smooth beneath his touch, but susceptible to the slightest pressure. So delicate. She groaned low, moved to touch her own nipples, desperate for direct stimulation.
“Hands down,” he murmured into the delicate conch of her ear. “You will let me touch you. Relax. Enjoy the sensations.”
Hermione was too tightly wound to just enjoy the sensations; she couldn’t help arching her back even as she clenched her hands to remind her not to move them. “Spread your legs,” Severus commanded, still not moving his hands, just tormenting her as he cupped her sensitive breasts. “As wide as you can, until you’re touching the arms of the chair.”
Desperate, she obliged, and in reward, he gripped a nipple between two fingers, teasing the trapped nub with a gentle tickle. He was rewarded with a throaty gasp, a tensing of her muscles. “Good girl,” he praised. “”Just feel.” It was time to stop teasing her. He picked up the heavy ceramic shaft, running it down her trembling stomach and resting it against the sodden curls of her sex. She only had to buck her hips once, grinding it against her clit before he took pity on her, sliding it home in one thrust. She keened.
It had been a long time since he’d had a woman to play with on his own terms. He was popular as a disciplinarian in the clubs he visited when he could on the school holidays, but for the most part, he was given a witch for a specific purpose, a specific scene. He’d had Narcissa Malfoy across his lap or bound to a frame more than once. He’d even played with Bellatrix, though that was not a memory he wished to replay; the woman truly was mad. But now, the soft, giving body he held to him as she bucked towards his driving hand, bucked towards her climax: she was here on her own terms. Not because her husband wished to humiliate her by giving her to Severus Snape. Because, somehow, she wanted him. He angled his thumb so it impacted on her clit with every thrust, angled the tip of the phallus to press against the upper wall of her channel and the internal structures of the clitoris. “So full,” she gasped.
“You don’t know what full is, pet,” he growled into her ear. “When your arse is stretched around a toy, and my cock in your pussy, and you’re swollen with need, swollen with desire… then you’ll know what full is. When I fill you with my come, so you’re dripping it for hours… when I come deep in your arse and plug you, make you hold it inside you, carry my seed in your belly for the rest of the day. When you walk around this castle with a plug deep in your arse, and nobody else knows your secret… Oh, there are so many things I could do to your body, Hermione.” She was trembling, on the very cusp of climax. He pinched the tight buds of her nipples mercilessly as he pounded his toy into her. “I have so many ways to play with you, so many ways to make you scream in pleasure…”
She didn’t scream, but she did cry out with every pant as she clutched hard on the unforgiving phallus in her channel. His voice, pooling in her ears like hot honey was just as much a part of sending her careening past the point of no return as the slam of sensation in her pussy. He slowed his thrusts, winding her down until she lay in his arms, quiescent. Surprising himself, he dipped her head to brush his lips against her hairline, holding her close. He smiled. She was spent.
After a few minutes, she seemed to rouse. “What can I do for you, Sir?” she asked. She could feel the hardness against her lower back, and she was no ignorant virgin. She knew what it meant.
“Nothing, pet,” he murmured.
“But I want to!” she exclaimed, struggling to sit vaguely upright. “Isn’t that what I should be doing? Giving you pleasure? Isn’t that what this is about? Serving?”
A smile quirked Severus’ lips. “I think you’ll find that this is about whatever I say it is,” he reminded her. “You have given me pleasure by giving yourself to me. You were beautiful, Hermione. You are beautiful.”
She flushed: a real blush this time, not the heightened colour of arousal. He loosened one of his arms around her to tip her head up so she could not fail to meet his eyes. “I would like you to be honest with me; did you enjoy that?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
“Have you satisfied your curiosity? Are you sated now?”
Her face fell, his heart with it. “Are you sending me away?” she asked fearfully. “You didn’t enjoy it?”
“I enjoyed it immensely,” Severus replied seriously. “More, probably, than I should have. What I am asking, Miss Granger, is this: is the itch scratched? Are you content with your foray into submission, or do you require further training?”
She looked up at him, nibbling her lip. “I want more, Sir. You said it yourself… there are so many things you could show me. I want to do them all… just not right now, please. I’m tired.”
He chucked warmly. “Yes, and me as well, pet. You might like to visit another time, though?”
She nodded eagerly.
“I have rules, pet,” he murmured. “I am content to continue to train you in submission as long as you wish it, and you are obedient. But no one else must know. I hardly need tell you that arrangements such as this are deeply frowned upon between teacher and student.”
“Of course, Sir,” she replied. She wasn’t stupid! It wasn’t like it would be looked on well from her part either- her impeccable marks might be called into question!
He did not pause. “Furthermore, I would like you to think well on this. I will bear no grudge if you choose to walk away, never return, treat this as an experience, and nothing more. However, if you choose to come back to me, your task is this.” He lowered a hand to her mound, tugged on the hair covering it. “This must be removed; every last scrap. If you come back to me, I will carefully inspect for any stray hairs: if I find anything to displease me, you will be punished with a whipping. If you please me… you will be rewarded.”
She licked her lips nervously. “What if I want to find out what a whipping is like, Sir?” she asked, still emboldened by the release of her climax.
“Then you have only to ask,” Severus replied, still twining his fingers in the crisp dampness of her curls. “Do not act out simply to be punished, Hermione… that is behaviour which infuriates me. I am willing to allow you to experience almost anything you desire, if you just ask. I am an open-minded man, though it may surprise you to know that. Like you, I will try almost anything once.”
She nodded eagerly. “When can I come back, Sir?”
He smiled. “Greedy minx,” he told her, trying to sound stern but failing. “I can see that I will have my work cut out for me with you.”
And a very pleasant task it would be, he mused.