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Don't Turn Around	By : Telucisante Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 20455 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: None of the characters or canon situations in the Harry Potter franchise belong to me. They belong entirely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury and Warner Bros. I make no money from the writing or publication of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Don't Turn Around
- 1
Her last exam would be in the Potions classroom, of course; Hermione would expect no less. There had been a time when every lesson in this room had been a trial – why not end as it had begun?

But if her attitude to the room had not changed, as a woman who had suffered greatly (and changed greatly as a result), Hermione’s attitude to the professor invigilating today had certainly changed.

Snape’s survival had been a surprise to everyone, but when Hermione heard the news that he had been nursed back to health, her shock was lessened by relief and even happiness. And when she returned to Hogwarts for a few weeks to prepare for her NEWTs and found herself once again being taught by Snape (who had himself returned for what he declared would be only a short time) she realised that her pleasure in seeing him was not limited to kind-hearted wishes of good will. Now that the true nature of his role in the saga was revealed, and now that she herself was a sexually mature young woman, she saw him in a very different light; the sharp angular features, the barricaded but brutally accurate insight, the obsidian eyes, the long slender torso clad in richest black, all now merely served to attract her.

As soon as she had beheld him on her first day back, sitting as inscrutably as ever on High Table, she wanted him.

In the few lessons she had had with him it had been hard to concentrate. She deliberately tried to attract his attention, although nothing ever seemed to come of it. She was technically a student for the short time she was in the school but had no qualms about pursuing him – she would be gone from academic life forever in a few weeks and her experience and reputation placed her far beyond the shackles of youth. He had not risen obviously to her bait – she had not really expected him to – but she noticed his eyes lingering on her in the Great Hall, noticed him hovering around her desk more often. His conversation, such as it was, was as caustic and dismissive as ever, but now seemed to be laced with personal references which he had previously omitted.

It was only a matter of time, she knew that, but how this little dance was going to reach its climax she was not entirely sure. She would leave that to him.

Hermione had nearly completed the exam. She was sitting at the very back of the class from where she could survey the scene over the heads of the few other students taking the re-sit NEWT paper. (For her, of course, it wasn’t a re-sit – she hadn’t taken it in the first place.) The presence of Snape sitting languidly at his desk was distracting, but it was an easy enough Transfiguration theory paper – she could have done it in her sleep. A quarter of an hour before the end Snape stood up, stretching himself to his full height. He was tall. Why hadn’t she realised how tall he was before? She liked tall men.

She trained her eyes on him; he was pacing down the rows of desks, glancing cursorily at the efforts of the pupils as he went. And then he looked straight at her. Her belly flipped. What she would do to have him right there and then. He held her stare impassively but continued walking to the back of the room out of her line of sight.

She waited. He was working his way over to her. She turned her head as he approached, watching the sway of his deep black robes, noting the many buttons running up his coat. How long would it take to unbutton them all? She could use magic, she supposed. He moved to stand directly behind her.

‘Eyes to the front, Miss Granger. You know the rules.’

Hermione could no longer see him, but still his presence was overwhelming. She could smell him; she could hear the low rustle of his robes as he prowled behind her, the steady deep breathing, slow and reassuring. Her head tilted again, desperate to glimpse black-clad confirmation of his closeness.

‘I said - don’t turn around, Miss Granger.’ He must have been leaning into her now. He was whispering for her ears only, low and smooth, his voice laced with a heady erotic charge. ‘There are rules governing the administration of exams. If you persist in flouting them ... I shall have to punish you.’

A prickle of excitement ran through her. She inhaled deeply; she wanted him in ways she could barely admit. Since the war she had sought comfort in the physical and had found herself inclining further and further from straightforward vanilla sex. She suspected, she hoped, the man currently standing perilously close to her felt the same.

Snape didn’t move away. He remained behind her, so close she struggled not to reach out and grasp him. Yet he kept himself out of her field of vision. She squirmed in her chair, the heat seeping between her legs frustrating and tormenting, and concentrated distractedly on putting the finishing touches to the exam.

‘I’ve finished, sir.’

‘Don’t speak unless I give you permission, Miss Granger. Your time at this school may be coming to a close, but there are clearly some lessons you still need to learn.’

Her breath caught. Staring hard ahead, she spoke softly but precisely. ‘I would like you to teach me those lessons, sir.’

There was a beat of silence. ‘Do you not listen to a word I say? I forbade you from speaking unless I gave you permission. If you wish me to teach you, you will have to accept my methods.’

His voice prompted her desire to rise from her in a weak mewl; she couldn’t prevent it.

‘You sound a little distressed, Miss Granger. Are you alright?’ The mock was thinly veiled.

She would answer him plainly. He knew exactly what she meant. ‘I want something, sir.’

‘Want? What could you possibly want now? You have completed the exam.’ His voice was teasing, and still he stood directly behind her, easing his seduction into her ear.

‘I ...’ She started to turn towards him again.

‘Don’t turn around!’ he hissed with cold indignation. She darted her head back to the front. ‘Your disobedience is reprehensible and requires punishment. You will stay behind after the exam.

Excitement darted through her and her belly somersaulted with glee.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you will show more gratitude that I am taking my personal time to ensure you learn your lesson.’

‘Yes, sir ... Thank you, sir.’ She knew the significance of the words; they had been said almost without her realising. Her experiences with other lovers had led her to understand a certain amount of protocol. Her expression of thanks had slipped out naturally. And her teacher’s next words seemed to slip out just as naturally.

‘Good girl, Miss Granger.’ The voice was back to low dripping seduction again. ‘That’s better.’

She knew exactly what was happening; her desire was already unlike anything she had known before. She pressed herself against her chair again and a slight sob rose from her. The end of the exam could not come fast enough.

‘More noise, Miss Granger. Dear, oh dear. Your position is becoming stickier with every moment.’

He was tormenting her with his words. She didn’t think she could stand it.

‘Sir ...’ Her head started to strain towards him again.

‘Silence, Miss Granger! I told you – you do not speak unless I give you express permission. Eyes to the front. Do – not – turn – around.’

The minutes crept by with a malicious crawl. Her professor remained just behind her, constantly inhabiting all her senses except sight and touch. She could even taste him, so potent was his aroma. Her nipples were already tight and hard and she rolled her shoulders, allowing her breasts to shift in her bra and rub along the material, providing a welcome hint of what she wanted.

‘You seem to be a little uncomfortable, Miss Granger. We must all learn to bear discomfort in life. Sometimes a little pain helps us more fully appreciate pleasure when we are fortunate enough to receive it. If we condition ourselves properly, sometimes the pain itself can be appreciated, enjoyed even.’

She sucked in. Yes. He could do with her as he saw fit. Hermione’s breath was coming fast now, her body so hot with lust she had to grip the desk to stop from flinging herself at him. Her head fell forward in an attempt to control her desire.

‘Sit up straight! Concentration is everything.’

She threw her head back up immediately, her eyes staring hard forward. She glanced at the clock – only another two minutes to go.

They were the longest two minutes of her life. Snape remained behind her, his presence so tangible although his body still unseen. At last the time passed. He spoke loudly, addressing everybody.

‘That concludes your exam. Leave your papers on your desks then leave in silence at once. Not you, Miss Granger. You will stay behind for your punishment.’

The other students left, mumbling to each other about the questions. Nobody noticed Hermione sitting stock still, staring straight ahead.

Snape muttered a spell and Hermione heard the doors lock and the shiver of a silencing charm warding the room. Then she waited. Minutes passed. Occasionally she heard his steady footsteps pacing slowly behind her, but he gave her no sight of him. At last, after what seemed an eternity, that voice, the voice which was as good as a tongue on her clit, sounded again.

‘Stand up.’

She did so immediately.

‘Don’t look around. Whatever happens, you will not look around. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Walk forward. Stand in front of my desk.’

She pushed her chair back and walked steadily forward until she was standing directly in front of his desk.

‘Bend over the desk, reach forward and grip the other side with your hands.’

She did exactly as he asked.

‘Move your legs a little apart.’

Hermione shuffled her legs to the sides slightly. His voice had kept pace with her; he was clearly standing close behind her again.

Her skirt was suddenly thrown up over her hips. She heard a slight sigh. Warm, assertive fingers closed around her knickers and tugged them down until they were just below her knees. She imagined what she must look like yet no shame came at all. She wriggled instinctively, biting her lip to try to stem her longing.

‘I didn’t tell you to move.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Neither did I tell you to speak. Oh dear, oh dear, Miss Granger. Your punishment grows more severe with each minute.’

She willed him to do something. His voice alone was almost enough to make her come, but her flesh shuddered for his contact. She gripped the table until her knuckles were white.

And then she had it. With sudden rapidity, she felt blinding sensation. He smacked the right cheek of her arse with a sting which resounded around the room. She yelped with pained shock.

“Too much noise, Miss Granger. If you make a commotion I shall have to employ other methods. You yourself told me you wanted to be taught a lesson. I concur. You will try harder.”

His hand was thrown down onto her again, the same side. The pain sang through her, heat flaming the delicate skin of her rump. She squeezed her eyes tight shut as unsolicited tears prickled behind them. A sharp moan caught in her throat. It was impossible to remain completely silent.

He slapped her again, the other cheek this time, and quickly followed it with another one, harder still on the same cheek. She cried out – a shrill little yap as the sting shot through her.

‘You really are not helping your situation, girl, and therefore we will do this with more control. I shall use a device to allow me to continue for some time. You will count each stroke out loud. I will administer as many blows as I think necessary. Have you been spanked before?’

She was whimpering, her arse glowing in outrage.

His hand swung across it again with blistering certainty. ‘Answer me!’

‘Yes! ... Sir.’ She had, but hardly regularly. She had had lovers who had given her a few playful smacks. She knew she had wanted more, but they had rarely had the patience to continue, always too desperate to bury themselves in her. Her suspicions of Professor Snape’s predilections and endurance were thrillingly confirmed.

‘It will be thirty then. You clearly have a taste for it. Count out loud and clearly or we shall start again. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well.’

Blow one fell on her. Through the flash of pain Hermione was aware that it was no longer his hand. This was a harder, broad, flat but flexible object, rubber probably, which sang off her flesh enough to blind her momentarily. In the burn which followed she forgot to count.

‘You seem to have already forgotten our little arrangement. Let’s try again, shall we?’

He brought the paddle hard down again. Tears erupted from her eyes, but the sheer sensation of what was happening to her brought equal dampness between her legs. She wanted to feel the paddle again. At last she remembered.

‘One.’ It was forced out, her voice hoarse through lust and agony.

‘Better.’

He hit her a second time.

‘Two.’

‘Much better.’ Thwack.

‘Three.’

Thwack.

‘Four ... five ... six ...’ It became harder to concentrate. The next blow caught her sharply.

“Oww ...”

“That is not a number. Tut ... And you were doing so well. We will start again from the beginning, Miss Granger.”

She groaned, although the noise which emerged sounded merely like sheer sexual expectation. The thought of him restarting thrilled more than dismayed her. Snape drew in a breath and brought the paddle hard down on her flesh.

‘One.’ Her teeth were gritted but it was clear enough. The sting ripped through her again. ‘Two.’

‘Excellent.’ Thwack.

‘Three.’

‘I can hear you beautifully now, Miss Granger. What perfect diction you have when you put your mind to it.’ The next blow was harder yet but now her flesh merely hummed with sensation. She welcomed it, craved the next.

‘Four.’

‘Keep your eyes trained forward. As I said before, you will NOT turn around.’ Thwack.

‘Five ... Six ... Seven ... Eight ...’

‘Oh, yes. You are quite a fast learner, after all. And what a glorious sight I have before me; your backside is the most vivid shade of burgundy.’ Thwack.

‘Nine ... Ten ... Eleven ... Twelve ...’

Hermione thought perhaps she had been lifted into the air. Her skin felt separate from her body, channelling the pain into sensation so beyond what she had known before. She could feel her inner thighs damp with the unstoppable leak of her desire. The blows continued to rain down, but now she sought each one, pushed back for each. Tears had long since begun to pour from her eyes, such was the physical grip of agony, but her mind had stopped registering pain in its conventional sense. She was in rapture.

‘Twenty-eight ... twenty-nine ...’

She felt him gird himself and bring the paddle down with a final immense blow.

‘THIRTY!’ The word escaped with a grunt of pain.

She was sobbing, her body singing, heaving as tears rolled down her face, the face she couldn’t turn to him. The man above her spoke through exhausted pants.

‘There. Fitting. I hope you are grateful for this lesson, Miss Granger. You needed it badly, it would seem. What words do you have to express your gratitude?’

She was still sobbing. ‘Tha ... thank you, sir.’

Hermione was not entirely sure she could move, but gingerly, her arse throbbing red and raw, she tried to stand.

‘I did not tell you to get up, slut! Stay there! Grip the table.’

Hermione moaned again; she wanted to see him so much her body hurt inside as much as outside.

‘You will do exactly as I say, Miss Granger. Perhaps I was wrong. Yet more is needed.’

She heard him retreating somewhere, possibly even out of the room. But she stayed staring straight ahead, the searing pain now replaced by a low flaming burn which ran over all her flesh.

He was back. ‘Stand up now but do not under any circumstances turn around.’

She stood. He was still behind her but his hands reached in front of her, removing her tie and unbuttoning her shirt. She wanted to touch him. Her hands jerked.

‘Don’t move, girl.’

He pulled her shirt off roughly from her shoulders, then quickly unclasped her bra and pushed so that it fell to the floor.

Hermione tensed, but did not allow herself even a shudder.

Hands held her arms now, tender and gentle at first compared to the onslaught of earlier. She shut her eyes tight to prevent wailing for him. And then the hands moved to cup her breasts softly but then slowly the fingers began to kneed and ply, squeezing the plump flesh harder. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples which were already pert and red in the cool air.

‘You have beautiful breasts, Miss Granger. I’d noticed before.’

She could hear his every word so close in her ear. He was cupping her breasts tenderly now while his fingers stroked over the nipples. He was caressing, loving almost. It was as if his hands were made for her breasts. She wanted to twist her head, reach around to capture his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower in her not to.

‘And quite exquisite nipples. Do you like a man to play with your tits, girl? Answer me truthfully.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How fortunate for you.’

He had taken her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and was now rolling them, not too hard yet but the needles of sensation started to flash through her. She wanted to moan, to sigh, to cry out for more. She always craved her nipples being touched and pinched. She could not get enough. She wanted to plead for more. She could not.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. His fingers and thumbs were squeezing and pinching now. The tingle of feeling had twisted suddenly into pain, but still that pain flashed through her and simply caused her sex to swell and cry out for his touch. For now, she would have to content herself with the flaming in her tits. He was flicking them, slapping them almost, then plucking at them, pulling them out. They were by now a deep hard red, purple almost.

‘There. That should do.’ He moved back from her and she was desolate. But soon he was back. Again not showing himself to her, he reached around from the back.

‘Eyes forward, Miss Granger. And do not look down.’

In her peripheral vision she caught a metallic flash and heard the clink of a slim chain.

He was holding her left nipple again and then she felt it – the sweetest sharpest pulse of agony. Her nipple was being squeezed irrevocably, tighter and tighter, sending those delicious brilliant shards shooting through her.

“Ahhh!” The sound of ecstatic pain could not be silenced as the nipple clamp bit into her tender flesh.

“Tut. Harder yet then as you cannot keep your silence, you pathetic slut.” He tightened the little screw. Her nipple was constricted to the point of flatness, although she could not see it.

Her breath came hard and fast through her nose in her attempt to retain some focus on sensation. She was not sure her legs would support her for much longer; she wanted some friction between them so much her clit was throbbing painfully.

Now he had moved to the other nipple and Hermione felt the little rubber tips squeezing her tender flesh tighter and tighter. First the tingle, then the pleasured pinch, then that bright hot electricity shooting through her. Tears started again.

Snape was a full head taller than her. He could look down at his handiwork from above and behind her. She heard that slight sigh of satisfaction again.

‘That’s good. Tell me how much it hurts.’

‘It hurts a lot, sir.’

‘Exactly how much? Tell me exactly what you are feeling.’

‘It makes me want to pull away from it but I can’t. It follows me however I move and so I wait for it and absorb it and then I want more.’

‘That’s right. Good girl.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She meant it completely.

‘You have been very responsive, Miss Granger, and apart from a few brief lapses, you have followed my commands well. I think you deserve a reward.’

‘Oh, please, sir.’ It sounded as if she was begging. She was.

He touched her. Just a single finger, but it was the most precious over-anticipated touch ever. She nearly came immediately. She jerked under him and sobbed again.

‘Hmm. You’re too ready, aren’t you? Your clit is riper than a peach in the August sun. If I pay it too much attention you’ll come far too quickly, little whore.’

He moved his fingers away from her clit and slid them through her cunt lips instead. That in itself was so delicious she allowed her mind to blur with pleasure, but now that he was away from that tight little bundle of nerves she knew she could at least rein in her imminent orgasm.

His fingers then slid inside briefly, so wet there was no resistance.

‘Your cunt is soaking, girl. It seems my methods appeal to you.’

He gathered up her juices on her fingers then dragged them out and let them slide over her throbbing arse. The coolness soothed the burning ache which was still seething and she sighed with bliss. He did it again then placed a palm flat on each arse cheek and squeezed roughly, reminding her of the thrashing she had received earlier. She grunted as white pain flashed again.

Then she was pushed down flat on the desk. Her nipples were yanked and then pressed, still tightly held in the clamps, onto the cold wood. She screamed. It fucking hurt. It fucking hurt so beautifully.

And then, after a shuffling of clothes, it was there. She knew immediately. The hard, firm, smooth head of a cock was nudging at her cunt lips. She gripped the table for dear life to prevent herself pushing back fully on it.

He teased her. He edged in, the slightest amount, simply parting the opening of her cunt with the thick head of his cock, before pulling back smoothly. Hermione groaned in despair. He smacked her arse hard again.

‘Keep quiet. Will you never learn?’

But his cock was back at her again. Just easing inside, the head only, dipping into her searing heat then pulling back as her flesh contracted back into the space it vacated. She grimaced to prevent any sound emerging, willing him deeper into her.

‘Your cunt is so tight and wet, witch. And all this after you’ve allowed your body to be subjected to painful humiliation. You surprise me, Miss Granger. I would have thought you would have guarded your pride more fiercely.’

He continued, his self-control remarkable, nudging the bulbous head of his cock in just enough to let her think he would sink fully, then pulling out as her flesh grew used to him. She could not see, but he was watching himself edging in and out with a grin of satisfaction on his face. Her cunt was as dark and needy as her nipples had been and willed his cock deeper with each push.

‘I could do this all day, you know. Self-control, Miss Granger. I have learnt it well over the years. And your cunt is so hungry – pink and wet and hot and plump – it is rather delightful to taunt it a little – to deny it what it wants.’

He continued. Her belly was desperate for him; it caused a physical ache not unlike the agony of his spanking. She rubbed along the table and a flash of pain ripped from her breasts. Still he teased her, denying her his cock. It was too much for Hermione.

‘Please, please, fuck me, sir! I can’t stand it. Fuck me hard! Please!’ At the same time as her cry rose shrill from her, she pushed herself back, releasing her grip on the table, trying to push him deeper into her.

Instantly, he was gone from within her.

‘How disappointing.’

His cock was gone, the reassuring heat of his body was gone, the sweet pain of his fingers on her burning arse was gone. Hermione sobbed; her body desolate and desperate for him, desperate to come.

And then from nowhere, her wrists were encircled with manacles and then her ankles. Chains shot out from them all and pulled her legs out and her arms across towards the far corners of the desk, winding themselves around the legs. She was immobile. And then a length of material was thrown over her head and placed roughly in her mouth. He tied it tight around the back of her head then leant down and whispered in her ear.

‘I told you – you will NOT turn around and you will NOT speak. As I warned, I now have to take more drastic measures.’

Hermione’s breath was pulled desperately in through her nose. With her arms yanked out from her body, she was pulled hard down onto the table. The clamps on her nipples seared. She was crying again in rage, delicious pain and need.

At first, he did nothing. If she had turned her head, which she was clearly not going to do, she would have seen him standing, arms crossed, watching her with what appeared detached dispassion. But one glance at his cock and it was clear that was hardly the emotion guiding him. It rose out large and needy, its purple head dripping. He had at some point removed all his clothing and his pale body, finely hewn from years of duplicitous strain, glowed in the candles of his dungeon, the remnant of the Dark Mark, although now faded, still visible on his left forearm.

Hermione could not have struggled or cried out if she wanted to. Her body still sang with desire, her inner thighs were now glowing with the manifestation of her lust. She daren’t move. Even the scarlet sharpness at her nipples had dulled to a regular throb. They were practically numb. She wanted to rub them along the table, but wouldn’t. Every fibre in her being was focussed on the return of his cock. She waited. Minutes passed. She was not sure how long – the passage of time had warped into the surreal. Her arms were now as numb as her tits. She didn’t care.

She waited. Not moving a muscle. Not allowing a single sound to escape from her captive body.

And at last, in total silence, there it was again. Her cunt lips were nudged open, prized apart by the massive head of his hard cock. ‘Good girl. Good, good girl.’ And this time he sank in deeper. Her body heaved with fulfilment at last, but no sound rose from her, despite the gag.

He moved in again, deeper, deeper, and deeper still. She could feel every inch of her cunt stretching to take him. And then he was there, in her completely. Her eyes widened. He was so big that he pressed hard against her cervix without even trying. And then, just as they had gaped in amazement, her eyes closed with bliss as she felt herself complete.

He dragged out of her, his progress so slick he had to groan. For a moment she feared he would slip out and abandon her again. He did not. With a sharp grunt and a force which caused a cry to be caught in the gag, he drove into her again to the hilt.

His hands were on her arse and the thrashing he had given her earlier now reinforced itself potently. Her cheeks were burning under his fingers, but that, combined with the perfect fucking he was now giving her, drew her pleasure out so quickly she knew she’d come almost instantly. His cock struck hard on her g-spot with each plunge, the force of which had pushed her a little way up the desk so that her clit was nudged along it with each drive forward.

Suddenly his fingers were on the gag, untying it. She gasped in the air which rushed into her lungs.

“Ask me.”

She was not entirely sure what he meant.

‘I can feel your pleasure growing, girl. You are not to come without my permission. You ask me or I shall deny you more.’

His voice was pleasure in itself and as his cock forced ecstasy to capture her cunt she opened her mouth. “Please, sir, please ... may I come now, sir? Please let me come.”

At first he didn’t reply and seemed to be focussing on his own pleasure. His deep moans and grunts were incessant now. She feared he was ignoring her. Her muscles were prickling, the orgasm which had been in abeyance for so long coiled in the slips.

‘Very well, Miss Granger. Come.’

And immediately, she did. The tension, the pain, the numbness and agony her body had been gripped in now suddenly translated into pure white pleasure. Her orgasm tore through her with such force she was momentarily blinded. She did not hear it herself, but the noise which escaped her was so wild and unrestrained that it was hardly human. The pleasure fed off the searing heat of her spanking, off the tight hold on her nipples and was magnified beyond any sensation she had experienced before. And it went on, her body, hot and alive, prolonged it, intensified it. Hermione wept with relief and abandon.

But as her orgasm at last faded, he pulled out of her abruptly, and she felt the cold of lube smeared around her arse. Two fingers, covered in lube, corkscrewed into her and coated her. Even after her come she wanted it. He seemed to read her mind.

‘I’m going to fuck your arse now, witch. I’m going to bugger you hard and deep. I’m going to come into your arse and bring you another come to make you forget yourself, do you understand?’

‘Yes! Please, oh god, please, please do it, do it. Hurry, hurry.’

If he should have punished her for her presumption, he did not. He was desperate now to come himself and the sight of her puckered hole flowering so deliciously for him tossed his decorum aside.

With barely a pause for breath he had pushed into her, stretching her arse more than ever before. He groaned with pleasure. ‘Fuck! And I thought there couldn’t be anything tighter than your cunt!’

He met with resistance, but only so much that it gave both of them such an exquisite jolt of pleasure and pain that he surged forward and was past it immediately. Hermione cried out as she felt him cramming relentlessly into her, not allowing her body any catch-up time.

‘Take me. Take all of me.’

She did. She relaxed and allowed him to sink as deep into her as was possible. Again, it hurt, but she had long ago learnt to shift the sensation of fullness in her arse to perfect pleasure. He dragged out, the sharpness more intense than on the push in. Her breath caught but as he then picked up a rhythm, in and out, fucking her arse with steady certainty, she felt the hum of ecstasy raising itself again. The glow of her rump was still adding to the sensation. And now his fingers had reached around to thrum her clit. It took no more, but she waited, tightly pulled in. He was ready, desperate. He had been for some time but his self-control was, as ever, exemplary. But now, with one, two more thrusts he was coming, coming so hard he had to throw his other hand down on the desk to steady himself. He cried out, loud and low, his moans seeping into her. She felt his release in her tightness and followed him immediately, her second orgasm shaking her body as hard as his. If she wasn’t manacled she would have dropped limply to the ground.

And then he slumped over her, panting desperately.

His cock remained inside her for some time; neither of them wanted nor felt the need to move. Hermione was still in discomfort, the heavy body of man now pressing down on her. As pleasure left her body and her mind refocused on her surroundings she became aware of the throb of her nipples. She now wanted the sensation to end and at that precise moment Severus pushed himself up from her and pulled out gently. She missed him already and had to bite her lip to stem her disappointment.

But he was now moving in her peripheral vision and she realised that he was releasing her manacles, not with magic, but with his own tactile fingers. She still did not turn her head to look at him, but flexed her numb limbs as each in turn was released. And then he moved behind her again and took her waist gently in those same hands. He pulled her up off the table; she was grateful for it – if nothing else, she was not sure her body would function independently. Her breath caught as her mind registered the now unwanted pain in her breasts. His fingers were at the clamps, unscrewing them slowly – he knew the blood flow back to them would be as painful as the initial tightening. Hermione sucked in a breath of agony as her nipples railed against the sudden influx of blood. He cupped her breasts gently, soothing, whispering a calming ‘shh’ in her ear.

And then, guided by his hands, she was being led away, through a door she had hardly noticed before, into rooms behind his classroom. She was walked gently through a sitting room and into a bedroom. Her senses were barely processing what she saw. There was a bed, she realised that, upon which he laid her on her side. He moved out of her sight again. She moaned. She wanted to see him. But then the burn of her rump was being soothed. He was rubbing a cooling balm over it. Immediately her skin calmed and her flesh sighed. And then at last he moved round to her. As he moved into her vision she shut her eyes tight, not sure what he wanted, not sure what she wanted.

She felt the bed sag as he got in. Still she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Hermione.’ His voice was close and tender. ‘Look at me.’

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she opened her eyes. He was lying beside her, only a few inches away, staring at her, a look almost of wonder on his face.

Once again she began to weep; not this time with pain or pleasure or sensation, but with happiness.

He brought up a hand and stroked away her dishevelled hair.

‘Perfect.’

And then he kissed her. The warm damp of lips and tongue healed and soothed and caressed her into heavy relaxation. Severus moved down her body and nestled himself at her breasts. Taking her tormented nipples in his mouth, he sucked and licked the pain away, first on one, then the other. By the time he had finished, she was asleep.

When Hermione awoke it took her some time to realise where she was. When at last she did she darted her head to look for him. There was no sign anywhere. She took the time to focus on her body. Her backside thrummed, her nipples seemed tender, but no more. She glanced down; they seemed to have had an ointment of some kind applied which had lessened any after-effects.

Hermione glanced around the room. It was remarkably cosy, with paintings on the wall space not covered with books. She stretched, feeling more at home than she did in her own dorm.

There were footsteps. Severus came back into the room. She pulled the covers up over her instinctively, why, she did not know.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine. Good.’ She knew she was red with embarrassment. ‘Was I alright?’

For a moment he looked at her with dismissive amusement on his face. Then his features softened and he said with aching sincerity, ‘Oh yes.’ After a final kiss, he started to dress.

‘Sir?’

He did not correct the way she addressed him but looked over his shoulder at her.

‘I ... will need more.’

‘Yes. You will.’

‘When?’

‘Not for a while. Your body needs to recover. But it is very responsive. It will tell you it needs more sooner than it should. You must subdue your craving. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir. I’m ... leaving here next week.’ She knew he could hear the desolation in her voice.

‘So am I.’

‘But ...’

‘You will be in London, won’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘As will I. I have various offers of employment. A new start ... for us both. The future lies ahead.’ He turned to her again before leaving the room, a faint smile on his face. ‘Don’t look back, Miss Granger.’
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Don't Turn Around