Two

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

This story is about a Dominant/submissive relationship. It is not meant as an instruction manual on the lifestyle. This chapter contains explicit sexual content. It is a work of fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only.

He said I was a flower of the mountain, yes, but now I've powers o'er a woman's body, yes.

Stepping out of the page into the sensual world...

Every day, a new defiance. Every day, a new punishment. So became our lives. I spent my days as a newly hired Ministry employee, and Snape returned to pouting and brewing the occasional potion. He was quiet, unreasonably so, and I managed to keep myself silent as well. It would do me no favours to look like the babbling, gushing swot against his poised, elegant sulking.

He provoked me at every opportunity, but when I turned the tables and forced him to back down, he would become compliant, almost docile. As the pattern emerged, I discovered something hideous about myself. I found myself wanting his insolence, just so I could punish him.

I realised we were locked in a sick little dance. I would ask him to explain something, or try to engage him in conversation; he would reply with all the cruelty he could muster, and I would retaliate. It was little things, like withdrawing outing privileges, which I had the jurisdiction to dictate, denying him access to his books, or simply refusing to acknowledge him, which bothered him more than anything. He was as objectionable by his silences as much as by his insults.

The Friday it all came to a head, I was at the end of my rope. I had spent all day at Hogwarts, sweating through eight hours of research: four with Madam Pince researching in the Restricted Section, fighting smoke-belching books, two at a DADA training lecture and demonstration, one and a bit over a stinking cauldron, concocting the vilest potion ever conceived, and a quickly moderated altercation between Mr. Filch and a hapless first year, who'd tried to sneak dungbombs into the Gryffindor common room.

On top of that, Headmistress McGonagall had cornered me and asked to 'borrow' Snape for a special lecture for the first year Potions class. After reminding her that Snape wasn't a library book, I finally managed to leave the school and return home, in a thoroughly exhausted and dissatisfied mood.

By the time I Floo'd back to the house, I was tired, crabby, stinking, sweaty and resentful. My robes were dusty, my hair frizzy and tangled, and I smelled of dungbombs. I stumbled into the front room to find Snape, looking like he'd done nothing more taxing all day than the crossword in the Prophet. Taking in my greasy, messy, disheveled appearance, he wrinkled his nose at me and smirked.

"Bad day, dearie?" he mocked, and propped his feet up onto the Ormolu coffee table. I looked around. The house was a mess. It was Friday, ergo Snape's day to tidy up.

I turned back to him and said, "I'm going to shower. Please clean up the front room, at least."

As I walked toward the loo, I heard him rise and follow me. "Why don't I help?" he said, lecherously. "I can come in and scrub your back. Quite frankly, you could use it – what have you been doing?"

I turned to him and frowned. "Working. If you want to help, you can start by cleaning up the front room, as we agreed."

He shrugged insolently. "As you so gleefully proclaimed the first day I arrived, I never agreed to anything. I have no rights here." He made a mocking, exaggerated bow. "I simply hear, and obey."

I scowled at him. "Then obey, and go clean the fucking front room," I hissed through gritted teeth.

He stepped up to me, so close I could smell his cologne. His voice was menacing, sinister, and so glossy it felt as if it slid under my clothes and tickled my groin, in spite of my irritation. "I'd rather clean you, Miss Granger." He forced me back toward the door, and pushed up against me, a rictus of malice on his face. He looked slightly mad, and when he pinned me against the door, he pressed his pelvis against mine. He was flaccid.

"Why should I tidy up the front room when I could give you a nice soapy wash? Surely you'd rather have a shampoo than a clean house." For a moment, we stood there, locked into this tawdry little tableau, each waiting for the other to move. I simply stared into his eyes, and then my wand was in my hand and the tip was pressed under his chin. He leaned on it.

"Do it, then, Granger," he rasped, and licked his lips. "Do it."

I stayed still. I waited. He grew impatient. He pushed closer to me, and I suddenly realised what he wanted. He wanted me to make him back off. He couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to do it.

"Snape, step back, like a good little boy."

"I don't want to be a 'good little boy', Miss Granger. In case it has escaped your attention, I'm a wizard grown."

"Then act like it, Snape," I growled, trying to put as much warning in my voice as possible. "I don't want to hex you, but if you are trying to intimidate me, I will."

"Ooh, I'm trembling with fear, Granger," he retorted in a bored, purring voice. He was working himself up into something, deliberately agitating himself and me. I didn't understand it, but I knew I had to end it.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and forced marched him back against the opposite wall. I leaned on him, hard. "Alright, Snape, that's enough. You want to be bad, go ahead, and I'll send you downstairs with something to remember me by!"

He tried to respond, and I hit him with a Silencing charm. "Shut it! Now," I took a step back, and cancelled the Silencio. "If you will calm down and do what I ask, I promise you I will not punish you."

That woke him up! All of his lecherous defiance finally drained from his face. His eyes grew uncertain, hopeful. He straightened, and looked away. He mumbled something under his breath.

"What did you say?" He kept his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. When he remained silent, I pushed my voice to sound a little harsher. "What did you say, Snape?"

He opened his mouth, breathing so rapidly he was almost panting. He looked ashamed, and upset.

Finally, in the quietest, most velvet voice I've ever heard from him, he said, "What if I want to be punished?" He refused to look at me.

Without counting the cost, I grabbed the front of his shirt again and pushed him hard. His head hit the wall with a muffled thump, and his face carried that slack, blank look; the same expression he wore the night I grabbed his crotch. Whatever was going on in his mind, I didn't want to explore it too carefully. It seemed dangerous and addictive.

"Clean the room, now. I will not ask you again, Snape."

I turned and almost ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and warding it. I was shaking. What was happening between us?

Later, when I walked downstairs, my hair still damp from the shower, the room was immaculate. Snape silently handed me a cup of tea, brewed perfectly. I thanked him, but he merely shrugged. He looked at me searchingly, but when I met his gaze, he lowered his eyes and he turned away.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing Snape, and the way he looked at me when he said, "What if I want to be punished?" I felt my cunt grow instantly wet at that moment. Was that wrong of me? I was taking advantage of a vulnerable man, wasn't I? If Snape was sick and twisted for wanting to be punished, what did it say about me that I wanted to punish him?

I rose quietly, and cast a Silencing Charm, so that I could not be heard. For some reason, I had to see him. He would be sitting up in bed, reading, I told myself. I'll ask him about what he is reading. Perhaps we could talk about it over hot cocoa. He could be perfectly reasonable, when you caught him at the right moment.

I paused at the door of his room. What the fuck I was doing? The man was sleeping. Snape was sleeping. I told myself that.

I silently opened the door of his room. In the darkness, I could hear his breathing, rapid and straining. My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I gasped, thankful that my Silencing Charm still held.

Snape was lying on his back, his legs open wide. A sheet covered him up to his waist. One hand was flung over his eyes, the other was beneath the sheet, caressing his cock with sure, deep strokes. His breathing quickened, and he seemed very close to climaxing.

He must have felt the impending release coming upon him; he pushed the sheet down, revealing a large, glorious, uncircumcised cock, rock hard and dusky, encased in his large fist. He was trembling, approaching orgasm. He was gasping, his breath hitching in soft whimpers, and he was whispering something so softly I couldn't hear his words.

I can tell you that Severus Snape, on the verge of orgasm, desperately stroking his cock, is one of the most erotic sights I have ever seen. He was panting, and abandoned, and beautiful.

I cannot tell you why I did what I did. Looking back, I can only say I was aroused beyond comprehension, and the feeling of power I had over him was intoxicating. I cancelled my Silencing Charm.

I sat down on the bed. He froze and jerked his arm away from his eyes. When he saw me, an expression of fear and humiliation flitted across his features, dimming the lust glowing there. I smirked down at him, and before I could stop myself, I cupped his heavy, tight balls in my hand, like I'd done the first day he'd arrived. He grunted at the contact, and looked at me with an expression of such mistrust it almost hurt me.

"Well, well, well, Snape. A little quiet loving before bedtime?" I said, squeezing his sac, and pulling it away from his body, to prolong his orgasm. I smiled down at him. "What a bad boy you are."

"Get out of my room, Granger," he growled, as still as a cobra. He was panting. "You have no right-"

He yelped as I pulled down harder. "I have every right, Snape. You're in my house. You're my guest. And more than anything, you want it." I leaned down until our faces were close enough to feel each other's breath. "You need it."

His balls felt wonderful in my hand. Large, warm, velvety soft and alive. I relaxed my punishing grip. "Now, Snape, you will finish what you started." I smiled. "But you don't come until I give you permission."

He was as conflicted as I'd ever seen a man. His hands flexed, as if itching to strangle either me or his hard, bobbing member; I wasn't sure which. "What depraved, perverted little game are you playing, Granger?" he whispered, and he made it sound like both challenge and plea.

I thanked the gods that his Legilimency skills had been weakened by his injuries. Otherwise, he would have chewed me up and spat me out for what was going on in my mind. Recklessly, I murmured, "I'm playing winner says, loser does. Right now, I'm winning, Snape, and you are going to fondle that lovely big cock of yours, and come when I tell you."

I leaned close to his ear again. "Yes, it's a dirty little game isn't it, Snape?" I sat back, and ran a fingernail up the underside of his breathtaking cock. He hissed softly. "But you're a dirty little boy who wants to play it, aren't you?" My voice sounded husky to me; Merlin knows what it sounded like to him.

When he didn't reply, I pinched the skin over his sac, and he hissed again. "Aren't you, Snape? Aren't you a dirty little boy who wants to play my game?"

He looked suddenly like he wanted to cry. "Yes," he whispered, and turned his head away.

"Look at me, Snape." Obediently, he turned back to face me, and I softened my expression. "I'm not here to humiliate you. I want you to feel pleasure, to come. Touch yourself. Like you like it." I could hear my voice thicken with arousal. "Make it good for yourself, but don't you dare come."

Rather clumsily, he grasped the base of his cock, and started stroking himself, slowly at first. I smiled down at him, all the while holding his warm stones in my hand. With my free hand, I stroked his tangled, less-than-clean hair from his face, then stroked his cheek. He began to relax, and closed his eyes. Soon his breathing quickened, as he warmed up to his task.

I could feel his hips rocking against the movement of his large, strong fist, and he began to pump his hand in earnest. I smiled. Fuck me; I wanted him. I was so turned on I was surprised he couldn't smell me. Perhaps he did.

I baby-talked, "Oh, what a pretty boy, with such a big, pretty cock to stroke. Do you want to come for me?"

He was whimpering now, a soft, mewling sound that made my cunt so damp I would have slid off the bed had I not been wearing knickers. "Yes," he moaned, his eyes locked on mine. I fondled his balls and he almost sobbed.

"What a lovely cock. I don't want you to come yet. I want you to beg, my pretty boy." I stroked his face; I wanted to climb on his cock and ride him until I was screaming, but I could not. This was not my need. I was doing this for Snape, wasn't I?

Snape's hips were jerking out of rhythm, and he was rolling his hips against our hands. I pulled down on his balls, wanting to make him wait. "Stop stroking. You aren't allowed to come yet."

He looked feverish. "Please," he whined, his eyes open and devoid of guile. He looked about seventeen, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. That blank, almost blind look in his eyes was back; he was living for the second I gave him permission to bring himself off.

"Take your hands off your prick, Snape," I commanded, imperiously, and he brought both his hands to cover his face. I pulled them away, and stroked the backs of his hands. "What are you feeling, my pretty one? Tell me."

He refused to look at me. "Anger, fear, lust, desire, helplessness." His voice sounded muffled and thick, and as a reward for his honesty, I stroked his cock three times, hard. He cried out, and his arms flew to his sides, clutching the bedclothes.

As I felt his exquisite cock moving through my slippery palm, I answered, "Lust, desire, helplessness. Those I understand, Snape. You have nothing to fear with me, and there's no point in being angry at either yourself or me. You are holding on to emotions that you no longer need. You aren't playing those old games anymore. We have new games to play – exciting, dirty games that give more than they take.

"Let go of the anger, and let go of the fear. The helplessness is inconsequential. Give in to the yearning and the desire, and enjoy the pleasure. You've been very good – very obedient. You've earned it."

He finally managed to turn his face back to me. He was having trouble keeping his eyes from snapping shut, each time I gave his beautiful cock a deep, firm stroke.

Unable to stop myself, I said, "Who were you fantasising about when I first came in, Snape?"

"You know who."

"Tell me." I smiled, and he whimpered again.

"You. I was fantasising about you."

"What was I doing?" When he hesitated, I warned, "Don't lie, Snape. I want to know what you were thinking about when I walked in."

"I-I was thinking about you disciplining me. About you spanking me."

"I see. Would you like that, pet? Do you want it?" He nodded, and began to rock his hips against my stroking hand, eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face. I baby-talked to him, cooing in his ear, "My little pretty boy wants his bottom spanked until it's all red and hot, doesn't he?"

"Yes," he whimpered, and a tear slid from his eye.

I was stroking him harder now, and the feeling of power was as addictive as heroin. "I think you want me to strap on a cock and fuck your luscious little arse. You'd like that, wouldn't you, pretty boy? You'd beg for it, wouldn't you?"

"Merlin," he groaned, writhing on the bed like a man burning with fever. "Merlin, help me, but yes, I would."

Finally, I released his cock, and sat by him, with my hands in my lap. "Take yourself in hand and make yourself come. You have my permission."

"Granger, don't," he almost wept, humiliated, but his hands drifted down to his crotch, and soon he was stroking hard, fast, trying to finish quickly, but he was unable to. Panting as if he'd just run a race, he turned back to me.

"Please," he whispered, stroking hard, fast, desperately.

"Please what, pretty one?" I intoned. I wanted him to be sure of what he wanted. I was breathing as hard as he.

He started to moan; his head snapped from side to side, as if in delirium. He was caught up in his own passion, and he writhed and cried like a man possessed. "Please, Miss Granger."

"What do you want, Snape?"

"So close... please... I need to come..."

I smiled, and pressed on his perineum hard, and he had a dry orgasm. By now, he was crying out incessantly; his bucking and rocking almost threw me off the bed.

"Please, for the love of... Please, Miss Granger!" he called, and his empty hand found mine. He grasped it, and to my astonishment, brought it to his mouth. I felt his soft lips pressing against my spongy knuckles. His eyes bore into mine, and he opened my hand and pressed it to his mouth, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on my palm, sucking my fingers, moaning around them.

"Please what, Snape? Do you want to come, my sexy little toy?"

"Yes! Yes!" he bellowed, his incredible self-discipline crumbling with each passing second.

"Do you want my permission? I have already given it." I suddenly knew what he wanted, needed.

I began to stroke his balls in a soft, lazy rhythm, and he held onto his climax with Herculean strength. Tears slid from his eyes into the pillow.

Leaning over, with as much control in my voice as I was capable, I whispered, "Come for me, Severus. I want to see you come so very much. Come for me, my sweet treasure." He was teetering on the edge, and I cupped his sac again, and felt the velvety skin draw up in my hands.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Come for me, my beautiful, dark sorcerer." He let go with a feral, triumphant roar.

Have you ever seen a man come who has never completely abandoned his control until that moment? I have. Snape threw back his head, and his back bowed off the bed. He pulled at his blood-gorged member ruthlessly, and cried out, his face a mask of intense, helpless bliss. He called me 'Mistress,' his eyes open and blankly staring into mine, as he came for what seemed like hours. It was the most erotic moment of my life, up to that point.

His semen spurted from him obscenely in an arc, almost up to his throat, and his body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I cleaned him, even as he lay gasping, his harsh breathing threatening to turn into sobs.

I crooned at him as he came down from the endorphin high, and he wept. I put my arms around him, and rocked him gently, and he fell asleep almost immediately. I held him until dawn, and when I tried to move away, he pulled me closer.

Words are from "The Sensual World" by Kate Bush

The video can be found on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1DDndY0FLI

Artwork which inspired this fic is at: http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=thesensualworld#/d35r1qu