Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 131968 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
A/N: Slow going, it is, and for that my apologies. Although it’s only 15,500 words, I hope what happens makes up for the absences in frequent updates. This chapter contains some more involvement with the whips as might have been alluded to in the previous chapter. Hermione continues to menstruate, so for those who find sexual activity during the menses to be deplorable, wait it out for another chapter. I do hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint. Please leave a review, love hearing from you lot! (Though I know I’m terrible with the updating!)
                Hermione had never played with paddles. Or whips. Or crops. Or any other sort of bondage instrument. The feeling of one in her hand was strange. Her fingers curled around the slender handle; it was a thin plastic. She’d started with the one called Spades of Sunday even though George had suggested they work in order through the days of the week. It was a crop, flexible and malleable, with a spade-shaped head made of some sort of leather. She ran her fingers over the smooth panel of the spade. Closing her eyes she tried to imagine what it might feel like if she had been the one bound up with her arse exposed waiting for him to spank her with the crop. A shiver shot up her spine. Was such a notion turning her on?
                She dismissed the thought from her mind. Hermione licked her lips, thankful that neither Severus nor George had seen the lewd gesture as she stood with the handle of the crop rolling idly between her fingers. Logically it seemed like a simple task. George had read the description of Spades of Sunday and its enchantment seemed to be in the smooth black leather of the spade-shaped head. Upon contact the leather was meant to dig into the skin with a “delicious sting.” She wasn’t sure that those two words belonged together in a sentence but had not objected upon hearing it. Now all she needed to do was muster up the courage to actually swat Severus across the arse with the thing.
                It was an impossible predicament. A part of her feared she might hurt him, though she supposed to a degree that was the point. Another part of her felt silly. How absurd was it to be standing there completely dressed while he remained bound and naked with his arse suspended for her to paddle. Seconds ticked away and they felt like hours as she chewed nervously at her bottom lip. Gripping firmly onto the handle, Hermione flicked her wrist forward and swatted the spade-shaped head of the crop against Severus’ left arse cheek. She gasped at the sound the crop made, but more so at what happened as the leathery head connected with his flesh.
                Little tendrils sprang out from the face of the spade, almost like the thorny curls of a rose bush and splayed across his backside causing him to hiss. She watched them recoil into the smooth surface of the crop. “Merlin,” she gasped, her voice a breathy whisper. A dozen or so little spade shaped sting-marks were now sprinkled across his cheek all around where she’d slapped him with the crop. They were red for a moment, darkly so against his pale flesh, but already had begun to fade and in another moment they were gone from her sight.
                Hermione tried her hand again, flicking her wrist a bit more firmly this time, watching again in horrified amazement as the tendrils of thorny spades shot out across his arse, leaving the same pattern in his flesh but for a few moments. She hesitated, wondering if a third strike of the crop would be considered pushing her luck, after all she’d seen what the particular toy was meant to do. She glanced over at George, who was hastily scribbling in the ledger. She dared not move herself around the side of the bed to peek at Severus, though if the louder hiss he’d released upon her second smacking was any indication, the little spades were growing more intense, if not more painful.
                Chewing her bottom lip once more in uncertain anticipation, she cleared her throat to draw George’s attention. “Should I…er…again?” she asked. She watched as he nodded, rolling his hand at her in a gesture that clearly meant he wished her to continue. Hermione blushed, once again grateful that Severus could see none of this. She smacked him with the crop again. Two or three times more in quick succession, watching as the spade-shaped red marks lingered a little longer with each strike. It was fascinating the way his muscles tensed.
                “How does it feel?”
                “Well I mean it doesn’t slip out of my hand when I strike him,” she said, turning the handle about in her palm.
                “Not you, Hermione.”
                “Oh, sorry.” She blushed furiously then and waited for the sensation in her cheeks to quell before stepping around to the side of the makeshift bed to steal a glance at Severus. She wasn’t sure why it was suddenly so taboo to see him, she’d seen him naked, exposed, erect, flaccid and had fucked the man six ways to Sunday. There was something about him being trussed as he was by the red Sexy Silk, his arse exposed and his body essentially vulnerable. It surprised her to see that he was hard and a gush of warmth flooded between her legs as she realized that he had grown erect from the smacking of the crop.
                “Severus?” George asked.
                “It has a sting to it,” he said, his voice hoarse and gravely.
                Hermione squeezed her thighs together. That sound; that broken unadulterated lust that echoed in his voice was exquisite and it sent bursts of pleasure straight to her core. She did not seek out his eyes, too afraid that what she might see there would have her all but jumping on him, regardless of how difficult it would be to do so in his current position.
                “Are you alright to keep going?” George asked, trying to keep his own tone level as he stood up and examined the last of the fading spade-marks on Severus’ left butt cheek. He had closed his eyes and nodded at George. “I’m going to get that pearl pack,” he added. “Severus, when you get close, or if you get close, pop a third one, I want to try to accomplish as much as I can here,” he said and then retrieved the remaining three pearls. The only response from Severus was another nod of his head.
                Hermione could not imagine trying to twist her head around to the right angle to catch his cum in the fashion that he was suspended, but she would do her best. She handed the Spades of Sunday back to George. “Which one should I do next?” she asked.
                He shrugged. “You’ve gone out of order, not that it matters. Whichever one you like,” he said. It was not lost on her that he scooted the stool and work table a bit closer to the makeshift bed, angling himself slightly more to see Severus’ side than his arse.
                “Right.” Hermione examined the remaining six toys in the roll of whips. “You know you really ought to call these a Week of Whips,” she suggested.
                “Too right,” said George, jotting her suggestion down in the ledger. “Which one are you doing next?”
                Hermione had selected a long slender whip from the fifth sleeve in the roll. It was not a crop like the first one. The handle on this particular toy was far thicker, though still plastic. It was longer as well. She closed her fingers around it and noted that a good three inches of handle was still visible. Protruding from the handle were long swishy strips of what appeared to be leather; red on one side and black on the other. The black side had little perforations that dotted up into the material but were somehow not visible on the red side. She looked at George, waiting to see what the ledger had to say in regards to the fancy toy she now gripped in her palm.
                “Fifth slot? Um, that’s…uh...ah, here it is. That’s Friday’s Fantasy Flogger.” He said tapping the page of the ledger several times. “Says here…Friday’s Fantasy Flogger will leave your lover begging for release…each length of the whip is enchanted with a stimulating aphrodisiac that will drive your partner mad.” He tilted his head to the side, squinting his eyes to read the remainder of the notes. “The— bollocks, Fred,” he muttered twisting the ledger up close to his face. “Oh. The whipped will have release restrained until the whipping partner gives a final flick and holds in the button on the bottom of the— Hermione is there a button on the bottom of the handle?”
                She turned the whip over in her hands. “Yes,” she nodded and then looked at Severus. He was still hard at attention and she could only imagine what would happen once he was filled with the lusty aphrodisiac. She waited for George to give her some sort of signal and then she bit her lower lip. “Are you ready, Severus?” she asked.
                He did not open his eyes to look at her. But she noted the way his chest rose and fell; labored as if it took every ounce of strength he had to keep from writhing about there on the makeshift bed. She noted the subtle nod of his head and took her place at the foot of the bed, the flogging whip in hand. It had a great deal of leather tendrils and she worried how they might feel all at once if she were too harsh so her first pass with the whip was far gentler than she’d meant it to be. She thwapped the whip again, overcompensating for her first wimpy strike and landed a great mass of the leather strands against the left side of his ass. Severus cried out and her knees quaked. It was not a strangled cry, it was not muted. Pure and reckless with need; she could see his body beginning to twitch. There were no little red marks, just a splotch of pink across his cheek where most of the flogger’s tails had landed.
                Again she flipped her wrist inward and smacked him with the tails, earning another elicit moan from the lips of Severus. His breathing was more than audible now, he was panting. Hermione could feel her own breath heaving in her chest, her heart racing. While it brought her no specific pleasure to be wielding a whip, it elated her to know that she had brought about such sounds from him. Giddy and dizzy with this feeling of heady pleasure she struck him again and a fourth time, each blow with the tails causing him to cry out, louder and more feral than before.
                “Merlin,” she heard him plead upon the fifth strike of the tails. She was finding a rhythm, her wrist flicked downward and inward with the weight of the tails coming diagonally across the jointed flesh at the back of his left thigh and over his arse cheek. She paused a moment listening to his panting before striking him a sixth time. “Enough…” he growled, his voice cracking as his legs jerked and his body tensed. Hermione shifted just slightly and peered her head around to look at him. His body was glistening, his chest rising and falling with need, beads of sweat running down the sides of his face. His knuckles were alabaster, gripping the mattress so tightly that it threatened to come apart in his grasp.
                Hermione drew the flogger back and let it land hard against his ass once more. “Enough!” he roared, his legs tensing. She could see the head of his cock weeping and she saw George watching with slightly unfocused eyes. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling, only that it was pushing him to the brink in that moment.
                Flipping the flogger across him again she bit her lower lip to keep from moaning herself upon hearing the noise he made. “Take the—”
                “I’ve already taken it,” he ground out, eyes screwed shut tight. Hermione had not been watching his hands or mouth quite so closely but her eyes darted to the compact and indeed only two pearls remained. She gripped the flogger firmly in hand and pressed the button on the handle, whipping him one final time. The sound that tore through his chest was that of a beast satiating its carnal lust in the wild. She was so taken aback by the sound that she forgot she was meant to be tasting his cum. Even in her current state she had always been quick on her feet and brought her hand over his tip, catching spurts of his release as his body shuddered his climax.
                She watched him writhe and twist about, jerking his legs this way and that as he groaned and moaned, riding out the waves of his orgasm. She couldn’t take her eyes off him until his body had all but collapsed, his legs still strung up by the red silk. His cum was thick and sticky on her hand, but she brought it to her lips and licked a bit from her fingers. It was surprisingly tart, a blueberry of sorts, not salty but far tarter than what one would expect from such a flavor.
                “Unbind…me…” Severus panted.
                “Oh gracious!” Hermione cried. She hastily muttered a spell to clean her hand and then quickly undid the silk around his ankles. Severus’ legs fell down to the bed and he lied there panting for several moments. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling heavily. His erection was gone and his legs were freed from the silk. She felt her face filled with red and turned her back to him. “Do you want your robe?”
                “I can summon my own robe, Miss Granger.” He said. His voice was still breathy but already she could hear the return of his rigid frosty exterior.
                “Did you— what was the flavor— and Severus, did that— oh Merlin’s balls that was intense,” he said, his own face a healthy glowing red.
                “Blueberry, I think,” she muttered. “But very tart.”
                Severus had appeared beside her, donned in his robe, the only traces of the encounter remaining on his person were now the slight dampness in his hair from where he had been perspiring. “Suffice it to say, Mr. Weasley, the product works exactly as the description intends.”
                George nodded hastily. He was writing in a flurry of red ink and frantic swooping gestures that were moving so fast the paper in the ledger was likely to start a conflagration at any moment. When he jotted the last thing into the ledger he looked up. “That’s a good place to break, I think. I’ll pop up to the flat and order us dinner, you two take a minute to put yourselves together and I’ll see you both up there.” He was off the stool and halfway out the door to the workshop before he’d finished talking. She very much doubted that he was racing off to order dinner, but rather order himself a solo dessert.
                Hermione turned to look at Severus, her lower lip between her teeth. “Are you—”
                “It is more than apparent that you have never used a whip before, Miss Granger, or you would have alternated sides,” he said. His voice was stern but it was difficult to tell if he was angry or simply being himself.
                “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
                “Stop your prattling.” He said and pinched the bridge of his nose. “One can hardly fault you for your woeful inexperience.” Hermione felt her cheeks warm this time with indignation. But before she could huff out her protestation, he had moved over to the roll of whips that remained. He shook his head. “I’ll never survive these if you don’t learn how to use them correctly,” he muttered. She wasn’t sure that the comment was meant to be heard by her or not, but she did hear his words.
                “Then teach me.”
~*~
                George did not order dinner for them. Hermione was sure that he didn’t even get to relieve himself since Molly Weasley had been waiting in his flat when he’d raced up to it. The quick inter-office memo, which he’d no doubt pinched from Percy, had dismissed them for the evening when it flew into the workshop just a few moments after his departure. The scribbles quickly explained that there was some emergency at The Burrow and he was racing off to deal with it. Hermione was grateful that he’d not brought Molly down to the workshop to dismiss them in person.
                That was how she had found herself standing in only her blouse and bra in her bedroom at Spinner’s End facing the scroll-top desk that was situated against the wall. When she’d uttered her words, albeit forcefully, in the workshop that he teach her, she’d had no idea that he would offer to do so the moment they had arrived home. The offer had caused her great consternation. Paddles and whips had never drawn her interest. She’d never given them much thought until they’d been brought up during testing. To say that her sex life with Ronald Weasley when they’d been together had been vanilla would have been labeling it with kindness. Outside of Ron there hadn’t been much aside from kissing and heavy petting.
                Bondage, which was what she was mentally grouping whips and things of the like as for a lack of understanding, terrified her. It also thrilled her. She couldn’t dismiss the thoughts she’d had in the workshop about how such things might turn her on. But she wondered if it was the notion of being paddled and whipped that excited her or merely the fact that he was going to be the one delivering the blows? That was one conundrum among many others in her mind.
                Hermione was still nervous about the fact that she was menstruating. Reading through the tome had given her knowledge of a charm that replaced needing a tampon but still she worried. Expressing as much to Severus had resulted in a simple shrug and an explanation that it made no difference to him. This did little to quell her and she furthered her concern about making a mess to which he said blood could be washed away from everywhere it stained except when it set in the hands. When the deeper implication of his words had sunk in she’d quietly agreed to strip from the waist down and wait in her bedroom for him.
                “Should I stand a bit more forward, like toward the desk? Or perhaps the bed would be a better idea? I mean, we don’t actually have to do this tonight, I know that session in the workshop was long and if you’d rather—”
                “Miss Granger!” his voice was sharp and far louder than she could ever remember hearing him be. “Do you wish me to teach you or not?”
                Hermione blushed. After a moment she looked over her shoulder and nodded at him. “Yes, Severus.” She turned her head forward and closed her eyes.
                “Then please, for both our sakes, shut up.” He was standing behind her but she could tell that he had moved toward her. His voice was much closer to her ear. “You need to learn how to handle a whip. You need to feel the difference between the different styles and how much force is needed to make each one work its purpose. If you feel it you’ll have a better idea of how to replicate it.” Her legs quivered over the prospect of feeling each whip’s purpose against her naked backside at his hand. His voice disrupted the sinfully delicious thoughts that were already threading through her mind. “There are five basic types of instruments in this field.”
                “Only five?” she asked, once again craning her head over her shoulder to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at her and she quickly turned around again.
                “Whatever Mr. Weasley may have spread out in that workshop are merely derivatives or modification to these basic five.” Severus stepped around to the front of the scroll top and laid down a small assortment of instruments before her. They were made of shiny black plastic as if they were brand new out of a package and had never been used. “The paddle, the flogger, the basic whip, and the crop.”
                “That’s only four.” Hermione frowned, eyes roaming over each of them as she counted again and again. Already the flogger looked nearly identical to the one she’d used in the workshop except for the coloring. The crop too, save for its tip was not spade shaped. The paddle was easy enough to recognize, she’d seen them before even if she had never used one, and the whip indeed did look very basic; one long, fine tip trailing from its handle base. “Severus, that’s only—”
                A loud crack split the room and Hermione shrieked. His hand landed hard on her backside. Not expecting the blow, Hermione pitched forward into the desk and the other four toys spilled onto the floor. There was an immediate stinging in her right arse cheek where his hand had made contact and she was certain that her skin was now sporting a pink glow.
                “Five,” he said.
                Hermione spun around, her eyes shocked. “But all you did was spank me!”
                Severus chuckled, a smirk sliding onto his lips. “There are those who prefer the touch of a human hand, Miss Granger. It can be very erotic.” He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her waist before letting his hand trail down over her arse. She winced, which earned her a cluck of disproval. “That did not hurt as much as you are making it out to,” he admonished, soothing his fingers and palm over her flesh in a tender circular motion. Without warning he gave her cheek another firm slap.
                “Severus!” she jumped forward, practically knocking them both over, but he stood his ground and kept them both upright.
                “You would do well to keep quiet and learn, Miss Granger.” His hand slid lower and he smacked the under-swell of her ass, causing her to jump up slightly. “The hand can be most versatile…as it is the only one that you can control with exacting precision,” he punctuated his remark with a firm slap on her opposite cheek. “Varying how firmly you land the blow every time.” Another slap, this time further over but with a softer landing. “And precise calculation of the location of delivery.”
                Hermione could feel her eyes prickling just slightly. Even as a child she had never been spanked. She refused to cry; despite the shock of how sudden and forward he was with his hands the sting wasn’t crippling. Whether her skin felt too sensitive because it was a brand new sensation or because her hormones were over stimulated, she didn’t know but it was enough to make her eyes water. His voice forced her to look up at him, trying to blink back the tears as she did.
                “You are making quite the fuss over a simple spanking.”
                She sniffled, and again blinked back her tears. “I’m sorry, I just—”
                Severus released both arms from where they had circled around her and stepped back from her. “You are not ready for this.” He had not even made a step toward the door when she grabbed hold of his arms.
                “Please I’m—”
                His finger pressed firmly against her lips. “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear you are sorry, Miss Granger.” He paused but held her gaze with his own, not blinking or looking away until she nodded her head. Then he pulled his finger back from her mouth. “Sit down.”
                Hermione moved quickly to the edge of her bed and sat down. Already the stinging from his spanking had vanished and she wished that she hadn’t made quite such a ruckus. Crossing her legs she looked up at him expectantly, for once too afraid to speak.
                Severus picked up the four toys that had fallen from the desk. He placed them beside her on the mattress before turning to lean against the scroll top. Pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed. “I am going to regret this…” his voice trailed off and he moved his hand away from his face. “Speak your mind, Miss Granger.”
                His words gave her great pause. Her mind was constantly running with every possible and impossible scenario that could be fathomed, but in that moment having permission to express all of it somehow struck her dumb. It felt like an eternity passed between them and she was certain if she remained silent any longer he would leave her room. “I feel out of sorts,” she began cautiously. When he said nothing she continued. “I don’t know how a woman can get to be my age and not know all the things I read in that book. I understand I had some slight disadvantage given that both my parents were muggles, but how can I be expected to know these things? Was I supposed to wait until later in life had this job not come along and just one day spontaneously combust because I didn’t know?” The soft chuckling sound that filled the room caused her eyes to grow wide. “This isn’t funny!”
                “I sincerely doubt that you would have just woken up one morning circa 40 and spontaneously combusted, Miss Granger.”
                Hermione grunted, a great harrumph of a sigh that traveled through her body as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I simply do not understand how a witch is expected to know all of these things about her own body if no one has ever explained them to her. As if the whole monthly affair wasn’t bad enough now I have to worry about a magical build-up, magical overload, not to mention the fact that my period has effectively put a stop to working this week—”
                “Periods stop sentences, Miss Granger, not our working this week. You are experiencing your menses not punctuation,” he said. She shot him a withering glare but before she could continue he drew up his hand to silence her. “Aside from your very childish notion that Hogwarts should have taught you everything and the overwhelming curse of hormones that have you perched on edge, I do not see the dilemma. You’ve been given a tome with more than sufficient information and should you deem it necessary there are ways to do further research.”
                She was about to complain but thought better of it. After a moment she sighed. “I suppose you are right, it’s just the principle of the thing. If this…” she trailed off, making a noncommittal gesture with her hands between the two of them. “If I hadn’t been working this way with you…how would I have come across such knowledge?” Expecting another rebuke from him she was surprised when he answered her in earnest.
                “You were besotted with that simpering simpleton Ronald Weasley, were you not?” There was no way for her to protest the remark without sparking a debate about the whole abominable business of a wasted relationship with Ron. She nodded her head, albeit glumly. “Then certainly Molly Weasley would have taken on the explanation of such things.”
                Hermione thought for several long moments before posing her next question. “And if Molly Weasley were not a factor?”
                Severus sighed. “You are far too tangled up in hypothetical scenarios. You are no longer with Ronald Weasley. You did take this position and now you have a book.” His tone indicated to her that he was bordering on exasperation, but she still felt frustrated and conveyed as much through her pointed glare. “Come now, Miss Granger, you really are being ridiculous.”
                Silence. After a moment she held his gaze. “Are you ever going to stop calling me Miss Granger?” she asked.
                Again silence. There was the subtlest of shrugs that graced his shoulders and if she hadn’t been staring at him intently she would have missed the gesture. “It does fluster you a fair bit and every time you make mention of it flustering you, I reset a mental counter,” he said with a smirk.
                Hermione blustered, her cheeks coloring again. “You’re a prat,” she said and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, completely disbelieving that she had uttered such a thing aloud. If her cheeks hadn’t been red a moment ago they were certainly red with embarrassment now. Even though she had a great many thoughts about him, such disrespectful ones were never allowed to surface to even the forefront of her mind, let alone her mouth.
                Severus was chuckling once more. “What an insult,” he snorted. “Surely the harshest I’ve ever heard uttered in all my years spent teaching.”
                “Oh!” she huffed. Instinctively she reached back and her hands clenched into her pillow. Launching it at him she was shocked that he caught it without flinching. She bit her lower lip and refused to look up and meet his gaze until his words forced her to do so.
                “Keep that up and I shall paddle you with this very pillow.”
                “If I weren’t on my p— experiencing my menses, I might actually enjoy it.” she stated and then lowered her head, feeling her cheeks warm once more. Severus’ eyebrow arched high upon his forehead and she groaned. “Just— I think it’s safe to say that this lesson is over for the evening,” she whined and then collapsed backward onto her mattress a bit over dramatically.
                She had expected him to leave without a word. Or perhaps to have a parting remark but his lack of departure was severely unnerving. Whether he was staying to screw with her head or because he actually had some sort of message he wished to convey, she couldn’t fathom. There was something dreadfully enigmatic about him in that moment and she spun onto her side to face him. He was standing as he had been, leaning casually back against her desk, arms now folded in front of him, holding the pillow to his body. Her eyes traced his figure, unable to discern what he was thinking in that moment.
                Hermione found that in those moments of silence he was an attractive man to simply look at. While she’d found herself increasingly more drawn to him during their work for George’s product testing, and when moments like the shower had occurred at his home, it wasn’t until that moment that it dawned on her that Severus Snape was a handsome man, though not traditionally, to simply stare at regardless of what state he was in. This unnerved her all the more. She curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, realizing then that she was still naked from the waist down.
                How long he stood there just gazing at her while she gazed at him from her curled up ball on the bed she couldn’t say. Hermione had never been good at metering time without a time piece. It felt like ages, though whether that was from the silence or the slight awkwardness she hadn’t the slightest idea. She longed to say something, anything to break the deafening sound of nothingness that pervaded the room but could not think of a single intelligent thing to say, nor a question to ask. So she remained curled on her side, gazing up at him.
                When Severus stepped toward the bed and eventually sat down upon its corner she was shocked. She pulled herself upright, keeping her knees up against her chest, and sat on the opposite corner of the mattress. Resting her chin atop her knees, Hermione stared at him. Again for a very long time there were no words; her mind racing about with all the things that she was feeling and questions she longed to ask him. The question that finally left her lips were certain to end whatever moment they were sharing. “Do you like being paddled?”
                “Do you?”
                His question surprised her, but the more she thought about it the more she supposed it was the most basic defense tactic in all of conversationdom; dodging a question by answering with one. If she countered with a third question she was certain to be reprimanded and perhaps he would leave. She found herself obsessed with the little head game he’d created; him lingering and her seeing how long she could keep him present in the room. Hermione bit her lower lip but then quickly stopped, noting his glare as she did so. She turned the question over in her mind once more before speaking.
                “To be honest, I’m uncertain. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Your hand just now…” she trailed off, once more feeling her cheeks filling with color. It annoyed her that she blushed so easily. It annoyed her more that her inexperience made her feel shameful. Surely every witch her age had not been so tarty that they knew it all when it came to sexual deviation. She took a moment with her head bowed in her knees to let some of the color slide back out of her cheeks before continuing. “I’ve never been spanked or paddled. I’ve never been exposed to it. And I imagine that because I’ve never been exposed to it, I’ve never considered it desirable.” She paused for a moment, letting her eyes meet his. If her prattle annoyed him he wasn’t letting on. “I don’t suppose I’ll know if it is something I like until I’ve experienced it,” she gave a little shrug. “Though it’s hard to discern because everything feels hyper sensitive at the moment.”
                “I see you’ve finished the book, as I had no doubt you would.” He said as a response to her last comment.
                “Cover to cover,” she admitted sheepishly.
                Severus rolled his eyes. Hermione tried not to let that bother her. It was merely his way of responding to her bookish and over-eager nature in regards to learning. If he hadn’t meant for her to read the book in its entirety he wouldn’t have given it to her. It had been very useful, albeit startling, and she felt she knew a great many more things about herself because of it. When a witch experienced the weight of her magical menses— which could be experienced earlier in life than was common due to prolonged or intense sexual stimulation or pregnancy— the sensational experience of the five senses were augmented not unlike the way pregnancy heightened the sense of smell. She felt pain more sharply but it also meant that she felt pleasure more keenly. She wriggled her toes against the coverlet of her bed and looked at him.
                He was quiet; pensive as he rested on the corner of her bed, hands folded neatly in his lap. She tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She’d slowly begun to accept that she was attracted to him and that her attraction was beyond what simple things he did to heat up her body and arouse her physically. But she was cautious; handling Severus Snape was a bit like handling a wild Hippogriff— no sudden movements lest it fly away or claw your face off. So vocalizing her attraction to him in that moment was out of the question, but she couldn’t help herself so she settled on staring. She noted he was staring too, though his eyes were far from empty. He was calculating; thinking and analyzing, perhaps even more so than she was, but he would never say a word of it.
                She was certain that she could have sat that way for hours; just drinking in his figure and the way the light in her bedroom made him seem less pale than she knew him to actually be. Hermione took a chance and broke the silence after another moment of studying the way he studied her. “You didn’t answer my question.” She had expected silence, or a rebuke, but the cheeky honesty unsettled her.
                “I know.”
                Every time she thought she was gaining ground with the way his mind worked, he unbalanced her. “Did you plan on just being rude or have you forgotten the question?”
                Severus scoffed. But it was still several more moments before he spoke. “As an over-analytical and complex thinker you will appreciate this, but I am uncertain as to how to answer such a question in a manner that explains the entirety of my feeling on the matter.”
                That was indeed a mouthful and Hermione was baffled by it, but grateful to hear it just the same. He was a man of few words; and although she was a woman of many, she found that in his few words he often spoke just as much if not more so than she did with her unending flow of speaking. This gave her pause as she thought about what exactly he was saying by saying as he had just said. She shook her head and then put it down into her arms, slowly unfurling her knees until her legs were stretched out straight before her. Hermione’s feet rested at the side of his thigh and with her big toe she prodded his leg.
                She watched him look at her foot and then look at her, his expression never changing. This made her smile just a bit and for an instant she swore there was something akin to a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But like most expressions on the face of Severus Snape, it was gone before she could properly identify its existence, let alone interpret its meaning. Again she prodded his thigh, more incessantly than before, yelping with a gasp as he snatched up her foot with both hands, holding it tightly in his grip.
                “You should not prod a sleeping snake, Miss Granger, lest it snap at you.”
                For a moment she remained perfectly silent, her leg elevated from the bed, her foot held firmly in his hands. She was still naked from the waist down, her bare sex exposed, though she noted that his eyes did not leave hers. That unnerved her more than if he had taken a lecherous peak or stolen a sinful glance at her womanhood. When she tugged her foot back and was met with a firm resistance, Hermione scoffed. “You are hardly a sleeping snake, Severus.” Two could play his game, and although he was quick to catch her off guard and confound her into confusion, she could just as easily rise to a challenge.
                Severus held her gaze hard, and held her foot firmly between two hands. She wiggled her toes but could do little else by way of movement. She didn’t dare close her eyes; half for fear that he might release hold of her and half for fear that if she did there was no way of anticipating what he would do next. She was shocked when he chose words as his weapon.
                “You should learn to exercise more caution,” he said slowly. His words were deliberate, and she knew that each one was spoken with exacting precision and purposeful meaning. The fact that he was suggesting rather than commanding gave her a flush, albeit small, of courage to engage in this twisted game with him. Hermione leaned back ever so slightly, bracing both hands on the mattress on either side of her hips. She locked eyes with him and just as deliberately as he had spoken, bit her lower lip. She held her lip between her teeth for just a moment, pressing down into the plump petal with an exaggerated pressure, never once looking away from him.
                “You aren’t going to bite me, Severus.”
                “Don’t tempt me.”
                His words caused her to shiver. The sensation pulsed through her body and she had to close her eyes, if for just a fraction of a second, to recover from such a notion. Him biting her; that was something that should have frightened her, or at the very least repulsed her. She’d never understood those ridiculous teen-tween muggle books about girls who fantasized about being bitten. The notion quite frankly did repulse her. At least it had until the words had left his mouth and suddenly her mind was flooded with images of his lips slinking across her skin, his teeth grazing into her flesh and her body exploding in a hot fiery inferno of liquid pleasure.
                Hermione was literally jerked from her reverie as he pushed her foot from his hands. But before she could protest or regain her bearings, he’d hauled her to her feet in an unceremonious and clumsy fashion. “Don’t do that,” he said, holding her upright. He stood behind her and just to the side of her, both hands on her hips. “Your mind goes mental with images every time I say something and you run mad with it, over thinking it, analyzing it, fantasizing over it.” His lips were just at the back of her ear and she couldn’t help but tremble as he leaned into her.
                “Your mind is an open book, I can practically see you picturing it,” he whispered. His voice was low, filled with intention and it sent tingling barbs of fire shooting down her spine. “Standing just as I have you now…” as he spoke he slid his hands slowly up her hips. Severus moved his hands to the front of her body, grasping at the fabric of her blouse. He tugged firmly, but slowly, and the bottom button popped away from the fabric. Another tug, again slow but hard, and the button above it was torn open. He continued popping the buttons of her blouse up her shirt until he’d pulled the garment apart and left her breasts exposed.
                Hermione had closed her eyes, unable to think, barely able to breathe. She could feel his chest pressed upon her back as his lips lingered at her ear. His hands slithered up the front of her body and paused only when both were cupping her breasts; the thin fabric of her bra the only barrier between her bare flesh and his. His lips were wet, slow and sweeping, as they crept down her neck and the heat of his breath had her all but whimpering. She inhaled sharply as she felt the slick velvet of his tongue against her skin just at the side of her throat. There were no spoken words, only her body quivering against him and the panting of her breath in that moment.
                The smack landed hard against her backside, the sting of his palm reverberating through her flesh. Hermione moaned; a wanton sound filled with lust and desire. She hadn’t even felt his hand leave her breast but before she could register his shift in position three more smacks, lighter but just as firm, landed on the swell of her right cheek. Each blow jolted her core. It was nothing like his hand had been when she’d leaned in front of her desk. This was hot; this was arousing; her body was responding and her mind was lost in a haze. She felt the exhale of his breath against her skin and she leaned back into him, groaning as he slapped his palm to her ass, this time noting the way his fingertips lingered on her flesh rubbing tiny circles in the wake of his hand.
                Fingers slipped between her cheeks and slid down and under, between her legs. “Oh gods…” she panted. He pushed her thighs apart and without protest she found herself standing spread-eagled, her backside pushing out toward him as if her body craved more of the delicious sting of his hand. Her legs were trembling and she couldn’t fathom how she was remaining upright save for the firm arm, whose grip had slid from her breast, and was now wrapped tightly around her ribcage. A breathy strangled cry escaped her lips as his palm landed against her sex. It was a firm slap, calculated and intentional and it should have hurt. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that it did hurt, but it shook her through with a wave of pleasure so strong that she only noted the way his fingers lingered, silently pleading that he would penetrate her with his delicious digits.
                Her flesh tingled when his palm landed hard against her other cheek. Hermione felt her face fill with heat, much like the rest of her. She was almost sobbing when he slapped her again, this time in a series of short but intense little taps higher up on the swell of her left cheek. But her sobs were not dominated by pain and hysterics as they had been when he’d first laid his hand to her backside. Now they were carnal and unrestrained; craving a sort of release from the blissful torture he had induced in her. Her mind was jumbled and without thinking, she’d brought one hand down between her legs, feeling the slickness that had gathered between her sex. She was dripping from the way he’d spanked her and her legs trembled like jelly. She dared not look at her hand, knowing it would be pink if not red entirely. She longed to pull away but at the same time she needed more.
                When there was stillness and quiet and no more connections of his palm stinging her ass, Hermione bit her lower lip, sniffling just slightly not from the pain but because she was mortified at how readily her body had responded to him. How easily he had made something painful and revolting entice her body to a wanton frenzied state. His lips were once more at the back of her ear, though she noted in that moment— save for the arm around her ribs— that no other part of him touched her.
                “You took that rather well, Miss Granger.” He let his lips brush the back of her earlobe ever so slightly and she shuddered. “Do you see why a simple answer to your question is not possible?”
                She wasn’t sure how she managed to spin about quite so quickly given how firmly his arm was wrapped around her, but when she did both hands gripped hard at the fabric of his shirt, pulling their chests together. He didn’t flinch. Hermione gazed hard into his eyes, a swirling confusion of feelings overwhelming her. He didn’t push her back, he didn’t move his arm from around her back. They stared into each other’s eyes and the world could have exploded around them but neither looked away.
                It was a different sting, she wasn’t even sure she could call it that, when the tendrils of the flogger graced her backside. She gasped, pitching forward but he remained upright and so did she. Hermione couldn’t wrap her mind around how he’d managed to get it into his hand, though after a moment the thought that he was beyond proficient in wandless and wordless magic slipped into her consciousness. His expression didn’t change as he flicked the flogger across her backside once more; a broad sweep covering both cheeks. She closed her eyes, unable to continue gazing into his for fear that she might lose what little control she still had and kiss him.
                “The leather is cut differently, the texture is different, you can be more forceful and blunt with a flogger,” he said, his voice as it had been before he’d hauled her from the bed. His personas were a tornado, keeping up with them impossible. One minute he was sensual and sexual and toying with her, the next instructing her, and doting with guarded concern. She felt something inside of her mind literally snap in half and Hermione let her head fall forward against his chest. It surprised her when he did not force her head up, but instead brought the hand not holding the flogger over to stroke the back of her hair. “You will drive yourself mad if you continue to try and make sense of this,” he paused and leaned his lips down ever so slightly. “Of me.”
                “You are cruel,” she whispered, not lifting her head from his chest, the words half muffled against his short.
                Severus tugged her by the hair until he drew her face up from his chest. He searched her eyes. “You are hormonal,” he said as if they were swapping obvious statements. When she pursed her lips to speak, he pressed a single finger against them. “You asked me to teach you, you were in no state, so I put you in a state to learn.” He said simply.
                Hermione noted that although he’d pulled her head up from his chest, he had not taken his hand from her hair. It wasn’t an intimate gesture, but he was still touching her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly forward, trying to process his words. He wanted her to learn, and she had never failed as a student before. He’d torn open her shirt and clutched her from behind all for the sake of mentally unbalancing her so that he could spank her with his hand, and again with the flogger. Or that was what he was telling her and her heightened emotional state was too jumbled to apply logic otherwise.
                She opened her eyes and stared at him. It hadn’t taken her long to give up trying to read what feelings were burbling inside of them. The black swirling depths of his eyes that in just the right light looked a deep brown; holding a world of mystery and confusion every time she held his gaze. “I—” but his finger pressed more firmly against her lips when she began to speak. Her body was trembling just the slightest bit and she shook her head slowly, freeing his hand from her hair. “Severus, I—”
                “Do not ring that bell, Miss Granger.” Her perplexed look was enough to cause him to sigh, though he remained where he stood, finger on her lips, just inches from her body. “A bell that has not been rung is unheard. One can imagine what it sounds like, whether such a sound will be pleasant, or what sort of impact the sound might have, but it is nevertheless unheard.” He paused, searching her eyes for the briefest of moments before continuing. “Once you ring the bell, you can never un-ring it. It can never be unheard.”
                Hermione felt her eyes fall closed. He was cautioning her, again in his strange fashion, and while the analogy was muddled, the intention was clear. She could feel the moment slipping out of her control. She took a step back from him, his finger falling naturally away from her mouth as he lowered his arm to his side. She stood there for several moments, the silence between them maddening and unending. If he had intended to leave her room, he would have. If he had intended to continue the lesson, he would have. His stillness was her indication that he was waiting for her to make the next move, even if his words of wisdom intended to guide her to make the move he wanted.
                It was then she noticed her fingers; bloody as she had expected from when she had touched herself while he had spanked her. His gaze followed hers and she was shocked when he stepped forward, once more closing the distance between them. His hand gripped her wrist and pulled it upward. “You women are all the same when it comes to this,” he said. There was something strange in his voice. For a moment she wondered if she had fallen asleep on her bed and this was her mind’s horrid way of tormenting her. It had happened once before, when she’d daydreamed herself to sleep leaning against his patio door. But she hadn’t been tired, and he’d been with her since they’d returned to Spinner’s End.
                She tried not to let the eminent flush of scarlet flood her cheeks that she could feel peaking in her neck come to her face. It wasn’t a taboo; at least it shouldn’t have been. She’d been dealing with her period for over a decade and even if she was only recently enlightened about a witch’s menses, it was not as if the basic concept was new to her. She had never found herself in a situation that required sexual involvement during her monthly cycle, and she supposed that unfamiliarity coupled with the general hysteria of disgust and distaste around the notion— brought on mostly by Ronald Weasley— had kept her from accepting it for what it was; a part of her body’s natural process.
                Her thoughts must have been written on her face or she was thinking too loudly again for she noted that Severus was gazing at her, that mildly annoyed look that she had come to recognize on him having surfaced across his face. She bit her lower lip out of habit and gasped just slightly when he pinched her lip and pulled it back from her teeth. Hermione gazed at him, eyes burning with a confused defiance. Why it bothered him, she couldn’t say. Why it bothered her that it bothered him, she had even less of an idea. “What do you want?” she asked.
                His eyes remained hard for a moment and then, much to her surprise, he chuckled. It was a dark, though rather evocative sound. She tried to categorize it among the other times she’d heard such a sound from him, but realized that he laughed so seldom that she had nothing to truly compare it to. Severus Snape standing fully clothed in her bedroom and chuckling while she stood mostly naked, disheveled, aroused and menstruating. It was enough to drive her bonkers. Her core still ached; the way he’d spanked her after emotionally unbalancing her still coursing through her. She was frenzied and wanted nothing more than for him to push her hard back onto her bed then and there and fuck her until her body melted beneath him. She knew such a thing would never happen.
                When he spoke, she again found herself startled. He was not one for words, nor was he one for leading a conversation, but she supposed that he felt comfortable enough to do so because she was so out of sorts. “You are so frustrated with yourself,” he paused for a moment and then reached for her hand once more. “Between discovering your sexuality and your menses, and the fact that there is more to it than snogging and piss-poor fucking…” he trailed off, gazing at the blood stained on her fingers. It was slight; hints of pink and red just on the tops of her digits from where she had touched herself. He let her hand go and then turned, bending to retrieve the other toys from her bed. “Go,” he said.
                “This is my room—”
                “Go to the bathroom, Miss Granger.” He said. “You’ll be a wound up mess if we continue in here, and I intend to finish this lesson this evening lest my backside wear thin under your ministrations tomorrow evening at work.”
                “I’m sorry…” she trailed off, letting her words die on her lips when she noted his stern gaze. “It’s just that— you— oh, nevermind!” she grumbled. Hermione turned toward her bedroom door but stopped cold when his hand landed on her shoulder.
                “I— what, Miss Granger?” His fingers gripped her shoulder and tugged at her body until she gave in to his touch and turned back around to face him.
                Standing face to face with him seemed to swallow her words in her throat and she found it difficult to speak her mind in that moment. He had undone her so thoroughly in such a short period of time that she felt lost. Hermione closed her eyes. “Can we take a break first? I need— well I don’t know what I need, but if you want me to learn then I just need to— I don’t know, clear my head, or lie down, or eat something.” When she opened her eyes she had expected him to be frowning, or at the very least glaring. His face was neutral; softened almost as he held her gaze and she felt her cheeks blush. She was losing her mind if she hadn’t already lost it.
                “Go to the bathroom, Miss Granger.” He repeated. When her face fell, but before she could protest, he added. “Draw a bath, in the cabinet behind the mirror is a vial of herbs, sprinkle them over the bath water. When you’ve finished, call for me.” He said simply. Without another word, he swept past her, let himself out of her bedroom and disappeared.
                The bath had been precisely what she had needed. The herbs had done her wonders. She had identified a few of them, the lavender being the easiest to pluck from the bunch, but it had calmed her a fair bit. She was convinced that he had fiddled with the plumbing as she hadn’t had to cast a stasis charm over the hot water at all. A small kindness, or perhaps a convenience, but either way it had made soaking a pleasant experience. She still wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to resume Spanking & Paddling 101, but she was determined to keep her composure. She’d even gone so far as to brew a mug of the herbal concoction he’d given her the first night back after she’d started her cycle. Hermione convinced herself that between the tea and the bath she was ready to take on the world.
                “Severus,” she called, standing in a towel in the hallway. She waited a moment but heard nothing. Venturing the two steps down the hallway she tapped on his bedroom door.
                “Tap away but I shan’t answer.” His voice came from behind her and she jumped, squeaking a bit as she spun around to face him. “Still on edge, I see.” He frowned.
                “You just— I thought you were— oh bother,” she sighed.
                “I was in the laboratory, if you must know.” He said. When she made no move to approach the bathroom he rolled his eyes. “Working on the depilatory for Mr. Weasley,” he added. “It needs six hours to simmer in a larger batch.”
                Hermione nodded. She could feel her face flushing again. “I think I’m ready,” she said after a moment and walked toward the bathroom. The tub was drained and slowly drying but still smelled of the calming herbs and this eased her mind just slightly as he closed the door behind them, moving over to the sink basin. She watched as he carefully laid the three handles across the sink. Noticeably absent was the flogger, though she supposed since he’d worked it over her backside and briefly explained how to handle it, that he would not be repeating its use now that the lesson was resuming.
                Her jaw all but dropped when she watched his fingers deftly working down the front of his shirt, button after button coming undone until he’d removed the garment and stood only in his trousers and belt. She quickly turned her head away not wanting him to see her shocked expression. Severus stepped toward her. “You seem to be best at ease when things are leveled to your advantage,” he said simply and then took hold of her towel. As she shimmied out of it, he draped it over the floor. “Stand here,” he said and then put his hand on her hip, turning her to face the sink slightly. It would be a tight squeeze if he were to stand behind her, but if it bothered him, he said nothing.
                Hermione could feel her heart beginning to race and all he’d done was remove her shirt and expose her naked body. The hand on the small of her back made her jump but his palm lingered there and after a moment, she drew in several steadying breaths. “Are you going to—”
                “Just relax, Miss Granger,” he said. “I know that’s an impossible command for your ever-whirling mind to comprehend, but do try for both our sakes.”
                The tone had returned. She flushed, indignation fueling her cheeks rather than embarrassment. But he had a point. She had never been good at relaxing. All her life she’d been high-strung, though with what she’d encountered during her school days and the war she could hardly be blamed. Hermione closed her eyes trying to think about things that were relaxing. The way he’d massaged her shoulders the night he’d taught her how to give him a blow job; that had been relaxing. The way he’d stroked her and eased her cheeks apart the night he’d taken her anal virginity; that had been relaxing too. All of her most relaxing experiences had been caused by him.
                “That’s better,” she heard his voice. It was even; no longer laced with annoyance or the cheeky biting wit she’d come to know quite well. “Bend forward a bit,” he said. “And grip onto the sink.” They were instructions as if their roles as professor and student had never changed. As if she hadn’t watched him die that night in the Shrieking Shack, as if she hadn’t been blacklisted from work, and found herself testing novelty sex toys for George Weasley. As if she weren’t currently living with him at Spinner’s End; she was once again his pupil. Hermione tried to imagine such a lesson taking place at Hogwarts and she all but burst into a fit of giggles.
                She gasped as a heavy plank landed hard across her backside. She hadn’t been anticipating it and he must have noted how she had been holding back her laughter at the absurd thought of him paddling a student for instructional purposes. His delivery was remarkably well timed; the blow both thunderously hard but surprisingly sensual. “L-lower, I think.” Hermione turned her head to look at him, sheepish and meager. “The paddle I think it might be more effective— ooh!” she moaned as he paddled the leather against her arse. She noted that he had indeed shifted it lower, landing full against the middle of both cheeks. “Merlin,” she whimpered he placed a third blow, slightly lower than before, but just as firm.
                “You feel the difference?” he asked, pausing a moment to switch arms. “With a paddle you want to hit firmly and evenly. There is no need to put your full weight into it, but it has to be more than a flick of your wrist to distribute the blow smoothly.” She felt him smack the paddle against her ass thrice more, each smack eliciting a moan from her. “Always across both…” his voice trailed off and she yelped when he thwacked the paddle against just the top of her left cheek. “Otherwise there is recoil on both your cheek and in my arm.”
                Hermione sobbed in a gasp of air. She could feel her core pulsing. She could feel little gushes of arousal seeping down her legs. She tried not to think about the fact that she was dripping her arousal mixed with her menstrual blood down onto the bathroom floor, even if she was standing over a towel. She bent herself forward a bit more, both hands gripped firmly on the sink. “The hand…the flogger…the paddle…what’s— ah!” she cried.
                It felt like a bee sting. A quick bite that was there and gone. “The whip.” He said casually.
                “I don’t like that one,” she whimpered.
                There was a pause. She whined when he lashed its single tail against her right cheek. “It is not designed for you to like it.” Severus held the whip in his hand and moved to stand beside her. “Stand up,” he commanded, and she did so a bit too quickly, knocking into him as she did. “It requires a swift cracking motion with the wrist, and will land a potent blow…” he nodded at her. “A single whip as such is not often used for nice games” he added. “But you will find the principle is the same for a cat-o-nine, or a multi-tongued whip.”
                She was fully prepared for him to turn her back around and strike her once more, but when he did not, she breathed a sigh of relief. When he did not immediately insist she bend back over, her eyes filled with worry. Hermione tried to read his eyes, but it was no use. She looked down at the only toy he had yet to use on her; the crop. Nervously she plucked it up from the sink, turning it over and over in her hand. It felt no different from the Spades of Sunday crop that she had played with in the workshop. It even looked similar, save for the tip was not spade shaped. With a tremble in her hand that she wished for all the world was not there, she held out the handle to him.
                Severus smirked ever so slightly. His fingers brushed over hers and curled slowly around the handle before he took it from her. She watched as he took several steps back toward the toilet and her mouth fell agape as he lowered the lid and sat down on the seat. “Come here.” He said. His voice sent a jolt of ice racing down her spine. Two simple words; uttered with nothing more than a commanding tone to ensure that she knew she was to obey him and her body all but exploded. She could see without another word from him exactly what he intended to do and it mortified her. At least, it mortified her mind. Her body was all but screaming for her to race over to him, throw herself over his lap and wait to be disciplined.
                “Are you—” her rational mind won out over her body but her question was never fully formulated.
                “I said come here, Miss Granger.” His voice was sterner this time, as if her half-asked question was trying his patience.
                Trembling, timid steps took her over to where he now sat and she eyed him an uncertain glance. He spoke not another word. He didn’t have to. She could tell just from looking at him that he expected her to kneel down and lay her stomach over his lap. And her body wanted to. She desperately wanted to throw herself over him, feel the crop against her backside as he wielded it and tremble her way to orgasm while he spanked her with the little leather toy. He’d awakened something inside of her; a carnal lust-driven wildcat of sorts that craved this insanely taboo thing. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. A few hours earlier the thought of being spanked had terrified her and she’d cried and fussed over it. And then he’d worked her up into a frenzy and she’d found that she’d enjoyed it.
                But was she enjoying it because she was uncovering a masochistic side of herself? Or because he was the one that was spanking her? She tried for a moment to picture how being spanked would have felt by Ron or by Viktor; neither image was rewarding let alone arousing. She imagined Viktor, with as heavy handed and brutal as his petting had been, would have been nothing but painful as he took to spanking at her, even if he’d only used his hand. And try as she might she simply couldn’t picture Ron with any sort of equipment that would force him into that sort of dominance. He was not a submissive by any means of the word, but he was selfish. And exploring something like crops and spanking was beyond his comprehension.
                She had experienced no other men that she could qualify as pleasant sexual encounters and found it impossible to imagine a prince charming or fantasy lover in her mind. When she did all that she could picture was Severus. She was lost in her mind, trying to separate him from the action to determine if she enjoyed it for what it was or because it was something he was doing to her. But she was not allowed to mull it over further as his hand gripped her hip and pushed her forward. Hermione did not stumble. She eased her stomach forward over his legs, her entire body quaking as she felt herself settle onto his lap. It was an awkward position until he pushed her body forward.
                The weight of her body rested square on his thighs, her legs now dangling off him as were her breasts and the rest of her upper body. “Are you sure this is—”
                The hand that had pushed her was now pressed fully over her mouth. It was not a finger to her lips but rather his entire hand over her face just below her nose. “You will be quiet.” He said. “If you cannot, I shall add to the number of times I spank you with the crop.”
                This floored her. “Surely you don’t mean to— ooh!” she cried, feeling the firm sting of the leather head against her right cheek.
                “I do not mix words, Miss Granger. This is still a lesson, you will hold your tongue while I am teaching.” Again he smacked the crop against her arse, her left cheek this time. In the recesses of her mind she noted the way he switched cheeks as he spanked her; the pressure firm but not unrelenting, as if channeled directly through the center of the crop’s face. He moved the crop around as he spanked her, alternating cheeks and where on her cheek the blows landed. But she couldn’t help herself, try as she might to restrain her vocalizations. Hermione cried outright when he landed a blow particularly close to her crack; the painfully pleasurable sensation dizzying to her senses.
                Another crack landed on her flesh. Then she felt his hand. He was pulling her thighs apart, spreading them outward from each other; exposing her dripping sex. “What are you— oh! Oh! Ooh!” she whimpered; three more heavy cracks of the crop landing on the top swell of her left cheek. A fourth smack of the leather landed just inside her thigh, dangerously close to her sex. She could feel the lingering sting of the leather all over her backside. Hermione’s heart was racing, her blood was thrumming in her ears and her breathing was growing labored.
                “The angle changes everything, does it not?”
                “Yes it— oh!” she cried. It was no longer the crop against her backside. Severus had spanked her with his bare hand. The sting was excruciatingly delicious; the firm weight of his palm still cupping her right cheek. “What did you do that for? Ooh!’ she shrieked again, squirming slightly as he slapped his hand firmly against the inside of her thigh. Two slender digits swiped against her sex. Hermione shuddered. His palm landed against her again; firm and unyielding. Where the crop had gone she hadn’t the slightest but she felt her chest tighten. She tried twisting her head back over her shoulder but she felt his fingers pressing on her skin just between her shoulder blades.
                Hermione could feel her walls clenching, desperate to feel that blissful sensation of being penetrated by him. His fingers, his tongue, his cock; all of it had come to mean sheer ecstasy for her womanhood every time he came near her. And there he was; teasing her slick folds with two of his fingers. She moaned as he spanked her again; a rhythm of sorts echoing against her skin as he cupped her cheek before repeating his gesture. And then she groaned, rolling her hips back, unable to help herself. Two fingers pressed into the heat of her sex, curling upward as another blow landed against her skin.
                His body was sturdy and from the way she was splayed across him she couldn’t tell if what he was doing was causing him arousal or not. But in that moment she was lost in her own ecstatic pleasure and couldn’t be bothered to care. She’d lost control of her body and her mind; the former of which was bucking and writhing about atop his lap as he fingered her sex, in and out, slowly and then quickly, flexing and curling his fingers all the while his other hand continued to spank her. She moaned; she groaned; she cried out, her body wracked with tremors of pleasure that were so intense she was certain she would shake apart when she came.
She rocked on his lap, feeling his fingers pushing deeper into her. All thoughts of confusion over the act had fled her mind, all thoughts of being mid-cycle had vanished as well. In that moment all she could feel was his fingers inside of her, coaxing her to release as he continued to spank her arse. There was a sting and it prickled at her eyes, but she was too swept up in the pleasurable sensation that followed to notice that she was crying slightly. “Oh gods, oh— ooh! Ooh— Severus— ooh!” she screamed, feeling her walls clench tightly against his fingers as her body shook and her orgasm crested. He had not stopped spanking her until she began to shake violently atop him, her body seized by the spasm of her release.
                Deep shuddering breaths filled her lungs as she laid limp across his thighs. She felt his fingers glide slowly back from her sex, the loss of their fullness making her whimper just slightly. Hermione half expected to be pitched to the floor. What she hadn’t expected was the hand that threaded into her hair. She closed her eyes, disbelieving such a gesture as she felt the shortness of his nails rake idly over her scalp. For a moment she laid there, tempted to believe that she was in some post-orgasmic shock and that her mind was tricking her into feeling his hand. But when she felt his fingers tugging at her hair, she roused, slowly lifting her head and tilting it to face him.
                Her eyes met his and for a moment she saw something there. It was that same something she had seen before; an unidentifiable emotion caught halfway between something akin to concern or perhaps fondness. But as quickly as she had seen it, just like every time before, it was gone. Hermione sighed. She felt his fingers fall away from her hair as she carefully pulled herself up off his lap. Her legs were wobbly as she stood on them, but she managed after a moment. She bit her lower lip and was surprised that he did not jump up and pinch it back from her teeth.
                She stared at him for a long moment, her body still attempting to calm down from the experience. When he’d guided her through anal sex, the experience had been so overwhelming that she’d fallen asleep in his bed. When he’d guided her through her first blow job she’d tossed and turned unable to sleep thereafter. This experience was churning a new set of sensations in the pit of her stomach. A part of her was ready to explode at the mouth and vocalize every thought that was racing through her mind as the sexual satiated fog cleared from her head. Another part of her thought it was best if she just nodded her head and slipped out of the bathroom, but a third part of her still realized that she would need to clean up. A nervous glance at his hand confirmed her suspicions; he was coated though not quite as bad as she’d expected in her menstrual blood. Though if he seemed to mind, he said nothing to that effect.
                When finally he did stand and she had not moved back, it brought them chest to chest. Her breasts brushed just below his torso and the contact was enough to make her nipples harden. It wasn’t intentional defiance; Hermione had not meant to corner him there between her body and the toilet seat, but when he made no move to push her out of the way, or no protestation to pass her, she found a spark of confidence, or perhaps stupidity. She reached one hand up and placed it on the top of his shoulder. His eyes followed her hand and then moved back to hold her gaze.
                She didn’t speak, though she had plenty to say. Hermione’s other hand trembled as she brought it up to his other shoulder. Both hands now gripped his bare shoulders and with a little effort she pressed down on him. She was not foolish enough to think that she was strong enough to force him back down onto the toilet seat, but when he did bow beneath her pushing she knew there was some small victory gained. If he had wished to remain standing she knew full well he would have. Hermione tilted her head upward for the briefest of moments, closing her eyes in a silent prayer. There was still a tremor in her leg as she stepped forward and straddled herself over his lap. She held herself there; standing with him between her legs for a moment, both hands still firmly on his shoulders.
                It was a slow motion; deliberate and uncertain— half terrified that it would earn her a rebuke, half petrified that she would be wrong. Hermione sank down, bending into her hips until she rested her core against his lap. The bulge of his cock restrained inside his trousers pressed up against her center and she bit her lower lip to keep from gasping aloud. She’d been scared that she would lower herself into his lap and feel nothing; that the experience had been nothing more than a teaching lesson.
                “And now?” his words cut through her mind like ice.
                Hermione’s eyes flew to his, searching the black depths for some sort of sign. He was impossible to read at the best of times. What had she been planning to do? Sitting astride his trousers despite her own body being naked achieved little more than proving to her that he was sporting an erection, however well concealed inside the black fabric. Had that been all she had wanted to know? Surely a hand to his crotch could have told her as much. But she had straddled herself over him, pushed him back down to sit on the toilet seat and was now astride his lap, both hands still holding him there.
                It was the most forward she had dared to be with him. She was naked and he half naked. This was not part of the lesson; this was not her being cheeky and trying to force him out of his cloistered shell. She had no idea what she was doing or even why she’d done it. But he hadn’t pushed her off him, he hadn’t verbally berated her. He hadn’t even gone so far as to tell her that she was being too familiar with him. That was beyond her comprehension. She blinked her eyes several times trying to grasp the reality of the situation. The logical thing to do would have been to remove herself from his lap. It was a dangerous game she was playing; flirting with disaster sitting astride him. Or even the more illogical choice of leaning forward and planting a kiss upon his lips; that would have been better than the frozen state of indecision in which she found herself.
                The hand on the small of her back made her whole body tense. It was joined by his other hand; both arms around her back now, circling her into a loose embrace. Hermione lifted her right hand from his shoulder, watching as her fingers trembled. She cupped the side of his cheek; the heat of his face radiating into her palm. He was surprisingly warm; a fact that never escaped her notice but always seemed to surprise her. She closed her eyes and held his face in her hand, inhaling slowly, her hips rocking slightly forward. The heated breath at her left ear caused her to shiver.
                “You are playing with fire, Miss Granger…” the words trailed off in his throat. His voice was low; coarse and uneven as she had heard him speak in the workshop so many times when desperately trying to restrain himself. The tone flooded her core and she felt herself gush as her thighs trembled. She didn’t care that she was now wetting his trousers; if anything she could have sworn she felt his erection pulse beneath her as she trembled. She wanted him; needed him and she didn’t care if he scorched her alive in the process.
                Her other hand lifted from his shoulder; both hands now cupping his face. He did not pull back from her. He did not flinch. He did not reprimand her. She felt his hands slide slowly across the spans of her lower back, fanning his fingers out until he was pressing his palms into her skin. It arched her forward ever so slightly; a push of encouragement. Even if it wasn’t it was how she took it and in that moment, Hermione found courage. It was driven by something other than logic; a carnal need to have more from him than these lessons and their interactions in the workshop. Her head dipped forward and she pressed her lips against his. She had kissed him before. But this was different. There was as much hesitancy as there was determination; a full and slow kiss where her lips rested against his as her body pressed forward, her hips wriggling slightly in his lap.
                She slowly pulled her lips back from his, her face still hovering in front of his, their noses touching. It was chaste; so subtle that it could have been the dizzying sweep of her own body that brought their lips together once more; but she felt it. His lips brushing hers ever so slightly. A hint of a kiss that would have been for naught had she pulled her face back any further. It was delicate; innocent and short-lived but she had felt his lips on hers. Hermione pressed her lips to his again; fully and warmly, her tongue daring a timid trek across his top lip. She burned with need but could not bring herself to plunge her tongue into his mouth.
                His hands gripped her back more firmly then and she was startled. Her breath hitched in her throat and she forced herself not to protest, feeling his lips as they moved against the corner of her mouth, slowly back along her jaw to her ear. There were no words; only his breath. Slow, even, and deep; she could feel his chest rising and falling against hers as the heat of his mouth warmed her ear. She tried not to shiver, she tried to keep very still, but she couldn’t help herself as she ground her hips down against him, desperate to feel him fill her. If it hadn’t been for his trousers, she might have impaled herself on him and ridden him through another orgasm. It was something about him and all the wild things he did to her that had awakened a sexual succubus inside of her.
                It flashed quickly in her mind the things she’d read in that tome. The witch’s menses once fully awakened could demand insatiable lusty cravings during her cycle, further fueled by sexual fetishes, and other such desires being introduced. For a moment she wondered if it were truly him that was driving her need or just a part of being a witch. But that thought did not linger as his words, deep and slow with a deliberate roughness, pierced her mind.
                “Enough is enough.”
                She couldn’t protest. The words hadn’t even registered in her mind before she found herself being hoisted up from his lap. Her feet touched the cold porcelain tile of the bathroom floor and it took all Hermione had not to sob her protest. He too was standing, pressed closely to her, hands still clutching her hips from where he had lifted her. Their bodies continued to touch, her breasts pressed firmly just under his torso and she gazed up at him, unsettled and unfocused. Had she waited too long? Was she meant to be more aggressive? More assertive? Her thoughts raced in her mind and she hardly noticed him step back from her, releasing her entirely. The sound of the shower filled her ears and she turned to see him fiddling with the tap.
                Hermione stood dumbstruck. There had been a kiss, however subtle, and he had even gone so far as to encourage her. What in the hell had gone wrong? She was beside herself trying to make sense of it. One of those moments he was so often referencing; had it merely been that he had been caught up in it long enough to let her test the waters? And she hadn’t pushed herself far enough. She should have pressed her tongue into his mouth, she should have undone his trousers. Somehow the opportunity had presented itself and she’d missed it. His voice struck her again and when she focused her eyes on him she felt her body blush just to look at him.
                He’d undone his trousers and was standing with his cock jutting out of them, the head of his erection weeping with precum. She watched in slow motion as he slid the material down his legs and stepped out of them, stepping up into the shower. His eyes never left hers and she was all but frozen to the spot as she watched him step into the spray. “You are trying my patience, Miss Granger.” He said.
                Her cue to leave. She was not so foolish as to try and press her luck once more. He’d found himself in a state, they’d been caught up in a moment and she hadn’t had enough courage to take it a step further. Hermione tried not to slump forward like a cowed dog fleeing the scene with its tail between its legs as she walked toward the shower. She refused to slink out of the bathroom feeling the full sting of his rejection all through her body. The hand that grabbed her arm as she walked past the shower caught her so off-guard that she nearly slipped and fell to the ground; her only saving grace was that even when soaking wet in the shower his reflexes were lighting quick.
                She found herself being held upright by his strong arms, the lip of the tub between them. The heat of the water sprayed over his figure, spritzing her across the face. She scrunched her nose and blinked her eyes and then she cried out in surprise as she was lifted up and into the shower. The curtain was yanked shut and her eyes grew wide as she gazed at him. She was moving backwards, both of his hands still on her body from where he had lifted her, the spray now thundering down upon her back. They had shared this shower once before though it had been very, very different. There was light in the bathroom and she could see every inch of him. The way his hair clung to his neck, the way the water glistened on his chest; she could see every swirl of unreadable emotion in his eyes as he advanced on her.
                Severus pressed her against the wall and she whimpered. “I said enough is enough.” His voice was strangled, a sound she knew all too well. There was a look; a moment’s hesitation as she watched his eyes search her own. But like all looks that flitted across the features of Severus Snape, it was quickly gone. His lips pressed hard against hers, and she felt his hand grasp firmly at her left hip, dragging her leg up the side of his body. This drew him up between her legs as he held her leg high up against his hip. Without warning she felt him; thick and hard pressing against her core and then he was thrusting himself up inside of her. Hermione cried out, but the sound was lost in his mouth. His hands were tangled in her hair; the water spraying down hard over both of them and she was shuddering on her feet.
                His hips banged into her hard; slamming his cock upward into her again and again. It was fierce and more intense than anything she’d ever felt. Even when the various products in the workshop had caused him to lose his grip on his pristine control it had never felt like it felt in that moment. His kiss was brutal; harsh and demanding. Even the night he had kissed her to mock her in his kitchen paled by comparison to the way he assaulted her mouth now. It felt like every ounce of restraint that he enforced upon himself when they were at work was flowing into her now. Severus continued to pump hard up into her, slamming himself deep within her, all the while tightly holding her leg against his side.
                Hermione broke their kiss gasping for air. She was whimpering and mewling; her tender backside pressed hard against the wall of the shower. It was a barrage of sensations; his cock filling her, flooding her with ecstasy and his lips now sucking at the side of her throat, his teeth scraping over her skin. One hand was tugging through her hair the other leaving bruises on the side of her thigh for the pressure that held her in place. She was crying out; her body arching forward against the wall; meeting his hot flesh in every possible way. Her arms wrapped around him, nails digging into the back of his shoulder blades. She would have bruises and he would have crescent marks in his flesh when all was said and done.
                Her core was quaking; her walls clenching, feeling the pulse of him as he slammed into her again and again. She felt her body tense; Hermione cried out, feeling a particularly rough jerk of his hips as her orgasm broke through her body. She shuddered, she fell forward against his shoulder and was panting, desperate for breath. He was still grinding his hips up into her; his breathing heavy, though he did not growl or cry out as she did. And then she felt him slam her hard and heat erupted in her; his own release following hers. He crushed her back against the wall, his cock shuddering through spasm after spasm of release. Severus kept her pinned to the wall of the shower; hot water pouring over them as they panted and came down from their respective climaxes.
                She did not release her arms from around him, nor bother to move her head up from his shoulders. Her hair was heavy with water, clinging all around her and it took all she had to let her leg slide down his body, though she noted the way his hand seemed to guide her as she did so. It was several moments of just standing pressed between his chest and the wall before she opened her eyes and gazed at him. He was still Severus Snape; that much had not changed, but something inside of him had snapped. His snap caused her a world of confusion but in that moment she settled for holding his gaze. When two of his fingers brushed against her cheek she closed her eyes and leaned into the gesture. But much like his fleeting glimpses of indistinguishable emotions, the sensation flittered away before she could process it. He’d withdrawn his hand, but did not withdraw from her figure, leaving their bodies aligned and touching.
                “I—”
                His finger stopped her lips. “No, you don’t.” he said firmly. He held her gaze in a way that kept her silent. She must have given off a look that promised she would not speak because he slid his finger down her lips, tilted her chin up and held it there as he gazed hard into her eyes. “No,” he repeated himself. “You do not.” His lips fluttered close to hers, brushing them. It was a ghost of a kiss, so very much like the one he had given her when she had straddled herself over his lap. But it was a kiss just the same, however faint, and she all but melted up into it. Their lips met, his tongue brushing hers for the briefest of seconds before he pulled away, once more searching her eyes.
                “But if I—”
                Again his finger was there to still her lips. And then it was gone. His finger, his body, his gaze. She watched in longing as he stepped slowly back from her, extricating their bodies from one another. “Wash up, Miss Granger,” he nodded at her. Without another word, he stepped from the shower, drew the curtain closed and left her alone beneath the spray.

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