Chapter Seven

Special thanks to all of you for sticking with the story thus far - all your comments are wonderful!

This chapter contains fantasies that include explicit sexual content.

A game is like a mirror that allows you to look at yourself.

Robert Kiyosaki

The owl brought the parchment to him shortly after two in the afternoon, and Severus allowed himself a laugh. He might have known she would be too abashed to bring her first fantasy to him herself. Then again, he thought, warding his study door, it might be even more enjoyable to read her fantasies in the solitude of his own study. He recalled that she would often be the last student to leave her assignments on his desk, simply to avoid seeing his often withering reaction to her work. His heart swelled. Reading her assignments had never been this eagerly anticipated.

In her precise, crisp handwriting, she wrote:

It is the dead heat of summer, and the castle is quiet, now that the students are gone for the holiday. I have graduated from Hogwarts, but I have not yet returned to teach. I have come to visit Professor McGonagall and to escape the stifling heat, I wander down to the cool halls of the dungeons, and almost automatically I drift into the Potions lab. I find myself approaching my old work bench, and I look up at your desk and see your robe draped over your chair. It never occurs to me that you might actually be about during this time of year. I call your name; there is no answer.

You turn back, and gesture to your coat, sneering, "You will return tomorrow night, wearing that. Wearing only that. Be here at eight o'clock." You turn to leave. "Do not be late, Miss Granger. Tardiness will entail certain ... punishment."

I compose myself, and perform a hasty cleansing charm before I leave. I search the room, but my ruined knickers are nowhere to be seen. You must have taken them.

Severus carefully folded the parchment, his face immobile and calm. In reality, his cock was straining; he'd have to masturbate. He knew from experience this kind of erection would be impervious to thoughts of Pomona in a swim suit or Albus leering in the prefects' bath. It wouldn't meekly back down; it had been awakened by the siren's call of an illicit, dirty fantasy involving his young, nubile wife, spanking, coming on her face and dirty talk. It wouldn't leave him alone until he either threw her down on the bed or took matters in hand.

He walked quietly into his private loo and quickly took care of his problem, picturing Hermione over his desk, her red arse quivering as he drove into her. In his mind's eye, he saw her looking up at him, expectantly, readying herself to receive his cum. That vision alone was enough to send him flying over the edge.

As he came, gasping silently, he realized the simple major truth: she might be submitting to him, but he was the slave making it happen.

Later that afternoon, he welcomed Undersecretary Orchid into his study. "Good afternoon, Headmaster," the little dumpling of a man squeaked. As he took his seat opposite Headmaster Snape, he flinched in anticipation. Everyone in the Ministry had warned him that, even after all these years, the subject of Harry Potter was not a pleasant one for Headmaster Snape.

Orchid pursed his lips primly. "Sir, I wonder if you might consider allowing us to annex a bit more of the school? W-We were hoping to increase the footprint of the Potter display to make room for a triptych, featuring your wife and Ronald Weasley on either side – you know, the Golden Trio?"

Severus thought of his wife, bent over his Potions desk, her luscious arse his to fondle. He smiled.

"Mr. Orchid, you're in luck today. You've caught me in a very ... expansive mood."

That evening, Hermione and Severus sat propped up in bed, reading. Turning a page of her novel, Hermione asked, "Did you receive my parchment today?"

"I did," was the laconic reply. Hermione glanced at her husband. He was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet, late edition.

She returned to her novel. Three pages later, she asked, "Did I please you?"

Without looking up from the editorial, he answered, "I allowed Orchid to increase the size of the Harry Potter exhibit today. It has its own wing now."

He turned the page, and she returned to her novel, a tiny, happy smile dancing at the edges of her lips.

On Thursday, as they sat down to dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione placed a folded sheet of parchment on Severus' plate. He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and after the rest of the room began to tuck into their evening meal, Severus boldly opened the parchment and began to read:

Snow is falling. It has been the reason for a thousand different frustrations this day, involving reckless and distracted students, and I've spent most of the day attending sprained ankles and nursing bruised egos. It is late, and I enter our bed chambers tired and irritable. I have had a terrible day; everything has gone wrong, and I just want to have a drink of wine and read until bedtime.

Together we lie on our bed, and I nestle in your arms. I feel the SeverusTulpa nestle against my back. I am surrounded by warmth and love, and I fall asleep in this tangle of limbs and soft kisses, the object of your complete and total domination and concentration.

Severus was at once shocked and thrilled by the audacity of his wife. Coupled with his stunned admiration for her deviant imagination was a certain pleasure in being able to read and absorb this informative missive while calmly tucking into his Shepherd's Pie. Beside him, Hermione lifted a forkful of spinach salad to her lips, and he watched intently as she licked a droplet of viscous dressing from her bottom lip with both evident enjoyment and false innocence.

You dirty little Gryffindor, he marveled. Imaginative, I'll give you that. And entirely possible. Not for the first time Severus was grateful for robes. He had risen and hardened almost the moment he started reading the fantasy, and knowing his wife was sitting beside him, nonchalantly eating her dinner as he read her most lascivious thoughts was intoxicating. It smacked of the forbidden, the shameful.

Wicked little vixen. He wanted to fuck her on this table. One day, he would do it. Soon.

His hand drifted under the table, to her robes, and he stroked her thigh gently. She rewarded him with a brilliant smile, and he returned to his dinner. Who would have thought the bookish Madam Snape capable of sexual fantasies involving her husband and a conjured, magical double of himself, pleasuring her in such a depraved, wanton fashion?

He whispered a spell as one finger traced a line along her thigh, and Hermione felt Severus' hand slide into a newly-made slit in her robe. She obediently parted her legs to give him access to her slick labia. She was almost constantly wet these days; she wondered if she should be more ashamed of it than she actually was.

Severus' thumb and middle finger peeled back her labia while his index finger circled her clit, then tapped against it gently, causing her to drop her fork against her plate. The clatter went unnoticed in the general noisiness of the Hall, but it served to make his point, and Severus idly withdrew his hand. The slit in Hermione's robe sealed itself the moment he took his hand away.

On Severus' left side, Filius Flitwick dabbed his mouth and sat back with a sigh. "Lovely meal tonight, wasn't it, Headmaster?"

Severus, licking the tip of his right index finger, nodded. "An excellent repast indeed, Filius." He risked a glance at Hermione's flushed face, and stroked her thigh soothingly.

Hermione smiled as she sealed the last parchment. For the last three days, she had been in a constant state of arousal. This, she thought, must be how animals on heat feel – restless, distracted, irritable, uncomfortable. She had been perfectly beastly to her fifth-year Hufflepuffs today – she'd even called poor Donall Peasall a dunderhead, for Merlin's sake! Of course, she'd apologized to the class later, but she couldn't exactly tell them the reason for her snappish behavior.

I'm sorry, class, but my sadistic husband, your beloved Headmaster, has kept me in a state of heightened sexual frustration since Tuesday evening, and I'm going to spontaneously combust into a cloud of orgasmic confetti if he doesn't shag me rotten very, very soon.

Oh, Severus had been the soul of sweetness for the past three days. Hermione would have accused him of duplicity, had he not cheerfully confessed that while he enjoyed petting his wife, this was a deliberate attempt on his part to stir her into a state of madness. She couldn't chastise him or make demands. Wasn't that the entire point of this exercise - to learn to trust him, to obey and submit to him?

She had been obeying, and the look of promise in his dark eyes at the end of each day had given her a wonderful sense of accomplishment. He had worked very hard throughout their marriage to make up for the lean years during which he'd gone out of his way to deflate her ego, but this was different. This was meeting him on terms she'd never tried to master; seeking his approval and not finding it wanting was heady stuff. She smiled. He knew her so well.

And there were the moments when their eyes would meet, and she could see the fire. It was not a soulful smoldering ember; she had felt that warmth many times in their marriage. This was something uncontrollable, only a little tame, that made his eyes look both darker and more luminous.

It made him look like the professor of her youth. It was the possessive, hungry look of a man who could and would commit acts upon her that few men would dare, and she would submit to them, give in to them, revel in them and thank him for them.

Hermione sighed. Three of the longest days of her life. It never occurred to her to question whether or not it was worth it. Hermione smiled, and shivered at the thought of him.

Severus Snape was always worth it.

Undersecretary Orchid had, in the past two days, completely revised his opinion of Hogwarts' dour Headmaster. His contemporaries scoffed in disbelief when he defended the taciturn, formerly uncooperative man. Now, he touted him as a helpful, pleasant wizard with a great deal of personal charm, and, Orchid also blushingly mused, a great deal of sexual magnetism. Severus would have torn the little wizard's arse into new and interesting shapes had he discovered that little revelation, and instinctively the Undersecretary kept that opinion to himself.

He would illustrate his point when next he had a pint with his cronies by describing this current meeting. Here it was, early Friday afternoon, and the Headmaster was relaxed, calm and accommodating. From behind his desk, Headmaster Snape was the very picture of pleasant cooperation, and ground-breaking on the installation would actually commence ahead of schedule.

Unbeknownst to the officious little man, the Headmaster was languidly stroking his swollen cock behind the desk, having finished reading Hermione's third fantasy only moments before. Severus was practically oozing good will, but there was a certain tension in his face that Orchid mistook for fatigue at the end of a long, trying week. He was not far from wrong.

"Everything seems to be in order, Secretary Orchid. I look forward to the workers arriving a week from Monday. That will give us time to arrange their accommodations." The Headmaster glanced regretfully to his desk. "Now, I really must give these other documents my undivided attention," he said, batting his long lashes. "I'm afraid I've been focusing all my energies on the Installation, even to the detriment of academic matters."

Orchid jumped from his chair, apologizing profusely for monopolizing the Headmaster's time, all the while assuring him that everything would be done according to his wishes.

"Lovely. I have perfect faith in you, Mr. Orchid. I trust you can see yourself out." Unless you wish to see me with myself out, he thought.

"Of course, sir! Please have a lovely weekend, and do pass on my regards to your lovely lady wife, sir!"

"I will. Good day, Mr. Orchid." As Severus watched the portly little wizard mince from the room, he sighed, and reluctantly gave his cock a firm, final stroke. He closed his eyes with a stifled groan. If I continue this, I will accomplish nothing, and there is much to be done.

Later that evening, Hermione tried to hurry down the corridor without actually looking as if there was any urgency. Severus had sent word to the faculty that he and Hermione would be unavailable for the weekend. In fact, he had not dined in the Great Hall that evening, but had asked her to preside over the meal in his absence, as he had preparations to make. He had looked at her archly as he said this, making her heart beat a little faster. She had picked at her food and fidgeted for an acceptable amount of time, then excused herself, bidding her colleagues a pleasant weekend.

She could not get to their rooms fast enough. She flew into the door of the suite and warded it with everything she could think of, including several Silencing Charms and Muffliato as well. She was breathless and a little giddy, and tried to calm herself. It would not do to appear like a giggly school girl next to her poised and controlled husband.

She was surprised to find their rooms empty. She felt a bit disappointed, and looked around despondently. It was obvious that Severus had somehow been detained.

As she entered their bed chamber, she spied a small black box sitting on her side of the bed. She approached it carefully and, almost without thinking, whisked out her wand and checked it for Dark Magic. Satisfied that the box was safe, she picked it up to inspect it. It was a stunningly lovely box made of hematite. The lid was held in place by a tiny, silver heart-shaped lock. Finding no key to open it, Hermione tapped the top of the box with her wand and murmured, "Alohamora."

Nothing happened. Sighing, Hermione was about to try a different, more aggressive charm when something fell from the underside of the box – a letter with her name written on the front in her husband's tell-tale, spidery handwriting.

Grinning like a kid on a treasure hunt, Hermione set the little box on her bedside table and tore open the letter. Within was a small piece of parchment, and she read it quickly, her heart racing:

My dearest little girl, you have pleased me more than I can say. For three days you have obeyed me well. I have one last request of you – a question. This is the final, most important assignment of all, and you must answer the question aloud, in kind.

Will you, Hermione Snape, completely and utterly submit to my will?

With a pounding heart, Hermione closed her eyes, childishly counted to three, and whispered, "I, Hermione Snape, will completely and utterly submit to your will." The hematite box began to hum, and the heart-shaped lock sprang open and fell to the floor. The lid flew open with a clicking noise, making her jump a little. Hermione looked inside, breathless with anticipation.

On a bed of deep black velvet lay a tiny silver key. It was intricately wrought, with scrollwork and engravings running down the spine, and it gleamed like a jewel in its ebony bed.

Entranced, Hermione reached into the box and picked up the little silver trinket. The moment her fingers closed over it, Hermione felt the sudden terrifying lurch around her middle, and she was whisked from the room in the split second it took for comprehension to dawn and for the word to form in her mouth: Portkey!