Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

An Accidental Affair Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29007 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Oracle – ‘you sure are slap happy these last couple stories’ – Yes, I know, who would have thought? You’re right, but I’m happy if my characters are into it. It turned out to be a bit of a means to an end ;). ‘I'm surprised I don't look like Popeye the Sailor Man by now’ – Oh shit this cracked me up! ‘Next spanking new chapter’ – Bahahah! ‘I can think of lots of things she might need first hand research to clarify’ – Don’t you worry, Hermione is all over it!

Chapter 9 – Een toevallige affaire

Hermione’s enthusiasm at finally being able to legitimately touch him without having to resort to feeble tripping performances, was tempered somewhat by the uncharacteristically sober reality of what she was about to do. Normally she wouldn’t attempt anything like this without a gutful of beverages. Now she was floating about in some sort of psychedelic wonderland of sensoriality and about to embark upon mission ‘get those beautiful hands on my bare arse’ with little idea of the possible outcome.

Still, he’d agreed. That was something. Why he’d agreed was another thing entirely. But she couldn’t go there—not yet. She’d lived for years with her head boozily buried in the sand, so a few more hours couldn’t hurt. Something that she suspected would hurt though, were the short, sharp visitations from his prodigious palm. For something she had never done, and never wanted to do previously, she was surprised by how much her body was suddenly aching for it.

After toying with the idea of a quick trip to her bedroom to remove her clothing behind closed doors, she realised that any pretence of demurity would be quickly erased by the sight of her pale cheeks bouncing against the impeccable line of his expensive trousers. So she simply turned her back and slipped both layers down at once.

Should she comb her fingers through her flattened pubic hair? Just so it didn’t look so uninviting? No, that would be fucking stupid. Just turn the fuck around and get over his knee.

Hermione gathered all of her remaining courage—there wasn’t a whole lot of it left. And turned. He didn’t sneer at her deflated bush. He didn’t sneer at all. In fact, he looked quite officious, almost business-like with his shirtsleeve neatly folded to the elbow, his muscular forearm twitching slightly. Was he actually looking forward to this? He certainly didn’t seem repulsed by the prospect. Maybe he just welcomed the opportunity to teach this Gryffindor a lesson.

“So, where do you want me?”

She sounded like she was going to him for a haircut.

“The usual position is over one’s knee. Although there are numerous alternatives.”

And there it was again. The casual reference to his seemingly abundant knowledge. Whether that knowledge actually did exist and whether it had been gained first-hand, she guessed she would be finding out very shortly.

He’d shifted to the centre of the couch so she now had a theoretical choice of directions but obviously if he was right-handed she needed to lie with her bottom mainly over his right leg. Wouldn’t she? What would happen if he hit her backside downwards instead of upwards? She’d never thought about this sort of thing before. What if he was ambidextrous? Could he play her cheeks like the bongos?

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“No.” She answered too quickly. “I was just considering my . . . options. I think I’ll just . . . “

She tailed off awkwardly as she walked over and stood before him. Then, with all the grace of a collapsing marionette, she flopped herself over his parted thighs, mainly for the opportunity to finally give her beetroot face some reprieve from his scrutiny.

The first thing she felt was his hand on the back of her thigh, warm and smooth, completely relaxed— like it wasn’t the first time it had glided gently along his former student’s bare flesh. She knew he would be able to feel her breathing hitch against his thigh but there was absolutely nothing she could do about it; his touch, without the ginger beer buffer, was positively electrifying.

“How hard do you want it to be?”

The hint of danger in his voice, that firm hand, the taut muscles, unyielding beneath her abdomen made her literally quiver with anticipation. Of course the answer to that question was ‘how hard can you get?’ but she really had no idea what she was in for and throwing about sleazy innuendos whilst in such a compromising position didn’t seem particularly well advised.

“I’ll let you decide.” Her voice was soft and breathy, only partially due to the compression of her internal organs against his leg.

His hand slithered from her thigh, up the inner curve of her cheek, definitely closer to her pussy than she’d expected.

“I want you to count.” His hand stilled over one cheek.

“Why? How many are you planning?”

She heard a soft exhalation through his nose. Was he amused?

“So that I can judge your response.”

That sounded fair enou—

“Gods!”

“One,” he corrected her.

She shook her head. He clearly wasn’t holding back. The sting of his first strike radiated through her entire globe.

He brought his hand down on her other cheek and she squealed, “Two!”

Back to the first cheek, a sharp slap, louder and even harder than the first two.

“Three,” she choked.

Did it really hurt that much? Or had the sensation been augmented by the effects of the potion?

“Four.”

She felt it so cleanly. His full palm, fingers splayed, resting on her cheek in the aftermath. The next one came quickly.

“Five,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

She knew what it was now. It was the emotional pain. The sense of being punished. Maybe that wasn’t what everyone felt in this position but she definitely did. She’d been a bad daughter. The worst. She’d done unimaginable things and this was what she deserved.

“Six.”

She was surprised to feel the strain seeping away with the heat that radiated from her backside.

“Seven. Eight”

He was hitting both cheeks in quick succession.

“Nine. Ten.”

“Eleven . . . ow.”

That was a hard one, both cheeks at once. She’d felt her entire pelvis retract when it landed.

“Twelve.”

Another one. His hand was beginning to feel like baked leather.

“Thirteen.”

It was getting intense. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Then he suddenly stopped. He must have heard the tightness in her voice. He smoothed his palm over her burning rump, sliding it gently down between her cheeks before circumnavigating what was, no doubt, blossoming into a bright red beacon.

When she relaxed against him, her breathing turning slow and rhythmic, he started again. This time it was different. They were brief, upward slaps that caused her cheeks to wobble. And as each one landed, it created a wave of vibrations that coursed right through her nether regions.

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-two,” he corrected.

She was losing track of her numbers. All she could focus on was the nexus between the burning pain in her backside and the building pleasure in her pussy. She found herself eagerly anticipating each incursion, even with the briefest of respite between them, the sting barely abating.

With the rhythmic waves shuddering through her flesh, stimulating her more deeply than she could even hope to describe, she could almost imagine herself coming from his spanking alone. And as his hand slipped down to massage her cheeks between each stroke, brushing increasingly closer but never quite touching the lips of her pussy, she was left under no illusions about his level of expertise.

“Forty,” she grunted, then noticed with mortification that her buttocks were lifted, straining upward, exposing herself to him as fully as possible. And worse. She felt wet. Really wet. Wet enough leave a stain. Would the ‘wet woman’ ever leave a stain? Of course she would, she wasn’t called the ‘wet woman’ for nothing.

He was rubbing her again. And this time she wanted him to rub his way right up into her. Now that she’d been comprehensively tenderised on the outside, she was more than ready to be tenderised on the inside.

“Is that enough for your chapter?” He baritone sounded from above her, his hand now gently kneading her buttocks like dough.

She was panting, still desperately thrusting herself into him.

“I think so,” came her muffled response, trying to will her burning buttocks to still.

Hermione sighed inwardly. She might have more than enough material to write her chapter but not nearly enough for her pussy which was aching for release. It had been far from a spanking demonstration. He had clearly been trying to stimulate her. And it’d worked. Spectacularly. Was this just another part of their arousal war? Did he do it to simply take pleasure from leaving her wanting? Did he enjoy having that power over her? She chewed on her bottom lip, continuing to lie awkwardly across him. There was only one way to find out.

“I could do with a bit of help with my fingering chapter too,” she murmured.

His hands disappeared from her rump leaving an immediate void. He was so quiet she couldn’t even hear him breathing. Had she scared him off again? Like when she’d called his bluff earlier?

“On my terms.”

It was phrased as a question but sounded very much like a demand. Ummm, hell yeah. She didn’t care whose terms it was on. She’d take whatever he wanted to give her. If her poor deprived pussy could finally find some relief she’d be more than happy.

“Whatever terms you like.” She nodded quickly, closing her eyes, waiting to feel those delicious hands upon her once again.

Instead, she felt his arms slide under her, lifting and flipping her all in one motion until she was facing upward, her head resting on the arm of the couch. Oh shit! She hadn’t banked upon having to look at him. And then it got worse. He lifted her right leg, stretching it up toward her chest before hooking it around the side of his left shoulder. Her other knee he bent and pushed away from him so that her pussy was gaping as though in deep shock. Which indeed it was.

She couldn’t imagine herself feeling any more exposed. And when he locked eyes with her and proceeded to skim his fingertips lightly up her inner thigh, she thought she might actually die. It was excruciatingly intimate. She absolutely could not let him penetrate her with his gaze and his fingers at the same time. She could barely look him in the eye when eating with him so keeping a poker face as he rammed his fingers up her twat was never going to happen.

Tempted to cover her face with both hands but realising how utterly ridiculous that would look, she settled for draping one arm across her eyes like some melodramatic movie heroine.

“I imagine you will be requiring some descriptive terms to assist with the authenticity of your prose,” he said.

She only just stifled a moan. It seemed he really did want to kill her after all. He couldn’t do it through her eyes so he was going to be killing her softly with his adjectives. Fuckity Fuck!

He breathed in deeply through his nose and she just knew that he was smelling her. Drawing in a great lungful of her arousal. How would he describe that? A fine drop? Plenty of nose? For fuck’s sake ‘Mione, don’t make it any worse!

As his fingertips traced lazy circles upon the skin of her inner thigh, encroaching ever so slowly toward her tingling labia, she felt his other hand sliding up under her shirt.

“Silken.”

He may as well have been describing his voice.

“Her skin felt silken, a moist velvety warmth tingling with barely suppressed . . . lust.”

Oh Gods. She was only suppressed because of him. Actually, she was only lustful because of him too. He was to blame. So why did his words make her feel so hot with embarrassment and . . . just general hotness. Actually it was probably lucky he was providing her with a few words. She was rapidly losing her own.

One set of his exploring fingers had reached the underside of her bra while the others had worked their way to the fringe of her pubic hair and were now inching through the jungle, tickling along the pillowy flesh of her labia.

“Her flesh, succulent, utterly caressible, shivered—a fluttering pulse against my probing fingers.”

It was true. She was shivering. Was she caressible? He seemed to be finding her so. In fact, he’d just found her nipple so.

“Uhhhh.” Her head tipped back as her chest rose involuntarily to meet his fingertip. A tiny point of contact but enough to have her nipple stiffening into an aching bud.

At the same time his other hand slithered over her inner lips and alighted upon the hyper-sensitized head of her clitoris. Two points of contact now. Two nerve bundles firing like mad. If she did actually die she could imagine him defibrillating her in this exact position, restoring life to her body with a single jolt of electricity through both fingers; she felt it right now with the gradual increase in pressure, his digits twisting both throbbing peaks.

She moaned. It was both agony and ecstasy to be his plaything. But she felt, even this early in the proceedings, that she could get used to it. She might go insane but she’d be pleasantly insane.

The fingers on her nipple rolled and teased it more vigorously while the ones on her clit circled and jostled her swollen pearl until she was groaning and rocking her hips into him. As his hand slid across the satiny fabric of her bra to accost her other nipple, the other tracked down, his fingers slithering, serpentine and definitely solicitous, to her gaping hole which had been dripping the entire time and she felt had probably left another embarrassing stain. Lucky his trousers were black. Always.

“Lubricious is a word I’m rather taken with,” he said, sliding one long digit around the slippery entrance to her pussy.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Of course, there would be so many opportunities to use it in conversation.

“Her lubricious cunt—see you don’t have a monopoly on that word—squeezed me . . . Ah, yesss . . . ”

The word hissed from his lips, followed by a quiet groan as his finger slid up inside her. But rather than immediately pulling out and thrusting back into her, he kept it deep, seemingly intent upon feeling her, exploring. Then the hand that had been milking her nipple slipped out and she felt it reappear at the corner of her mouth, sliding between her lips and, with gentle pressure, forcing her mouth open until it was buried inside her warmth.

“Her lubricious cunt squeezed me, sucked me, like her mouth, both exquisitely warm, deliciously wet and devouring my fingers, both begging in their own sweet way for another. And I acquiesced.”

And fuck did he acquiesce!

Hermione’s arm slid from her face down to clutch at his bare forearm as he slid another finger into her channel and began pumping. She grabbed onto it, feeling the muscles working under her fingers as she sucked on the second digit in her mouth, running her tongue around and between the pair.

He groaned louder, deep and visceral, and her core clenched, surging with her own erotic expression at hearing his mounting desire. A third finger pushed into her pussy and she felt stretched to the limit, her cry slurred by the fingers sliding around inside her mouth.

Hips thrusting vigorously in time with his movements, she felt his thumb flick out and rub over her clitoris as his supple fingers dived deeper. Not only was he plunging into her but he would intermittently hold them rigidly, shaking them sideways or forwards and backwards, causing both openings to stretch and squeeze in all sorts of new ways that made her keen, open mouthed, into his palm.

She began to wonder if he might have cast Engorgio on her pussy as it had become so over-represented in her mind and body that she felt like her impending orgasm might actually split her in two. Panting, she dug her fingernails into his arm. She was getting close. And he’d obviously read the none-too-subtle cues as now his attention was focused on the front wall of her vagina. He was rubbing all three fingers against it. And not gently either. He was going to make it impossible for her not to release . . . everything.

When she cracked her eyes open in this maelstrom of activity she was shocked to see that his black eyes was focused intently upon her face. A lock of dark hair fell across his own and his lips were parted. He was also panting with the effort of his vigorously working hand. The fingers in her mouth pulled out and he traced their slick tips down her cheek. It was as though he wanted to both watch and feel her face as she came. Was that why he’d turned her over in the first place?

“On the verge of orgasm . . . she became . . . luminous.” His voice was breathy with the effort. “Delicately poised, she swelled, gathering, surging . . . and then . . . shattered in my hands."

Her eyes fluttered closed again and she moaned deep in her throat, writhing against his palm as he pushed her over the edge.

“Unnhhhh,” she cried, feeling the first pulsing waves of juice squirt from her as her pelvis seized, causing her buttocks to buck around uncontrollably in his lap. The leg against his shoulder shuddered, an externalisation of her inner seismic convulsions, which were made all the more intense by the prolonged stimulation by his agitating fingers, sloshing about inside her. He seemed to be able to draw more and more from her, wringing every last twitch and drop from her swollen channel until there was no more to give. As the final moan died in her throat, she was dimly aware that she was having trouble removing her fingernails from where she had embedded them in his arm.

When her eyes opened, she was surprised to see him flushed, the corners of his mouth hitched in a small, satisfied smile.

“I believe that was the . . . inspiration . . . you needed?”

She sighed, a smile of relief creeping onto her own lips. “Indeed.”

As they sat, drawing deep breaths, curiously smiling despite the huge wet patch she could feel on his trousers beneath her, she sensed a surprising depth of connection. This bizarre collaboration had managed to generate more than a few pages of smutty prose, it had opened her eyes to something, to someone whom she could never have imagined wanting to know, but who was becoming more intriguing to her by the hour. And while she seemed to be on a roll with him, she thought she might dive in with another request.

“There is one other chapter I wouldn’t mind some help with. I need the male perspective on a certain . . . activity.”

Withdrawing his hand from her snatch, he watched her juices trickle down his wrist, coursing toward the raised welts peppering his forearm. Rather than being concerned, however, he seemed to be admiring his handiwork.

“If I must," he rumbled. "For the sake of the book.”
- 8
- 9
- 10
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

An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete