Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Doing it for the Order Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 72673 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
A/N: Anon – Thank you. Doing my best to keep them coming :)
OO – ‘And then right as Snape's heart is emerging from it's crusty cocoon’ – God I loved that analogy – soooo good. ‘Mmmmmmmm, disturbing. :P ' ' ' ' <-----gutteral drooling’ – Holy shit, more emoticon brilliance (I feel an entire emoticon story coming on . . . if anyone can pull it off you can). ‘But I promise I sympathize even though I'm laughing. Poor stiff Severus’ – I believe you might be prepared to demonstrate how sympathetic you are to his cause? ‘Symbolic buttoning just before it--shielding himself in his frock coat and sealing himself away from vulnerability. An armor of black wool’ – you got it girl . . . excellent. ‘The panty-sniffing bloodhound bit was fucking fabulous.’ – hahaha, too crazy not to go there ;)
Ali – ‘They are terrific and totally genius.’ – Thank you kindly. Feel free to send any others along this way – I think the theme is pretty self-evident ;) ‘And don't really get the crappy coffee fascination’ – I’m with you, I can’t actually drink it. But your daughter is a lucky bitch – what a job! ‘Her own daily consignment of Severus Sausage! Hopefully she is not vegetarian.’ – LOL, I have a feeling she’d jump off the wagon at this point ;) ‘Makes me feel as though I am getting early crimbo presents.’ – aww, thank you kind lady. ‘Keep 'em coming...literally.’ – heard you loud and clear! :)
MoonlitMagnolia80 – LOL. He may make a return . . . ;)
MzPearlz – ‘Did Draco run and tell his pops this info??’ – I imagine there has been some discussion in the Malfoy household. ‘Mine are more theme based’ – sounds interesting. It’s certainly a good way to develop your writing skills.
Kvarta – ‘In that prospect he is no more than a chess piece in a very violent game of wizarding chess between Voldemort and Dumbledore.’ – I so love your descriptions again. ‘I don't think I'll ever look at sausage sandwich same way as before’ – LOL. Will you be eating it differently too? ‘She did overthink it’ – Oh yes, she’s still our Hermione, just with a little bit more understanding. ‘How desperately he needs an ally, someone on HIS side for a change.’ – Another wonderful bit of insight. ‘Lucius is too much of a snob and too much of a opportunist for having friends, he has useful connections, and they are...expendable.’ – Of course, that’s exactly the way I see them too. ‘And with this story it is really hard to predict’ – I’ll take that as a compliment ;) x

Chapter 15 – Keeping the Books in Order

She burst into his chambers. Without being invited. Without even knocking. He should have been annoyed but he soon understood why she’d been rushing. Breathing heavily, she leaned against the door, the ghost of a smile on her face. Her hands were braced tightly across her front, cinching her robes together.
Bottom lip slipping between her teeth in a nervous gesture he’d witnessed a thousand times in the classroom, she slowly opened her robes to reveal . . . Merlin’s bollocks!
A matching set—satin or something—a burgundy slash across her breasts and . . . barely covering her mons.
The hand in his trouser pocket clenched. Didn’t she understand what a precarious position she was in? He was a wizard, more powerful than most, in his sexual prime, who had ejaculated only once a week for months. And somehow she felt it safe practice to enter his chambers . . . without permission . . . looking like . . .
He was upon her in a flash. And it was clearly what she’d been hoping for, her brown eyes shining as he lunged down to meet her lips, already engorged and deliciously flushed. As he pressed her bodily against the door, tasting her mouth—obviously freshly cleaned—he made short work of the underwear. As attractive as it was, it was simply wrapping, a garnish on what he’d found himself increasingly desperate over the past days to touch—to rub himself against, to thrust himself into.
And she seemed to possess a matching level of desire, unyielding at his lips but accommodating at his hands. It was perfect really . . . if they were lovers. But they weren’t—and this level of intensity was definitely not what the Order had had in mind when sanctioning—and even endorsing—their union.
But they were sexual beings, for Merlin’s sake! What did the Order anticipate would happen? That they would persist with only the most rudimentary interactions to satisfy the requirements of the enchantment?
Perhaps. No doubt they expected him as her Professor to restrain himself, to direct proceedings such that things didn’t escalate . . . or deteriorate—so that when she grabbed his hand and guided it down between her legs, he didn’t thrust as deeply and emphatically into her deliciously tight opening as he could, tugging roughly at her nipples with zealous fingers, sucking on her tongue as she almost collapsed on trembling thighs.
It might be inappropriate, but the truth was that a herd of wild horses wouldn’t be dragging him away from her at his point. Not with her pinned against the door, pert breasts brushing against his, now bare, chest, thanks to the efforts of her frantic fingers—legs spread to accommodate him, gentle pressure on his shoulder, encouraging him downward.
He’d be going down—there was never a question. But he first needed her to open his trousers. His cock had been through too much that week to expect it to remain confined at its most excruciatingly rigid. Its final emancipation into her soft, warm hands had him shuddering and sighing in equal measure.
Sliding his palms down her slim body, he decided he needed to improve his access—to open her up sufficiently so that he could give her what she wanted. Reaching sideways, he pulled a book—a hefty tome—from a nearby shelf and reached down to place the spine under the back of her knee before lifting it sideways and using a Sticking Charm to adhere it to the door. She now stood on one leg, the other lifted and slung over the book. It would be enough—for now.
Thank Merlin. She’d been worried that he wasn’t going to do it again; that it might have been a one-off—part of his dominance display. But he was on the way down. And even the journey was . . . extraordinary. His mouth attended to parts of her that she wasn’t sure had ever been touched in her life—at least she couldn’t remember ever being aware of them.
Moist kisses smouldered along her collar bone, his breath drifting into the hollow above before being joined by his tongue, flickering out to prime her, making her feel tasty, edible, even delicious. She automatically curled her pelvis against him, a primal urge to thrust, without anything to even drive against, nothing to draw into her—at least not yet.
His sojourn at her breast was another revelation. Both strong hands were against her shoulders, holding her in place as he lifted and dragged one nipple between his tongue and palate, the rest of her breast bouncing and stretching with each undulation. The same treatment to her other nipple left both red and glistening like glazed strawberries. Even she found the sight against the creamy pallor of her flesh enticing. It was almost a pity she couldn’t access them herself.
Then the fog descended as he crested her ribs and trailed soft-lipped kisses down her clenching abdomen.
“Ohh . . . farg . . . gohh . . .” was all she could manage as his tongue suddenly plunged into her navel. Who would have thought that was sexy? A lint repository? But fuck . . . he may as well have been inside her pussy, it was so visceral.
And finally he was there. That tongue that had whipped her so mercilessly in class was now doing the same to her clitoris—and rather than anger or humiliation, she was feeling enraptured. She couldn’t deny it—it was the part that had stayed with her most vividly since the last time. The sense that she could feel both tenderly tickled and violently plundered by his mouth was quite astounding. And now that she’d given up resisting him, the abandonment she’d allowed herself was scarily liberating.
As he flattened his tongue and proceeded to deliver long, slow licks from close to her back passage, all the way up to her clitoris, she clutched at the spine of the book with one hand and buried the other in his hair, even feeling brave enough to apply gentle pressure when he arrived at the spots she wanted him to attend to most.
Without hesitation, he complied. When she curled her fingers into his scalp, he did the same to her pussy, twisting and roiling around inside her until she was gasping and garbling like the Hogwarts Express on a downhill run. And even without his fingers inside her, she found she was already close to coming—his tongue more than enough to take her there.
But despite the promise of another monumental orgasm she suddenly found herself intent upon having his cock. She’d become accustomed to the security of its tight fit inside her. Admittedly, it had originally scared her—a huge, blunt weapon to plunder her—to ensure her submission. But now she trusted him not to hurt her. And after their previous interaction, she was no longer afraid of giving him control; she had a sense that he knew what she needed, even more perhaps than she did.
However, that understanding didn’t stop her from feeling a strange possessiveness over him right now—as though he belonged there, inside her, even beyond her responsibility to him . . . totally ridiculous really considering the true nature of their relationship.
But the words were on her lips before she could stop them.
“Please fuck me.”
He halted his ministrations, looking up at her.
If there was a more enticing sight in the world, he was yet to behold it. Every part of her was flushed, ripe, glistening, heaving or trembling. She was exquisitely aroused—acutely prepared—for him.
Rising, he reached out for a second large book, bringing it down and easing it under her other knee. Grasping both books at once, he proceeded to slide them up the door until her pussy was at groin height, aligned with the bobbing head of his member. Both legs were now hooked over the spines, spreading her wide while she supported herself by clutching each book tightly with her hands.
Grasping the base of his cock, his stomach relaxed with the promise of finally being able to bring it some relief.
She suddenly reached out and tapped his penis like a naughty pet.
“Histomalleus,” she reminded him. “Wand in my robe.”
He sighed inwardly. At least someone was thinking about the purpose of their engagement, not just about getting their rocks off.
Crouching down, he retrieved her wand and she used it to create a sixth digit next to her little finger. He didn’t question it. Perhaps it was to assist her to hold on. Whatever, despite the penis smack, he was grateful that she’d remembered.
Tunnelling one hand into her hair, he grasped a fistful whilst dragging his engorged helmet up and down through her folds until it was coated in silky arousal.
Then as he pushed just the tip inside her, his mouth closed over hers, tongue dipping into her, prodding in the same exploratory manner. His hips gradually came into action, rocking gently—his tongue laving in time. She whimpered into his mouth.
It wasn’t absolutely required, of course, this teasing. She was as wet as she could possibly be. But her expressions of desire, her need, was the vindication that he somehow still required. And it made him feel a certain way . . . something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of being wanted for no other reason than pure desire. It might not be fair to use her to soothe his old and deep-set wounds but he figured that humans spend their lives constantly attending to their insecurities, whether consciously or subconsciously, through their interactions with others.
And she did seem to enjoy it. Her pussy was already convulsing around him, clutching rhythmically as she sucked his tongue into her mouth. And the sounds she made—throaty gasps, breathy whispers and needy moans—were a constant and pleasing symphony. But her mounting expressions of blatant desire also tapped directly into his own, to the point that he found he could no longer hold back. Soon his thrusts were bottoming out inside her, firmly pounding her against the unyielding wood of the door. But rather than exhibiting discomfort, her head rocked back as her mouth dropped open in ecstasy, thighs snapping in with each incursion, as though he was triggering her to fold.
Then he changed his rhythm, slowing at the end of each thrust to grind against her clitoris with his pubic bone. Her breathing grew ragged. At some point she must have released the books, because her arms were now wrapped tightly around his neck, and she was moaning into his chest. Even that sensation, her warm breath shuddering against his perspiration-slicked skin was erotic. And for the first time he felt he might even come before her—the desire to release was just too great.
But then her breaths turned short and guttural, telling him that she was very close. Her fingernails curled into sharp points against his neck. He drove into her, the hollow thuds of her body against the door a mounting ovation to her impending eruption.
“Oh Gods . . . Oh . . . Sev . . . er . . . usss,” she gasped as she came.
His balls surged, ejecting into her convulsing channel, time and again. Her whole body seized around him, jerking as she clung on, arms and thighs wrapping around him like a python. He continued to thrust as fresh waves of seed emerged—her sheath squeezing him, wringing him dry, and his balls complying in the knowledge that this would be their only opportunity to drain themselves for another week at least. The enchantment within his shaft fizzled and subsided. Relief washed over him.
She’d called him Severus. For some reason that was the first thing that entered his post-orgasmic mind. In fact, it was the only thing—hanging there like a neon sign, signifying something that was, most likely, nothing. As he watched her—head propped back against the door, strands of hair clinging to her face, sucking in air—she suddenly blinked and opened her eyes, before smiling up at him with shy amusement.
“I’ve always loved books,” she sighed.
And he laughed. She’d caught him off guard—with his defences down, awash with relief. It suddenly seemed hugely funny—more funny than it really should have been. As he tipped back his head and allowed himself to indulge in a deep, rolling peal of laughter, he could feel her convulsing against him too; she’d obviously been similarly struck.
And it wasn’t polite laughter at all. It was snorting, helpless laughter that left them both with tears in their eyes, gasping for breath.
When they’d finally recovered, she looked at him seriously.
“Do you think I might stay? Just for a few minutes . . . to recuperate? I really don’t think I can stand.”
He was still smiling. It was not at all a familiar state for his face, but he just couldn’t help it. Hooking his hands under her buttocks, he lifted and carried her, still clinging to him like a sloth, into the bedroom, before sitting on the bed.
In one motion, he twisted and reclined, flicking the covers over them both so she was now lying on top of him, in much the same position as when she’d first ridden him to completion—jaw against his solar plexus, ear to his heart.
She’d get up soon. As soon as she’d recuperated. But as his heart slowed, so did her breathing. Her hand rested upon his chest; she flexed it slightly, hazily watching her sixth finger curl into his fine hair. Despite her tiredness, she reflected upon the anomaly and how appropriate it felt—an externalisation of the oddness that was permanently within her—as a misfit in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.
But what struck her most was the fact that both her external and internal eccentricities had been on display—she’d shown practically all of them to the man breathing gently beneath her, and yet he held her firmly in his arms, as though unwilling to let her go.
It felt like acceptance, but it could simply be comfort, or desperation. Whatever it was, something deep inside her suddenly released—it was an unravelling of the tight ball of tension—that associated with her constant need to prove herself. And it was so fundamental, so deeply satisfying that her eyelids suddenly felt like they were made of lead.
She would just close them for a fraction of a second. She would just float on his warmth until she could . . . until she was . . . just . . . until . . .
- 14
- 15
- 16
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

Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete