FOR SERVICES RENDERED

BY : Quill Lumos
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape
Dragon prints: 46377
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

A/N This story is unbetaed in parts, but an edit of the early chapters is in progress

Warning: This first chapter is graphic and contains slavery and scenes of rape. This fic is very dark in places.


FOR SERVICES RENDERED


There was no doubt that the boy was beautiful. He was easily the most beautiful creature that Severus had ever seen, and well trained too. He wore a simple silver collar and cuffs and one or two strategically placed piercings that could be adorned or not, whatever his master chose. The boy was trained to be perfectly submissive in every way. He knelt on the floor with his hands clasped behind his back, his knees spread wide, his dark head, with its rows of thick plaits, was bent. He was offering himself to Severus to use how he pleased.

And Severus was tempted. He sat there sipping the honeyed concoction that the slave had just served him and examining his gift. The boy’s eyes were like liquid chocolate, his skin was café au lait, and Severus couldn’t help himself: he fancied a sweet snack, and this boy was on offer. He knew Dumbledore would kill him when he found out, but then it was Dumbledore’s fault that he was here in the first place, wasn’t it?

Here he was, in the back of bloody beyond, with some sort of Vampire Clan, while Lupin had gotten to go to America to search for the Potter boy. They had finally found a lead on the child after all those years, hearing rumours of a dark-haired, green-eyed boy who had been adopted by a family in the Mid-West. Severus would even have preferred to go in search of James Potter’s brat than be here in the benighted Urals, but Dumbledore had insisted.

“We have to have them on board, Severus,” he’d said, in his jovial way. “If we don’t bring them to us, then they will side with Voldemort, and we can’t have that. We need as many supporters as we can get.” So here he was in Somethingastan, being offered a little fuck toy for helping to cure the current chief of a, particularly nasty, sunburn with a timely potion. The boy, he had been assured, was well over eighteen, since Severus would not touch anyone younger than that. Even he could see that the young man in front of him was no virgin and was more than experienced.

Severus was a Slytherin; he knew that the boy had been in this place a long time and had undoubtedly learned his skills very much earlier than eighteen. If he did not fuck the boy tonight, someone else would, he told himself, and that would be a shame. Severus knew he was pretty unattractive to other men - much of that due to his greasy hair and acerbic personality - but it meant that he did not get many chances to spend the night with a willing partner and never with one as delectable as the slave in front of him right now.

This boy could not refuse; Severus could do whatever he wanted to him, and he would take it and even smile and thank him because that was how he had been taught to behave. This clan kept slaves, Muggle slaves, and trained them from childhood to serve them. Wizards were turned and joined the ranks of the clan, but Muggles were kept until they had become unattractive, or outlived their usefulness, and then they were drained. This one would have been taken from his family in childhood, or bred in the clan pens, and would have known nothing other than servitude for most, or all of his life.

“Come here, boy,” he said quietly. He knew the boy spoke English because Suliman had told him that he did. It was one of the reasons they had chosen him as a gift for Severus. But a leer and a grope of the boy’s arse from the obsequious servant, which had provoked not a single flinch from the boy, had told Severus that there might be other reasons that he had been selected to serve.

“Yes, Masteerr,” the boy answered in his heavily accented English, as he moved forward quickly and gracefully to kneel at Severus’ feet. “How may this slave seerrve dyou, Masteerr?”

“Well, you can begin, boy, by getting me undressed, and then, I think, you can put that pretty little mouth of yours to work.”

It did not seem very long before the boy had stripped Severus of most of his clothing, sensuously, item by item, using his teeth to undo buttons and zips. Licking and caressing and kissing Severus reverentially as he did so. Severus was having a ball! He was standing, naked, with the boy on his knees, already very hard by the time the slave started to lick and suck his cock. He was very skilled indeed. He ran his pierced tongue up and down the shaft of the thick hard organ, and then, as Severus moaned some more, he began to swallow him whole, still massaging Severus with his tongue as he did so. The feeling was overwhelming. Severus could not help himself. The boy’s mouth was hot and talented, and he took handfuls of the useful hairstyle that the boy wore and began to vigorously fuck him hard, pushing his delicate nose into his pubic curls. The slave must have been finding it hard to breathe, but Severus was not thinking about that. He was not thinking of anything, really, but the coming orgasmic explosion; and when it came, shooting Severus’ semen deep into his throat, the boy just quietly swallowed it all.

Looking down at the boy once his orgasm was over, Severus felt embarrassed. His cock, deflated now, was still held gently between the boy’s lips which he could see were a little swollen. His face was red from struggling for breath, but still he kept his eyes lowered, acting as if what had happened to him was the most normal thing in the world. For him, Severus thought, it probably was.

But then Severus noticed the cum at the corner of the slave’s mouth; it had not yet dried and was pooled there shining like a viscous, milky tear, and, for some unaccountable reason, that turned him on. His cock filled rapidly again, and he knew he just had to have the boy. Now. This minute. He grabbed the versatile plaits that adorned the boy’s head and dragged him, unresisting, to the bed. He flung the boy face down, straddled his thighs, grabbed handfuls of the peachy arse and, with no further preparation, rammed himself inside. The boy’s anus was so incredibly tight! So hot! Severus pounded into him, desperate for release, and, well trained as the boy was, he still could not clamp down on the strangled scream that he let out when Severus entered him. That, of course, increased Severus’s ardour; he pounded even harder, his actions getting easier for him as the whimpering boy started to bleed from his anus and his fucking became lubricated.





When Severus awoke, it was morning. The chamber was stuffy and gloomy with the shutters closed, allowing just the odd shaft of sunlight to illuminate the dancing dust motes. The smell of sex and blood was everywhere, and Severus was startled to feel a warm body lying next to his. And then he remembered the boy! Severus sat up; or rather he tried to sit up. His head felt like it was splitting, and his cock felt like it had been skinned.

“Oh, fuck,” he thought. “If this is how I feel, what does the poor child I raped feel like now?” Because that is what it had been - rape. The boy had been passive, unresisting. Severus could have done anything with him, and yet what he had chosen to do was violent and sadistic. Severus felt deeply ashamed. “Maybe,” he told himself, “maybe it had been a dream, an erotic, highly charged dream, but not real, surely not real?” Severus would never rape anyone; he had never taken part in any of those Death Eater revels that Voldemort liked to hold. He had always held himself apart, much to the scorn of his companions, but never, not once, had he given in and joined them in their adventures; not until now, anyway.

He tentatively cracked open an eye, hoping that he had been dreaming and had visited a prostitute for some expensive, but essentially consensual, sex the night before. But no, lying beside him, asleep and still on his stomach, was the slave from the previous evening. He was covered in bruises and bite marks and, on his thighs and the cheeks of his arse, the blood and cum had dried to a hard crust. His wrists were still tangled in the long plaits that adorned his head, trapped in place, where Severus had tied them the night before.

Severus got rapidly up from the bed in which they were lying and rushed to the adjoining bathroom, where he was messily and violently sick.

He knelt in front of the toilet bowl feeling disgusted with himself. How could he do that? How could he have treated the boy on his bed the way he had? He may not have had many partners in his life, but he had treasured them all. He was a considerate lover, a fact that may have surprised many that knew him but which was nonetheless true.

He stood and washed his face, hoping that the cool water would calm him somewhat. He then turned to see the bright unfathomable eyes of the dark haired slave gazing questioningly at him. He had managed to half turn towards him and was looking at Severus with fear evident in every line of his still naked body.

“Masteerr?” he asked. “May thees slave help dyou?”

Severus fell to his knees and started to sob.

Seconds later, the boy was beside him, kneeling down, hands still tied, trying ineffectually to pet and comfort the man before him.

“Masteer, Masteer, may thees slave seerrve dyou? May thees slave help dyou? Masteer!” His voice was becoming frantic, and his breathing was fast and shallow. Severus realised that the vampire clan’s idea of fluency in English was very different from the actuality. He knew that, in all probability, the boy’s grasp of the language was pretty patchy.

The poor boy did not know what was going on. He had been given a task to do; he had been given to Severus to entertain him and had tried his best to do that. But now his temporary Master was on his knees crying, and the boy thought he had done something wrong. After Severus’ performance the night before, he was undoubtedly terrified of the punishment that might be coming his way.

So Severus pulled himself together with great difficulty and looked at the boy beside him. The slave had lowered his eyes again, but his small, white teeth were worrying at his lower lip. “May thees slave seerrve dyou, Masteer?” he asked again, peering up enquiringly at Snape through his inky black lashes. Then Snape did something that would have shocked his students to the very core had they ever had the chance to see it themselves: he looked at the boy kneeling beside him, and he smiled; a kind, gentle smile that crinkled his eyes and changed the shape of his whole face.

“No, you did good,” he said. “Master is pleased with you. You are a good boy.”

Now the boy was smiling too, “Thees slave did good?”

“Yes,” Severus asserted, nodding to emphasize his words. “Let’s go and wash. You and me, we are very dirty.” He reached over, untangled the boy’s wrists from his hair and gently lowered them, noticing the slight flinch of pain that the boy immediately tried to hide.

“Ssshh,” he said, placing his finger tenderly on the boy’s lips, hoping that that sound and gesture was universal, and the boy understood that he was not cross. Then, Severus took his slim delicate hand in his own larger one and led him slowly into the bathroom.

The room was beautiful; they were situated high in the castle, in one of the towers overlooking lakes and mountains. The bathroom boasted an enormous white porcelain tub and sparkling mosaic tiles. Severus filled the bath with hot foamy water, adding a few drops of one of the healing potions that he always carried with him to the brew. When it was ready, he stepped into the bath, gently encouraging a very bewildered slave to follow him in. The boy did so without protest and then sat on his heels, wincing slightly when Severus gestured him down; he was obviously sore, though he was trying very hard, it seemed, to ignore that.

Severus’ heart clenched. He knew he would never be able to forgive himself for what he had done the night before. It mattered not that the boy in front of him did not seem unduly upset by what had occurred, which meant that for him, such treatment was not unusual. Severus was appalled, nonetheless, at his own behaviour, and he strove to try to make amends to the dark haired slave.

“What is your name, boy?” he asked him softly. The young man just stared at him in bewilderment. He pointed to himself and said, “Severus. Master’s name is Severus. What is your name?”

Again the boy started to worry his lower lip, an obvious habit with him. Maybe his trainers had allowed it to continue because it was rather endearing. After a second or two the boy seemed to have gathered together his courage, for this time he spoke, though so quietly that Severus had to strain to hear him.

“Farid,” he said. “It is name Farid.”


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