Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Debaucery Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 26266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: Sincere thanks, again, to Marriage1988. All the good lines are hers.
Dezzu – great to hear from you. Yes, this is proving to be slightly darker one.
Ali – ‘He's a real bad bastard but he's still our bastard..yes ladies?’ – hahah, oh yes! I wonder what you will think of him after this chapter! x
OO – ‘Hermione's going explode soon (whether from sexual tension or anger I can't guess)’ – Hahaha! I wonder if she will resist him? After this chapter . . . maybe.

Chapter 3 - Depravitality
Granger. Again. These past days, it seemed he couldn’t escape the little swot. Although not so little any longer. All grown . . . and in all the right places. His quill twirled around his fingers until he held it like a cigarette. A habit. Whenever he thought about sex, his fingers naturally took him there—unless they were already firmly ensconced in some tight pussy of course.
And was she ever so flustered in his presence—so desperately disapproving. In his experience, the most disapproving ones were the ones who wanted it most. They saw in him a reflection of their own desires, that which they were trying to suppress. Granger was suppressing something—he was sure of it.
The other one however, Miss Bell, was quite the opposite. Like her namesake, chiming out her naked lust openly. She’d barely managed to drag her eyes from his crotch, even when Granger had embarked upon her impressive bleeding performance. He’d do her before the week was out, that was a certainty. But where? And how? Tossing the quill aside, he steepled his index fingers against his bottom lip, leaning back in his chair to give his crotch room to expand.
Bell was the one who’d touched the cursed opal necklace at Hogwarts. Under the influence of the Imperius, she’d been manipulated, tortured, utterly helpless. That incident would have stayed with her—elements would be boiling deep in her subconscious. He could use that. She’d also been a Quidditch Chaser—a position that required considerable leg strength. It was Quidditch’s greatest contribution to the wizarding world in his opinion—women with thighs that could crack walnuts, riding cock for their country.
Letting her loose on his dick would be enjoyable—she’d be more than adept. But controlling her, tapping into her fears, holding her in exquisite torment on the edge of orgasm would be sublime. He imagined her begging him with her eyes alone, the rest of her body moving to the silent strains of his wand and cock. Reaching down, he adjusted himself beneath the desk.
Something would need to be done about that. He could simply find a room and knock one out or perhaps he could use it to do a little . . . groundwork.
Snape rose from his desk and threw his robes around his shoulders, purely for concealment purposes. Striding from his office, he started down the corridor. He’d rapidly memorised the location of everyone and everything—a useful hangover from his days as a spy, ensuring that he was always prepared.
Get on with your work. Granger’s glare was palpable as he passed. He had a good mind to go back and slam her onto her desk, fucking her until those accusing brown eyes turned vacant. He was immune to judgement, but he wasn’t immune to hypocrisy. The self-righteous little chit was more like him than she would ever admit.
He felt her gaze lingering on the open neck of his shirt. She seemed to be particularly disapproving of his casual attire. Well, my girl, along with freedom comes less restrictive clothing. The easier to unencumber oneself when needed. So what if he opened his shirt a bit? He could breathe at last. Move with ease at last. Just. Fucking. Be. At long last.
As he approached the Bell girl’s office, he slowed his pace to a casual stroll—he didn’t want to appear desperate.
She was transcribing something, her long dark hair falling in a soft curtain across her cheek.
“I wonder if you could direct me to the archives, Miss . . . Bell?”
She instantly blotted the parchment.
He leaned in, hovering over her as he murmured a wandless incantation, trailing his finger ever so close to hers to correct the mistake.
She looked at him, crotch first, or at least where his crotch would have been if it weren’t currently secreted behind his robes, before raking her eyes up to his face.
“The archives?”
He nodded slowly.
“They’re down . . . “ She faltered at the intensity of his black gaze before rising on shaky legs. “Follow me.”
He followed, remaining a step behind so he could watch the tight curves of her buttocks moving under her sheer skirt. G-string. Must be. No panty line. That would mean a slight adjustment to his approach.
They took the old elevator to the basement—bars, non-enclosed. They were exposed as they passed each floor but he still managed to slide his knee behind hers, tracking it up her inner thigh until she gasped and clutched at his thigh with desperate fingers.
By the time they reached the basement, Snape had his hands on her breasts and she was grinding back against his cock.
Turning her to face him, he lifted her easily and carried her out into a shadowy alcove off the basement corridor.
“How do you want it?” he growled in her ear.
“Dirty.”
His reputation had clearly preceded him.
“Done,” he grunted, grasping her blouse and tearing it open before spinning her around and pushing her against the rough stone wall.
Her breaths escaped her in shuddering gasps as he yanked her skirt up, bunching it around her waist, before hooking his hand under her bra and pulling it upwards so that her breasts were trapped between the wall and the elastic that continued to clamp down on them. It was a deliberate technique—it allowed him greater control.
“I want you loud,” he muttered into her jaw as one hand clamped around her nipple, abrading it against the wall, and the other slid down to clutch the front of her G-string, pulling it tight between her labia until it strangled her clit.
“Fuck!” she groaned.
“I don’t . . . just . . . fuck,” he snarled, his hot breath on her ear. “I take you apart. Piece . . . by . . . piece.”
He pinched her nipple until she cried out. “And I don’t put everything back. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she gasped, her chest crushed under his weight. “That’s what I want.”
Snape hooked his hand under one of her knees, lifting it so that it was pinned against the wall, propping her wide. Releasing his cock with a single tug at his buttoned fly, he lined the head up with her dripping slot and thrust in hard.
She tried to scream but it was just a hoarse rasp against the stone as he pulled out fully and rammed home again. Each thrust had her breasts grinding and pelvis rocking against the rough surface, dragging at the G-string which still clamped her clitoris, twisting and abrading it mercilessly.
Suddenly he pushed his middle finger into her mouth and she sucked on it in between gasps, forced out by the relentless pounding of his cock. And just when she thought he couldn’t possibly do any more to her, he shifted position so that his cock was thrusting in at an angle and she felt his wet finger at the tight constriction of her backside.
“Tell me when,” he muttered.
“When,” she moaned, and his finger surged into her as the same time as his teeth sank into her neck.
This time she screamed. And didn’t stop.
He heaved into her, slamming her against the wall, his cock and finger fully impaling her openings, both thrusting with mounting speed until she came spectacularly, practically climbing the wall as the orgasm ripped through her. He curled his finger inside her rectum, prolonging the convulsive shudders so that his cock could reach completion. Hissing, he drove into her pussy, letting her spasms naturally milk the streams of seed from him. The sensation of filling her with come as he held her trapped against the wall felt powerful, and he grunted with satisfaction as he deposited the last squirt into her. When he finally removed his cock and finger, she fell back limp into his arms.
Had she fainted? No—it seemed she’d simply lost tone with the fullness of her release. She lay both boneless and speechless as he rippled his fingers over her, gently healing her abrasions and repairing her clothing.
By the time he’d finished, she was the same as previous—except different. Her eyes were dazed and her pupils dilated, so much so that she had the appearance of being drugged.
“I . . . I needed that,” she whispered.
“Perhaps we can arrange a repeat . . . performance,” he replied, the silkiness returning to his voice.
“When?” She was suddenly animated, looking up at him pleadingly.
He chuckled as he cupped her cheek. He loved watching them beg. And she’d taken it so well—she was clearly used to rough play after her committed efforts on the Quidditch pitch. His future plans for her were looking more and more promising—indeed most aspects of this new job were suiting him very well indeed. But the reality was, when it came to sex, he never liked to commit—he much preferred spontaneity. And attachment could also be a problem. So he chose to ignore her question, instead pressing home with his own.
“Tell me about Miss Granger . . . “
***
That evening sleep eluded him—he lay framed in moonlight, mind racing. Restless. When it came like this—the burn—there was only one escape. Only one comfort that cut deeply enough.
In minutes he’d dressed and was sliding through the night, no more than a shadow—Apparating to an underground establishment well known to those in the potions community. Perhaps 150 years ago, such holes of depravity would be called Opium Dens. Today they had no name. Just darkened, windowless rooms permeated with drifts of pungent smoke, where regulars went to lose themselves in dangerous and powerful substances.
His particular establishment of choice was utterly exclusive. Overstuffed red velvet, dark marble and beaten gold provided an opulence matched only by the quality of flesh reclining within. And the choice of poison was vast—limited only by the galleons lining one’s pocket.
Severus’s shuttered gaze tunnelled into the smoky recesses of the room. Time slowed to a crawl. Every sense was sharpened, intensified—hues emboldened, scents textured, and sounds striking viscerally. The deep throb of bass notes pulsed through him, rhythmically, insistently, thrusting from his swollen heart down to his thickening cock. He was awash with the juices of his indulgence, marinating in them, his tenderised flesh finally carved and resting. Supremely relaxed, almost indolent, he felt his lungs expanding and contracting slowly and deeply—fully aware of every detail of his surroundings.
Then a singular thought crystallised in his mind. Which of the women here tonight will be his play thing? Who will match his insatiable appetite—stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust? Who will have the endurance—and imagination—to perform with him in one of his dark fantasies?
He nodded to the owner of the establishment, a short, bald man of little expression—a devious Squib who catered to the magical world for profits’ sake alone. The squib knew what that nod meant. Bring him a woman—someone young and beautiful, and wasted enough to be fully compliant.
In the private back room, Severus began to undress as he waited impatiently. Then he decided, ‘What the fuck’, removing all his clothes and settling on the bed. It wasn’t as though he would be politely courting the girl. He’d be getting down to business as soon as she arrived. After all, it was now expected of him, this debauchery, this debasement.
More than three hours later, he was still immersed in her; the chemicals he’d abused earlier still at work, gifting him a lingering sense of potency.
So why, then, were thoughts and images of someone else, another woman, weaving themselves between his carnal activities? The girl beneath him was fit enough, and indeed expressive enough. He tried to push away the memory—caramel eyes looking up to him, wanting to trust him as he chanted, her hands clasped within his.
No, Severus, attend to the girl at hand. She’s yours for the evening. Enjoy her. Fully.
- 2
- 3
- 4
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

Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete