Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Massage	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 52203 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
A/N: Thanks for being patient! This one took a little longer to flesh out because of all the horrific incidences...so here is your official warning- if you're averse to violence and forced anal sex or fellatio- then you should just pretend, while I don't think I was particularly graphic- it's still some pretty heavy stuff. Feel warned. The italics will let you know when you're about to live a memory- if you wish to read the other bits but not the heavy stuff.

A few hours found her seated in the same high-backed squishy armchair that she had summoned from her chambers into the adjoining room, only she had brought the chair back into the small living room, setting it near the fireplace. She’d roused a roaring blaze in the hearth and had moved the couch a good deal closer as well. Allowing him a pair of loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved buttonless shirt, Hermione had moved Severus from the bed in the adjoining room out into her sitting room so that as they discussed things more in depth he could feel more comfortable. There was no sense in keeping him in the patient gown and the slight chill that he had complained of had not yet abated. It worried her somewhat, but every time she mentioned it he dismissed it with a snide remark about her having removed all of his body hair.

            She had drawn up a small table between them and ordered a full tea service with scones, finger sandwiches, little savory tarts, and an assortment of teacakes. In her hands she held a steaming cup of chamomile tea, noting that just like her he took his tea straight without sugar, lemon, honey, milk. She’d watched him plucking idly at the scone she’d offered him, and aside from the occasional sip of his tea he did not bother with anything else.

            “Should we start with the torment?” she asked, hoping that perhaps it would be the milder of the things they would need to discuss, and that in starting lighter perhaps it would be easier to build up to the dark and more torturous things that she knew he would be reluctant to speak about.

            Severus said nothing, keeping his eyes lowered into his cup of tea. The fire crackling with the occasional pop and hiss of a log as it shifted and broke down beneath the heat of the flames was the only sound that echoed in the room. Hermione kept her eyes on him, waiting to see if he would respond, waiting to see if he would start speaking about what she knew would be difficult; not only for him to share it with her but for her to hear. No man, especially not Severus Snape, would be overly anxious to share such intimate details with anyone, particularly not a woman, and certainly not a woman that had previously been his student. Their roles seemed drastically reversed now; though she was hardly teaching him anything. But she held the power just the same, though she honestly didn’t want it.

            “You said nothing while you were at school,” she began, trying to offer him a starting point, a place from which to leap off into the darkness. “Was it always during holiday and summer breaks? Or just one maybe more than the other?”

            “I did not spend the holidays away from Hogwarts,” he said simply, still not looking up from his tea.

            “Summer then,” she said and then set her teacup down on the small table between them. “Do you remember when it first started?” she asked softly, trying to think of more comforting phrases, easier ways to word the intrusive inquisition. It certainly was not something that she was looking forward to hearing; she felt guilty enough knowing the life he had managed up to that point, and more reasons to show him pity and sympathy was the last thing she wanted.

            Severus continued to stare into his cup. It was many long moments in silence after she had asked the question about whether or not he could recall when the sexual torment had started that he finally gazed up and caught her eye. “I honestly do not think discussing this is going to help,” he said with a level voice; tone calm, breath even.

            “I know it can be difficult,” she said. She actually had no idea what it must have been like to have experienced such things, but knew that it was often more traumatizing to revisit the incident especially if the patient had buried it deep in the subconscious or tried to block it from their minds, than perhaps the initial event itself. “Maybe you could start with what led up to it? Sometimes it’s easier to let it out if you have a bit of a build up.”

            He seemed to consider this for a moment, not letting his eyes fall from hers. But then he shook his head. “No,” he said and took a swallow from his cup. “I don’t have any inkling to talk about it, build up or not—”

            “Severus, you have to talk about it— it’s the only way I can get to the bottom of trying to help—”

            “If you had let me finish,” he narrowed his eyes at her, forcing her once more into silence. “I was going to say that while I haven’t any inkling to talk about it, I am aware that you seem to be of the opinion that this is the only way to solve my problem. And whether or not you are correct on that front I cannot be the judge— for while I still doubt your capabilities in all facets of handling this case, it would seem I have been left with little choice in the matter.” He paused for a moment just letting his words be absorbed before he continued. “As such, I do not wish to impede your processes; however, I am at this time unable to express such things to you.”

            “Then how in the world am I meant to—”

            He raised his hand to silence her this time and again Hermione fell quiet, a slight blush filling in her cheeks. It had been quite some time since she had last been silenced in a fashion that was reprimanding. Severus lowered his hand. “If you would just keep your bloody mouth shut for two whole minutes,” he admonished her and then set his empty cup down on the table. “I intend to provide you with what you believe you need to move forward in the form of a viewable memory.”

            Hermione waited, gazing at him to see if there might be more before she opened her mouth to speak. Once she was certain he had finished she nodded her head. “Alright,” she said. “It’s a bit unconventional, but that seems to be par for the course with you, so…” she trailed off as she stood from the chair. “I have a pensieve in my office, let me get it,” she said and then moved quickly from her sitting room. She had used pensieves before, in cases where the patient was too debilitated or incapacitated to express what traumas they had experienced; but the practice was rare.

            Returning with the large stone basin in her arms she placed it on the table between them and sat down once more in the chair. “If you’d prefer not to accompany me,” she said eyeing him curiously. “I would understand and as this is for your own benefit and you don’t wish to relive it, I wouldn’t object to you staying here,” she said and then folded her hands neatly into her lap.

            Severus looked at her for a moment and then slowly shook his head. “You’ve seen every inch of me, violated my person and taken everything but the hair on my head, what more could my presence alongside yours in my most vulnerable memories possibly give you?” he asked. It wasn’t really a biting snap and that made her feel even worse.

            Hermione nodded slowly; the guilt of having broken him in the way that she had still reeling within her. But she was going to make it up to him, and even if things had to become more awkward before they became better, she would find a way to cure the damage he was suffering from; hopefully in a way that involved no further degrading physical treatments. She knew she should have run away the first day she’d read the word massage in his patient chart. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said and then leaned forward toward the stone basin.

            It took Severus several minutes as he closed his eyes, as if searching his mind for the specific memory, before he drew his wand and extracted the wispy silver filament, letting it swirl down into the glassy surface of the pensieve. Meeting her gaze once more he nodded simply before leaning into the swirling memory, noting that she did as well; both of them tumbling forward to view it together.

            “You call that hair?” the voice was a rather shrill one, masculine but shrill, perhaps a boy no more of ten years. “That’s not hair— you probably patched the neighbor’s cat for that, Sevvy.”

            Hermione could see three or four boys standing in a small alleyway; and she could see him standing there as well. He was unmistakable; the gangly pale limbs nearly white as snow, the raven black hair trailing down past his shoulders, lank and thin. The dark garments though they were shorts and a t-shirt; she knew the boy with his trousers round his ankles was in fact a young Severus Snape. Already she didn’t like where this was going.

            “If you’re going to run around with us- you need real man hair!” a brunette boy teased, his own trousers down around his ankles, his hand tugging his little penis forward to show a thick patch of dark brown curls all around his burgeoning manhood. “That’s hardly fluff at all! What woman would want that?” he chuckled.

            “Mort is right, Sevvy,” the one who had spoken originally, a ginger headed fellow, who looked to be the oldest of the boys, sneered, his trousers around his ankles as well, a bright crop of wiry red curls covering his manhood. “No woman would want that they’ll think there’s something wrong with you!”

            She could see from where she stood young Severus coming fully into view. His manhood, soft against his thigh, was nestled against a tiny smattering of black curls, the beginnings of puberty no doubt, but by comparisons standards very little. The other two boys in the crowd had dark hair like Severus, not as black as his, but also had far more hair around their pricks than he did. He looked stricken, almost frightened.

            “Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time fussing with your hair here,” the boy called Mort said, giving his hair a hard yank. Young Severus winced. “You’d have more here!” the boy slapped his hand hard across Severus’s pubic mound. The other boys laughed.

            “Here! Here!” one of the darker haired boys cried, pulling a blade from the ground, presumably from the pocket of his trousers. “Let’s give him some hair! Sevvy needs hair!” he teased, handing the knife to the ginger boy.

            Young Severus tried to run, but with his trousers around his knees he merely fell forward into the waiting arms of Mort and the dark haired boy who had not produced the knife. He was much scrawnier than them, his limbs like sticks theirs like slabs of meat. He struggled but found himself slammed against the bricks of the alleyway, trying to fight the boys off him but to no avail.

            “Sevvy needs hair! Sevvy needs hair!” they were chanting as the ginger haired boy grabbed a handful of his hair and started sawing at it with the knife, brutally sheering a chunk off near his ear. “Sevvy needs hair!” they continued to chant. Then they began spitting on his crotch, taking turns doing so.

            “More spit, Mort! Make it stick!” The ginger boy shoved his severed locks against his crotch with the spit, watching most of them fall to the ground.

            A loud scream filled the alley and the boys who had been tormenting him fled suddenly, leaving young Severus trembling and alone still backed against the wall. He turned his head, face filled with the red tinge of shame and saw a young girl; a thin waifish brunette standing there looking horrified. And just as soon as Hermione tried to take a glimpse at her the scene was changing.

            “Who was that?” she asked, wondering if he would even be able to answer her after reliving such a traumatic moment.

            “Petunia Evans,” he muttered. “Needless to say when I met her sister Lily a few years later she would go on to tell her sister that I was freak not only because of what I could do but because the neighborhood boys teased me for being…different.” His voice was cold and stoic but Hermione did not have time for further questions as the scene settled around them.

            Immediately she recognized the scene from the memories that Harry Potter had shared from what Snape had thought would be his final memories. They had been on private record at the ministry, but she had had her ways. It was the hillside where he had lain with Lily Evans, with Harry’s mother, discussing magic. Only he was not with Lily Evans in this scene. He was alone, and as young as he had been in the scene previous.

            “Oi! It’s Sevvy!” a voice called, the ginger headed boy from before. But young Severus did not get up from where he laid as the ginger boy and his gang approached. “You’re supposed to be playing with us! Your father said you had to!”

            “I’m guessing these were all muggle boys?” she asked, watching as the boys continued to shout at young Severus.

            “Astute guess,” he muttered.

            “He won’t play with us— because of his hair,” a blonde one, who had not been in the previous scene, said with a spiteful smirk.

            “Oh shut it, Dennis, that was last summer! He’s bound to have grown more hair by now!” Mort said. And before Hermione could blink the five boys were on the ground beside him, three of them holding him down while the other two ripped off his trousers and boxer shorts. “Look! See?” Mort snickered revealing that in fact young Severus had grown a bit more hair than the previous summer.

            “That’s too much!” the ginger boy said looking rather disgusted. “No girl will want that! How are you supposed to find it in that jungle!” he teased. “Hortense, give me your knife!”

            “No!” young Severus cried, struggling to sit up, struggling to close his legs, struggling to push them away, but to no avail. The boy called Hortense produced the same knife that he had the summer previous, tossing it to the ginger boy.

            And in no time the brutish bullies had hacked off nearly all of his pubic hair, leaving him barren in patches, nicked and bleeding in others. They had run off immediately after, leaving Severus naked from the waist down and alone. The scene ended abruptly and Hermione felt herself being pulled back up out of the pensieve.

            “Oh,” she said suddenly, seeing him sitting across from her, his gaze turned out the window. “I’m terribly sorry,” she muttered. It occurred to her then that having denuded him the day before might have triggered painful emotions regarding that particular memory. “I am indeed so sorry,” she said again.

            “What for,” he spat, and then leaned over to retrieve his teacup. “The following summer I’d been issued a wand, I was 11 then…and that was the end of the teasing,” he said simply as if he’d been wiping a spot from a coffee table and not dealing with the bullies that had tormented him in childhood.

            Hermione sat across from him for a long time thereafter in silence. She had taken note of what she had witnessed, and knew that there was more to come. They still hadn’t tackled the torture and rape, though she wasn’t certain she could stand it. After what felt like hours she cleared her throat. “I’m going to take that memory and use it in a potion,” she said. “The one indicated in the book, to see if that is your trigger— that way if it is…then we won’t have to discuss anything further,” she offered.

            She was floored when he shook his head. “We’re not going through this agonizing step by step, Hermione,” he used her name, which seemed to bother her more than it had the first handful of times it had happened. “I’m not a guinea pig for trial and error— while my care may be at your digression I am not going to have you cycling through some traumatic process with me…if you wish to know the rest for what you’re doing we’ll do it here and now while I’m in an exposing mood, or not at all,” he said.

            Hermione didn’t think twice. “Ok,” she said nodding her head. “Ok— then, where next?” she asked, uncertain. If he was going to take control, so be it, she was more than happy to take a backseat to the road trip through his tortured memories; hoping that only something good would come of them.

            She watched carefully as he leaned back on the couch once more, closing his eyes, again as if searching for memories to share with her. It made her sad that he kept such memories so well, and it caused her deep guilt to think of all he’d endured. After several long moments of searching he once more tapped his wand tip to the side of his head, dropping a small strand of the silvery strings into the pensieve. And just like that again they were both falling forward into his memories.

            “Come now, Severus, don’t be so ridiculous,” the voice was like smooth ice, she recognized it almost immediately, age had not changed it one bit. Hermione’s eyes settled quickly on Lucius Malfoy, lying lazily on a chair in some sort of grotto. Her face must have given away her confusion as she heard adult Severus speak.

            “This is the summer after my fourth year— before the incident with Lily— before the life debt to Potter…before I had taken the mark. Lucius was a year older than myself, but found that I made a good plaything, though he managed to convince me that we were indeed friends,” he paused. “This is Malfoy Manor, the gardens out beyond the reflecting pool,” he added solemnly. “They are far beyond prying eyes of anyone inside the manor, his parents, the servants, not even the house elves venture out this far— I think that’s why he insisted we played there so often.”

            Younger Severus, who looked not quite 15 was sitting on the ground beside the younger Malfoy, wearing only a pair of ill-fitting swimming trunks. The young blonde had his fingers threaded in Severus’s hair. “I don’t think I care to,” the younger brunette said, not facing Malfoy.

            “Come off it, you prude,” the blonde teased, tightening his grip on the younger’s hair. “It will make you last longer anyhow.”

            “I’m not sleeping with anyone, Malfoy, so I don’t see the point.” Young Severus pulled away defensively, grunting a bit as a few of his silky black hairs came free in the older boy’s grip. “You can if you’d like— you’ve got Astoria, Delilah and the others, but I’m not keen on any of them,” he said tersely.

            Young Malfoy scoffed. “See— it’s that lack of interest in those women that makes me certain you’re a ponce, which is fine by me— but I wouldn’t go flaunting that about, being in Slytherin—”

            “I am not a ponce, Malfoy!” younger Severus sneered, his face looking far harsher than a young boy’s should have.

            “Oh?” the blonde mocked. “Then you’ll let me stretch your cock so you can better please the ladies— if you could stop snarling long enough to talk to one of them. I know you were practically raised by wolves, but honestly, you need to be civil when you’re with them— how do you ever expect to gain a wife?” he said and sat up, shrugging out of the robe he’d been wearing. Young Lucius wore only a very silly looking swimmers thong beneath the robe, but Hermione had to admit that for a lanky young man he was rather well chiseled and firmly sculpted.

            She shivered feeling older Severus’s breath at the back of her ear. “Just watching you watch him leaves me confident in knowing that it was not just my own short comings that led me to give into him…” he whispered. Hermione tried to ignore him, focusing on what was happening before her.

            Young Lucius was pulling young Severus to his feet, pressing his body against him from behind, slowly dragging the other’s swimming trunks down. “Step out like a good boy,” he whispered against the younger boy’s ear. Hermione could feel her stomach doing flipflops as she watched on in disgust, the way the younger version of her patient’s body stiffened uncomfortably, his face flushing red, his pale slender limbs tensing as he did as he was told.

            The younger Malfoy stood with his body pressed firmly against young Severus, hands now slipping around to the front of him, one hand easily lifting the boy’s balls, the other slowly stroking his member. Younger Severus looked stricken, his face deathly pale as he looked down at the ground and to the side. “Not a ponce my arse,” Lucius teased feeling the boy’s cock stiffen slightly in his hand.

            Hermione’s heart sank watching as young Severus’s cock stiffened in the boy’s hand. “Anyone would have had the same response,” she said turning her eyes to older Severus. He was fixated, watching with a look she couldn’t describe, eyes unyielding as he gazed at his younger self.

            “That’s it…perfect for stretching…” younger Lucius began to tug hard against young Severus’s cock.

            “It hurts, Malfoy, stop.” He said trying to twist away from the other’s grasp, but the hand that had cupped his balls moved to wrap tightly around his chest. “Malfoy— I don’t want to do this anymore.”

            “Just think of all the women you’ll net with a bigger cock, Severus,” he teased, jerking hard against Severus’s cock, literally stretching it and trying to manually make it longer. “You want to be bigger, don’t you?”

            Younger Severus fell silent as the older boy behind him continued to yank and tug on his member, his cock going in and out of states of flaccidity and rigidity. Hermione watched in horror as silent tears streaked down his cheek. And after sometime, Malfoy’s hand returned to the younger boy’s balls, tugging and squeezing them as well; more brutal than anything she had ever seen. While she couldn’t really see what effect it was having on her young patient, as he was trying so very hard to keep his face— despite the tears— neutral, she could tell without a doubt how very pleasing it was for Malfoy.

            She watched in revulsion how the older boy was grinding his hips against young Severus’s backside, his lips murmuring against the younger boy’s shoulder, tugging and yanking at his member until Malfoy shuddered, clearly having come in his swimming thong. Then and only then did he release young Severus, pushing him hard, causing the boy to fall to the ground.

            Before she could see more the memory was swirling away. And she was landing in a new one. This time they were by a very luxurious pool, still at Malfoy Manor, though he looked a bit older. She turned her eyes to him, hoping for clarification.

            “Summer after fifth year,” he said. “After the incident with Lily, but before the incident with Potter,” he clarified.

            Hermione nodded and then turned her eyes back to the scene. Lucius was again wearing only a swimming thong and Severus his trunks. Both boys were glistening with water, evident that they had just finished swimming. The blonde flopped down on a lounge chair. “Come here,” he said and curled his finger at young Severus.

            Quietly the boy obliged. He was pulled down onto the lounge chair with Malfoy, the blonde spooning him tightly to his body. “You can’t let that mudblood bitch make you look a fool, Severus,” he whispered against the brunette’s ear. “You shouldn’t even be consorting with her type…as it is people already have the wrong idea about you— thinking you’re a ponce because you won’t bed a woman,” he sneered.

            Young Severus stayed silent, eyes hard set as he stared at the ground, his body neither resisting nor responding to Lucius. The blonde continued to speak, threading his fingers through young Severus’s hair. “You know what you need, Severus, is a good solid fuck…to get you over that mudblood, filthy little tart’s probably laid half of Gryffindor tower by now anyhow, she’s likely to give you Scutt,” he snickered.

            Hermione frowned. “Scutt?”

            Older Severus was still standing behind her but no longer leaning over directly into her ear. “A venereal disease that was cured approximately five years before your birth, I imagine most instances of it were eradicated from medicinal texts only because of the horrendously graphic symptoms and consequences…sort of like gangrene of the genitals only much worse and far more painful without anything actually falling off.”

            “Oh!” she said and shuddered. That indeed sounded horrible. But she didn’t have time to dwell on archaic sexual diseases as her eyes were brought back to focus on Malfoy when she heard him grunting. “Oh dear,” she muttered quietly.

            He had pulled down young Severus’s trunks, forcing him onto his belly lying across the lounge chair. She couldn’t see her patients face from that angle but wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was only a matter of moments with young Malfoy rubbing his hands over the younger boy’s pale ass, stroking his unwilling cheeks apart, and then he was thrusting hard and fast into young Severus’s ass. She could see the slight trickle of blood that ran down the back of his pale thigh and she gasped.

            The younger version of her patient made no cry or plea, and nothing could have indicated that he was anything but willing in that moment. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes but would not do him that injustice of crying. She bit her lower lip, watching as young Malfoy finished, pulling out and spraying himself all over the young boy’s back. “Go jump in the pool and wash off, you look filthy,” he chuckled and then kicked young Severus’s ass for good measure.

            Again the memory was swirling away from her before she could witness the atrocity further. “But you didn’t— you didn’t cry out or—”

            “Do you think that would have stopped him? Somehow made him take pity on my virgin hole?” he said flatly, only the slightest hint of anger resonating in his voice. “That letting him know it burned like blazes as he raped his way into a ring of taut unwilling muscles would make him do anything but pound me harder?”

            Hermione felt as if she was going to be sick, nearly falling to her knees as she scene stopped swirling around them. But his hand, firm and steadying was on her shoulder, keeping her upright. “You needed to see this, and I certainly wasn’t going to talk about it,” was the only thing he said before they found themselves in a dark room that was clearly somewhere inside of Hogwarts.

            She dreaded seeing what was to come. More rape no doubt. Had he not been living out his days in Azkaban despite a last minute defection to the side of good, she would have seen to it that someone brutally murdered Lucius Malfoy. Though no such thoughts of anger could have prepared her for the scene that she saw next.

            They were in some sort of classroom long abandoned and thick with dust. “You owe me a life debt,” said the soft voice of James Potter, it was a voice, just like Malfoy’s, that she would have recognized anywhere. “Sirius never should have gone that far…but I did save your life.”

            Hermione stepped forward seeing Harry’s father, perhaps sixth year or seventh year, sitting atop on old desk that was littered with cobwebs. Standing in front of him dressed in his school uniform with lank hair shrouding his face was Severus roughly the same age as Potter. Already she was certain she didn’t like where this was going.

            Younger Severus said nothing, continuing to gaze at Potter through the curtain of hair that hid his face. Again Harry’s father spoke. “Don’t think I don’t know about why you’re so upset over losing Lily as a friend,” he said. “Not that I care for you one bit, but I know she was keeping your secret…about being a puff,” he said.

            “Oh god,” Hermione said with exasperation.

            Older Severus’s hand was once more on her shoulder. “Still eager to see how this plays out?” he asked a bit smartly.

            But before she could respond to what she hoped was a rhetorical question she saw James Potter on his feet, pushing Severus down onto his knees.

            Hermione looked away. “You didn’t have a choice because of the binding magic of the life debt— it was whatever he wanted…” she trailed off, unable to keep her eyes away when she heard a whimper that was certainly from younger Severus.

            “You should be all practiced from the way she talks, and honestly who would believe me if I told anyway?” James asked, stroking his hardened cock, pressing it at younger Severus’s mouth, one hand firmly gripping the back of the other boy’s head. “Come on…Lily is just too pure for this and I’ve waited so long…” he groaned as he forced his cock forward into the other boy’s mouth.

            Hermione stifled her gasp as she watched the youthful James Potter forcibly thrust his cock in and out of her younger patient’s mouth. But again like he had been with Lucius Malfoy, he remained silent, save for the odd gagging sound here and there. This time there were no tears, and when Potter finished, coming hard with several moans down the back of young Severus’s throat, she bit her lower lip hard to keep from sobbing watching the struggle that played across his face as he choked to swallow what had been released in his mouth.

            She felt herself tumbling backward, a hand firmly on her shoulder and when she popped out of the pensieve she was surprised to see herself on the couch beside him with his hand still on her shoulder. “You don’t need to see more,” he muttered. “That would not be the only time that my life debt gave me the distinctive pleasure of Potter’s cock in my throat,” he said with a deep sarcasm. “Knowing that it was the first should be enough,” he said. “Mind you that the incident with Malfoy was not the last of its kind either,” he added and then pulled his hand back from her shoulder.

            Hermione was beside herself; pale in the face, sick in the stomach but she nodded numbly, trying to signal to him that she understood. The memories remained swirling slowly in the pensieve. She could bear no more to look at it than she could to look at him. Such horrific tragedies it was no wonder his body was sexually traumatized into triggering the worst in regards to his injuries from the Cruciatus curse.

            His voice startled her. “Now what?” he asked, sitting with a guarded expression upon his face once more, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

            It took her a moment to compose herself, but she sat up fully, turning to face him. “I will take the memories, as I said before, and put them into the potion that the text describes, it’s fairly simple, I assure you. You will take the potion, we will wait twenty-four hours, under which I am going to advise that you stay under my supervision so that I can monitor any adverse reactions you may have…and then I’m going to try treatment again— see if it helps, see if the results are different,” she said. “So— stay here,” she said, slowly rising from her couch. “And in an hour I should be back with a potion. And we’ll go from there.”

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Massage