Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
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
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N:
Norla – Lovely to hear from you. Yes, intensity is definitely the order of the day for this Severus. ‘"I'm actually really afraid of being hurt so I'll just act like a prick, to everyone, especially Hermione"’ – hahah, this is so accurate – love it! I also love your fearful anticipation of the future. ;)
Kvarta – ‘but at the moment is seems like this is just the courting’ – whoa, you do give him a lot of leeway! You are going to be a perfect barometer. If you tell me he’s gone too far, I’ll know for sure that it’s true ;) ‘It still begs the question is he just playing with her or is he trying to give her a unique perspective?’ – ooh, excellent question, I’ll be interested to see what you think after this chapter. ‘They remind me a bit of yin and yang symbol.’ – it is interesting that you thought this through the books also. ‘Maybe even to truly face herself for the first time’ – hmmm, another lovely piece of insight. ‘he is a bizarre form of reflecting surface’ – even more pleasing :) ‘he is teaching her!’ – in his own fucked up way, I think he is :). ‘or set her free’ – I just loved this too much! ‘and what happened to his frock coat? I don't recall him attempting to clean it’ – the trophy? Hardly ;)
OO – ‘Has Hermione not considered the idea that maybe he's just doing all this because he's a horny motherfucker?’ – LOL. Unfortunately for Hermione she’s not the type to address the most obvious explanation first. She might come up with that later down the track ;) ‘Auditory Trance Hypnosis Disorder.’ – I totally have that too . . . especially after watching too much AR. ‘Thank you. Come again. (You have to read that last bit in Apu's voice.)’ – OMFG that was brilliant! I hope your appointment with the JGG was relentlessly fruitful ;)
Remarkable – Thanks for your lovely review :) ‘With Snape, there's almost always a lesson in what he shares with others.’ – this is so true. I always have the sense that there are many layers to his complexity from appearance and behaviour to intention and meaning. ‘I like my Snape able to keep others off balance.’ – so do I, it’s so much more fun and naughty ;) xx

Chapter 4 - Ringmaster
Her points were there. Hermione checked the hourglass ledger on her way back to her room and saw that all seventy five points that Snape had awarded her over the past three days had been accounted for. It didn’t stop her from being pissed off but at least the humiliation of his indecorous departure—and potentially without even the compensation of house points—was somewhat lessened.
She’d always known Snape to be caustic and cantankerous but her latest interactions revealed a level of sordidity that shocked her—so much so that she was tempted to simply stay as far away from him as physically possible, relegating his actions as those of a depraved fantasist, a debauched, power-hungry pervert. But in some ways that assumption felt too simple—as though it would be naïve to dismiss his intentions so easily.
The problem was that there was too much about his approach that didn’t feel particularly sexual. There was a pervading sense of focused instruction . . . and a strange cryptic anthropology. It challenged her . . . both mentally and emotionally . . . and whilst she understood that there was an intensely psychological component to sex, she couldn’t shake the sense that his purpose extended beyond her sexual degradation, beyond even atonement.
But was this simply more evidence of her naiveté? Was she actually affording his actions a dangerous level of justification?
Hermione loved complexity. She always sought to consider that which lay beyond the obvious. Was it a mistake to give this man any leeway whatsoever? Was she simply fuelling his sick and twisted fantasies, perpetrated under the flimsy guise of punishment?
She sighed as she climbed yet another flight of stairs. Every time she settled upon a safe way to categorise his behaviour, a clear anomaly rose. There were too many contradictions, too many inconsistencies, whether deliberate or unconscious. Considered in its entirety, his actions to date had all the hallmarks of an attempt to derail her. But could it equally evidence his own derailment? Was this, in fact, a manifestation of his own trauma, enacted or projected onto her?
Hermione drifted wearily into her room. She was giving him way too much headspace . . . and yet he commanded it. Closing the door, she leaned against it, her hand instantly venturing between her legs, clamping the naked mound beneath her skirt.
The bizarre, and somewhat disturbing, side-effect of all this was that she felt far more sexual than she ever had in her life. It was as though all of the taboos, all of the sexual questions that may ever manifest in her mind, could be explored without her even asking . . . in fact they’d occurred to date mostly without her consent. And even though he dominated her, she was surprised to discover that she didn’t feel particularly diminished.
It was because she expected him to be a bastard. She’d rarely seen him as anything other. But there was another aspect that made her feel surprisingly potent—the notion that an immensely powerful and exceptionally intelligent wizard such as he would wish to concentrate his time and intensive efforts on making her come— on teaching her how to . . . fuck herself.
She squeezed her mons.
Her sexual experience to date was extremely limited. She and Ron had gone nowhere . . . fast. There had been a couple of others—nothing serious. And then there was the book group . . .
A pang of yearning surged through her.
She needed to get her book back . . . and her wand . . . and her freedom.
And then there were the points . . . over four hundred more. She’d told Ginny she would get them back and she would.
He might be using her to gratify some perverse sexual vice but she had an equal amount to gain, or at least to restore, including her integrity which she still felt capable of redeeming despite what she’d exposed herself to. She would engage . . . until it was impossible—until he made it so. And she had to admit . . . the way things were progressing, that might not be far off. Then she would be forced to fight him for it.
***
She arrived to find him looking out the window. He didn’t turn when she entered, standing perfectly still, hands a pale knot against the small of his back.
He knew she was there, he’d admitted her after all. But he chose to make her wait.
“Why have you changed?”
Hermione hesitated. He hadn’t yet looked at her. How did he know? She rubbed her palms nervously on the back of her jeans.
“You commented . . . last time you indicated that it was unusual for a senior student to be dressed in their uniform at this time of night.”
Finally he turned, swivelling on the heel of his black boot.
“I merely questioned whether you had done it purposefully, whether your intention had been to . . . seduce.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened at the word, at the insinuation. The suggestion that she’d brought all this upon herself was insulting . . . but she wouldn’t take the bait.
“Clearly that is not your intention this evening,” he continued, throwing her a disparaging look before returning his gaze to the window.
Hermione frowned. For some reason she found this even more insulting.
“What do you wish of me?” His voice seemed to echo off the dark panes.
Despite her irritation, Hermione felt her pulse instantly accelerate.
“I come seeking redemption, sir.”
In profile she saw his eyebrow lift, as though he were considering her response but still unwilling to attend to her. “How much do you seek?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Fifty.”
It was bold. Risky. Stupid.
He nodded faintly.
“I expect you to give considerably more than you have to date.”
Hermione caught the side of her mouth between her teeth and bit down. More? What more could she give?
“Are you prepared for such?”
He finally addressed her, arms slipping out from behind his back to hang at his sides. It wasn’t a relaxed pose, however. Rather it had the appearance of preparation, a taut readiness.
Hermione wriggled her toes in her shoes, not wishing to reveal her agitation.
“I feel I may have already reached certain . . . limits.” She heard the tell-tale rasp of tension in her own voice.
“Limits?” Snape frowned as though it were a word he’d never encountered before—one he’d never entertained. “Stepping outside of the meagre margins of your comfort zone can hardly be considered a threat to your ‘limits’.”
“Stepping?” Hermione repeated. “I have hardly stepped, Professor, I have been pushed, forced—”
He snorted. “Forced? Why, then, are you here? Were you bound? Did I drag you here against your will?”
“Or course not.” Heat flared in her cheeks. “But I have been given no choice.”
“Have you not?” Snape’s hands retreated behind his back as he took a few paces toward her. “You could always choose to do nothing.”
Hermione shook her head. “I can’t bear the thought of my actions disadvantaging so many others . . . including many of my friends.”
“You can’t tolerate their disappointment?”
That was fairly accurate. Hermione levelled her eyes at him. “No . . . I can’t.”
“Have you disappointed in the past? Someone significant?” He lifted his chin to consider her. “Have you perpetrated something . . . unforgiveable?”
Did he know about the Obliviation of her parents? Is that what he was driving at?
“I’d like to make a start, if you don’t mind.” Hermione crossed her arms.
He paused, considering her for a long moment.
Finally he spoke, “What are you afraid of?”
She wasn’t expecting the question, or the gentleness in his voice.
“I don’t want you to hurt me.” Hermione’s own voice was barely a whisper.
“Have I hurt you so far?”
She stared at him intently for a moment before shaking her head.
“Then that is unlikely to be your primary concern.” He flexed his shoulders dismissively. “Tell me what you are really afraid of.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Nor should you.” His response was immediate.
“But what you’re doing to me requires trust.” Hermione ground the words out . . . they felt raw, as though he’d tapped into a well of emotion that she didn’t quite understand.
“No it doesn’t. It requires a willingness to surrender.”
Hermione thought back to what had transpired in the Potions classroom. She had attempted to fight him, but in the end she’d had to give in. And the result was that her body had released far more than it ever had in her life.
“I don’t . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to give more.”
“You give more, Miss Granger,” his voice lowered and thickened, “by allowing me to take more.”
Hermione was terrified—more even than she could explain. He was right. She was very much used to being in control. And yet when she recalled the feelings she’d had after the previous two encounters with him, despite his bastardly ways, she’d felt a pervading sense of relief.
Is that what she was giving him? That burden? The burden of control?
“If I do . . . how do I know that you will honour the agreement—fifty points?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” He flexed a sardonic eyebrow.
Back to square one.
“Fine.” She sighed shakily. “Just do it.”
He tilted his head to the side as though deciding upon a course of action, then proceeded to pull up one impossibly tight sleeve and then the other, exposing a little more of each hand. Four slow, deliberate steps had him stopping directly in front of her. She willed herself not to tremble.
As he reached forward, she simultaneously jerked back, unable to override her automatic defensiveness. With unusual patience he waited for her to return before trying again. This time he undid the buttons of her cardigan. It was done with the economy of action that comes from having undone more buttons in his life than probably anyone alive—not at all seductive—more like a parent undressing a child.
Peeling the cardigan from her shoulders, he tossed it aside before grasping the bottom hem of her top and proceeding to lift it. She raised her arms, again like a child about to take a bath.
It reached that point in the removal that she had always hated, that claustrophobic moment when the fabric tightened around her neck, her breathing was obstructed, her vision completely obscured.
Then he stopped.
He proceeded to pull both sleeves inside out also, so that her wrists remained inside the cuffs but her hands were covered.
Without receiving a single word of instruction, Hermione was guided forward. She felt her hands being lowered down to the edge of the desk where he indicated with pressure over her fingers that she should hold on. The material covering her hands meant that the sensory input through her skin was significantly muted, as was the visual input which had been reduced to a small window at the end of a shadowy tunnel of material.
The entire experience was extremely disorientating; she felt dangerously disconnected from what was happening behind her. And considering he was there now, hands gripping her hips as she bent over, she felt incredibly vulnerable.
There was a little pressure just above her pubic bone, followed by a loosening. Then her jeans and knickers started to descend. His fingers were responsible for driving them, skimming down the outsides of her thighs, her knees and then her calves. But he took them no further, leaving the gathered material to shackle her ankles.
“I don’t imagine these receive much attention either.”
Despite the layer of material and hair bushing over her ears, she could hear him perfectly. His voice cut through everything. Always.
There was a slight pinch on her back and then she felt her breasts drop as her bra sprang free.
His hands were instantly there, taking the weight of both, lifting them, fingers gently moulding her modest contours.
“Do you touch your nipples?”
Despite the distinct awkwardness, Hermione was grateful that her humiliation was currently hidden within what could only be described as a tunnel of shame.
His fingers gradually worked their way forward, capturing both tender nubs and gripping firmly. Snagging her lip between her teeth, she bit down, trying to stifle the moan that was threatening to burst free. She would have expected someone as dextrous as he to be reasonably adept but the way he was rolling, squeezing and tugging each one, plucking and milking as though he knew exactly how it would feel, how to make her insides plunge and surge, how to make her pussy ache, she soon found her face clinging to the damp material, soaked in her ragged respirations.
“I’m afraid that I missed your response, Miss Granger,” he purred, tweaking more emphatically. “Do you touch your nipples . . . like . . . this?”
Her head dipped forward in embarrassment before she yelped, “No”, as another sharp tug jolted through her.
“Will you do so from now on?”
The answer, of course, was ‘yes’, she would do it to herself . . . exactly the same.
She nodded in her cocoon.
He chuckled. The sound was unexpected enough but the sensation of his abdomen beating gently against her bare buttock felt overwhelmingly intimate—as though she’d accidentally discovered a person buried within that cold shell.
“You should.” He finally released her. “Their response is . . . titillating.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. What was that? A pun?
She tightened her grip on the desk. Laughing and joking Snape was certainly not what she had been expecting. And she hardly felt it appropriate under the current circumstances. It only served to make her feel like he was deliberately softening her up . . . for the blow.
“It is rather coincidental that you should mention limits.” She heard his voice change, tightening somewhat as he shifted position behind her.
Fuck. What now?
“As you would be aware, the capacity of the vagina . . . the birth canal . . . is far greater than is immediately evident.”
Hermione was suddenly aware of what felt like his thumbs prising her open. She imagined he must be crouching or kneeling. His breath tickled its way inside her.
“In fact.” Bursts of heat continued to buffet her slot with each word. “Both female openings are incredibly amenable to manipulation . . . to insertion.”
Her entire body stiffened.
“One could almost interpret it as a deliberate facet of design—the placement of one highly sensitive passage immediately adjacent to the other.” She felt him grip both of her ankles, pushing them as far apart as possible. “A deliberate act of enticement.”
What was he talking about?
“The female anatomy is, in fact, perfectly constructed to accommodate two duelling males. Two bucks—stags, fighting for supremacy inside the ductile arena of her body.”
There it was again, the inherent implication of the female. As though by virtue of her body alone, she was somehow willing or complicit in fuelling male desire, male fantasies. It was entirely untrue and thoroughly incensing but now his finger was inside her and she was having trouble remembering exactly what she was incensed about.
“No doubt, you’ve felt it.” His voice had caramelised, and was suggestively coaxing her. “The desire of two males . . . both wanting you . . . both desperate to take you.”
Hermione closed her eyes. She didn’t want to feel it but his finger was now thrusting so languorously inside her that she did.
“But of course to accommodate both combatants, to feel the sensation of them jousting for supremacy inside you, you will be required to surrender this—”
“Uuhhh.” Hermione’s own breath steamed her face as something, another finger, was pressed into her anus. He pushed insistently. Her breath caught.
“Lubrication is often unnecessary if one is willing to wait—if one is able to hold back the need to penetrate in order to prime.”
His emphasis on each ‘p’ word, was driven home by simultaneous thrusts from his fingers into both holes, making her whimper. Hermione was also beginning to doubt the truth of his claim as the dry sting of her sphincter came over and over again with each rhythmic stretch.
“The rectum produces its own secretions. It simply requires more stimulation, more distention.”
Hermione’s head dropped toward her chest, the fabric adhering uncomfortably to her face as she felt her walls being reamed more forcefully.
“Certainly it will require more preparation than this slavering quim.” His finger slithered around inside her in a crude demonstration of how loose she had become. “This particular slot is clearly hungry for more . . . in fact, judging by the way it is attempting to devour me, I’d say it hasn’t been filled properly in a very long time.”
Hermione gasped and gripped the desk as a second of his substantial digits breached the rim of her pussy, sliding up to join the first. The resulting level of fullness was completely foreign to her. She had obviously experienced elements as part of her normal bodily functions but somehow this felt completely different—things were moving as they shouldn’t, as they never had before. Sometimes he alternated the thrusting into each passage, sometimes he synchronised it, but he was stretching her in all sorts of ways, entering her from different angles in a manner that kept the sensations flaring until she could no longer hold back. A throaty moan surged from her. It was so raw—magnified by the close confines of her material chamber—that she barely recognised it.
“I’ll take that as an indication that you are ready to give me more.”
She wasn’t. She couldn’t.
Further stinging pressure flared at her anus, making her retract her hips as another finger was pushed inside her.
“I can’t,” she whimpered.
“Relax,” he commanded. “Your body’s automatic response is to eliminate, to expel, but as you allow it, as you submit, your muscles will stop fighting and you will gradually accept me—accept that you want this.”
But she didn’t—she was positive she didn’t.
And yet the sounds she was making, the needy mewling, the wanton groans pressing against her face, the way her pelvis was desperately rocking to accommodate his advances, made her wonder what she really knew of herself, her true desires.
“Can you feel those two cocks? Battling for ownership, looking to stake their claim on you, inside you?”
His fingers drove into her, twisting and thrusting in a way that left very little to her imagination. The combat was very real—as was the third finger that he had somehow managed to wedge inside her pussy. In fact, his actions had brewed such a fierce sensorial storm inside her that her whole body was starting to shake.
Why did it have to be so intense? Why did he have to push her to the very brink of that abyss over and over again? His constant references to competition and ownership made her suspect that his intentions ran far deeper than he’d admitted. Was that really what this was all about? Living out his past failures? Projecting them onto her so that he could punish her for them?
But she was unable to give his motivation further thought as her body gathered, aching from the monumental strain caused by his intense and protracted build-up.
“Each wishes to mark you, to fill you.” His voice was breathy and rhythmic, surging in time with his hands. “To deposit their load, their male essence as deeply inside you as possible.”
Hermione choked on her breath as the tension became unbearable.
“And when you urge their collective seed to erupt, when these passages pump and squeeze as they are now, you become responsible, you provoke and claim their ejaculate . . . but then you must ultimately choose, one or the other and, in turn, accept that you are theirs.”
The frenzy of plunging reached breakneck speed.
“Do you accept it?” he growled.
Hermione cried out.
“Do you?!”
“Yes!” she shrieked as both her pussy and rectum simultaneously detonated around his pistoning digits.
If her previous orgasm was intense, this one was apocalyptic. Vaguely aware of warm spattering down her thighs, she bucked and jolted on quaking legs, artlessly rearing and convulsing as her ears rang with her otherworldly wailing, face boiled like a dumpling by the hectic rasps of her steaming breath. And, as before, he continued to wring her out, curling and shaking inside her holes as the paroxysms ripped like lightning through her pelvis. In some ways she was surprised that she managed to hold out so long as, with one final seismic surge into her core, her legs gave way. But before she could fall, he suddenly vacated her, leaving both holes shuddering and ticking, and surprisingly bereft.
Strong arms lifted her. Moments later her knickers, jeans and bra were back in place. And finally her top was inverted, pulled back down into place. He cast a cooling charm over her before looking her intently in the eye.
“Are you all right, Miss Granger?”
She nodded hazily, lifting a hand to trail it over the knotted matting of her hair.
He immediately released her, stepping away before pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket. For some reason she was expecting him to give it to her but he didn’t. Instead, he used it on himself, screwing the silken cloth around each finger in turn—like a well-to-do mechanic who had just administered a grease and oil change. He could have easily Scourgified but it wouldn’t have had nearly the impact. He had serviced her. And he clearly wanted her to know it.
He sat down in his chair, turning his fastidious attention to his nails which he proceeded to polish as his eyes lifted to hers.
“I believe that was worth fifty points.”
“Thank you, sir,” she rasped. “I happen to agree.”
Suddenly his eyebrow lifted a fraction and the corner of his mouth quirked up subtly in amusement.
“You are dismissed, Miss Granger.” There was an unusual lightness to his voice, a rare glint in his coal black eyes.
She inclined her head before turning and walking gingerly toward the door.
“Miss Granger, I think you may have forgotten something.”
She sighed inwardly, wondering what else he could possibly come up with. As she turned, her cardigan suddenly buffeted her in the face.
“Return it to your grandmother,” he muttered. “She needs it more than you do.”
- 3
- 4
- 5
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

At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete