Chapter 1

A/N:A/N:Some smoking hawt passion for this lover's day. If you time for him, I believe Severus would be happy to . . . indulge you.

---

Chapter 4

The voice speaks the command, and Hermione is beset with the desire to ask questions. Should she turn? Should she speak? But no, the unfamiliar voice told her what to do. She left her power of choice at the door, and this stranger has picked up her power and tucked it in his pocket before entering the room. She can almost imagine it there, a glowing golden orb in the keeping of Sir Tobias.

With shaking hands, she unfastens the clasps and allows the robes to fall to the floor. Her skin instantly registers the cool temperature and pebbles with gooseflesh, her nipples becoming taut and pushing against the sheer fabric of the sheath she wears.

Absorbed in her wildly scattered thoughts, she is surprised when next she hears the voice, much closer this time.

"You're a shy one, I see."

She turns her head, trying to look over her shoulder.

"Face the front. I'll tell you if I want you to move."

She only wants to see his face and his form...if his body is unchanged, at least she can see if he's shaped like Professor Snape. Why is he so bossy? Then she remembers why, and an inappropriate giggle escapes her lips.

"Do I amuse you?"

He is directly behind her now, close enough that she can feel the bulk and warmth of him at her back. When next he speaks, he is looming over her, his lips close enough to her ear to make her hair move against her cheek.

"You may speak to answer me. Do I amuse you?"

Hermione experiences several things at once. Her heart rate trips into a faster rhythm, her midsection feels as if it's been invaded by butterflies, and the trembling has spread to her mind...to her lips. She has to try twice before she can force herself to speak. When she does, her disguised voice sounds breathy and high-pitched and frankly, stupid.

"No! Of course not. I'm nervous, and when I'm very nervous, sometimes I do or say wrong things."

"I see."

The voice is not Snape's, but there is something in the way he speaks...how he frames his sentences...that is hauntingly familiar to her. Wait...is that real? Or is it just that she desperately wants Sir Tobias to be Severus Snape?

"Kitty."

The way he speaks the name is almost a purr.

"Y-yes? Sir?"

A smooth, dark chuckle rumbles near her ear, and unable to resist, she turns her head until her nose and the side of her mouth make contact with his cheek.

"You're a naughty little puss, aren't you?"

He turns her to him, hands firm upon her shoulders. She has a quick impression of height...Yes! The right height!...and then one of his large hands cradles the back of her skull as he bends his head to hers. He stops with his lips a mere breath away.

"You're pushing yourself on me like a girl who needs something. What do you need, Kitty? Is it a kiss? Kisses are on your list of what you want, but that isn't all, is it? You want me to ravish you."

Hermione grasps the front of his plain black robes, uncertain if she can keep her feet if this heart-pounding teasing continues. Sir Tobias takes this as consent, and he pulls her against him, his lips fastening to hers with practiced ease.

Her eyes fall closed, her nostrils fill with the scent of his aftershave, and as her lips part, his tongue sweeps into her mouth, bringing with it the flavours of tea and cinnamon.

There is nothing hesitant about Sir Tobias. He is all confidence and absolutely sure of his welcome. His tongue fills her mouth and plunders, as if hidden within lay all the sweetness of the Promised Land. As his tongue caresses hers, claiming his right to her kiss, his free hand begins a leisurely exploration of her back, marking her shoulder blades before finding the dip of her waist and clasping her there.

Hermione lets go of the need to analyse everything and instead goes with what is happening. She gives herself permission simply to feel and to be. In this instant, she has this man's undivided attention, and she revels in it, internalising every detail.

She breathes his aftershave, spice and musk, and absorbs the wild, elemental testosterone of his very being...the breath, the scent, the taste. She presses closer, holds tighter, and suckles his tongue, feeling her response to him like a sudden, flaring need deep in her body.

Trust him and you'll be in good hands...isn't that what KiKi said? Those hands have taken possession of her without a moment of indecision, and in this hour of insanity, she is inclined to yield herself to him. She is wholly outside the context of her life...in this moment, in this hour with him, there is no past and no future...there is only now and this.

Oh, this.

---

Severus lifts his head and sees Kitty's face...eyes closed, lips parted, breathing erratic...and he knows an almost feral instinct to fuck her now. Never in memory has a woman responded so utterly to him so quickly. The completeness of her surrender...the sweet trust of her acceptance...the trembling readiness to tumble into his arms...these things and more batter his good sense with the wings of urgency and desperation.

This is what a man is made for...to possess and dominate a willing, impassioned woman who submits to him. The way she quivers in his arms...the way the breath shudders in and out of her...the scent of her arousal...all are potent weapons against his scruples.

This little wildcat will require careful handling, and it is his job to put on the brakes. He needs to step back, take a deep breath, and regain some perspective.

He releases her and moves away, putting distance between them. She sways on her feet as if she will fall, but when her eyes open, and she sees him standing two feet away from her, she seems to snap out of her passion-induced fugue state. She blinks her eyes at him and crosses her arms over her chest, as if newly reminded of the chill in the air...of her near nudity.

---

He has released her and stepped away, and Hermione is colder than before. In his arms, her blood burned so hot she might have seared his flesh, but now she is bereft. Stupid, inexplicable tears prick at her eyes, and she blinks them away, desperate not to cry.

She inhales deeply and forces herself to concentrate on Sir Tobias. He wears a high-necked dark jumper beneath his robes. He is a bit over six feet tall, she estimates, lithe and graceful...all tick marks in the Snape column. However, his hair is a light brown, and his face is perfectly average, with unremarkable eyes, nose, and lips. He is, of course, disguised as she is, but he could be Snape. She realizes she is willing to accept the certainty...to act as if Sir Tobias is Severus Snape...to allow this man to fulfil the unacknowledged fantasies she harbours deep in her soul.

"Arms at your sides...yes, like that. Stand straight...shoulders back, head up, eyes to the front."

Hermione obeys, already yearning again for his touch. He has activated some dormant need inside her, and she can think of nothing but seeking ... satisfaction.

He comes closer, but when she reaches to touch him, he catches her wrist and bears it firmly down to her side.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Kitty. I am going to inspect your body now...to decide how I'm going to enjoy you...and your part is to stand perfectly still while I look at you."

He moves out of her sight, and though she longs to turn her head to watch him, she remembers she is to look straight ahead. She knows his eyes are on her, and it is as if she feels his gaze as a ray of heat on her flesh. Every place he looks, from her heels up the backs of her legs to her bum, leaves a trail of warmth and prickling want.

He pauses at her shoulder, his voice in her ear again. "Don't you have a delicious little bottom? More than enough in those round cheeks to fill a man's hands...to take a spanking...to sink one's teeth into."

He wants to cup her arse? To bite it? To spank it? Sweet Circe, she wants all of it. She clamps her teeth onto her lower lip to keep from emitting an embarrassing sound...to keep from blurting unasked for words.

He sees...he sees everything...and there is a smirk in his tone when he says, "It is a very biteable lip, isn't it?"

He is standing before her now, and she can watch his leisurely examination of her body as well as feel the heat of his eyes on her skin. There's something so vulnerable about standing before him, not allowed to speak or move...in any other situation, she would never permit herself to be objectified in this way. But now...in this stolen hour, with this man whom she chooses to believe is the object of her fancy...now, it is not only acceptable. It is essential.

She needs his attention more than she needs her next breath.

As if he knows her thoughts, Sir Tobias steps forward, one long-fingered hand taking her chin and tilting it until her disguised blue eyes meet his fake hazel ones. There is still a fragment of the sensible Hermione within...the voice that whispers, Snape is a Legilimens.

She Occludes, just in case.

But Sir Tobias seems unaware of her inner dilemma. He caresses her face. "So soft," he murmurs.

The resonance...the intimacy...of his words are like fuel to the banked fire of her need. She sways towards him, her lips parting, willing him to kiss her again.

He responds with the ghost of smile, and the fingers of both his hands thread through her hair...her blonde hair, straight in a way that could never be achieved with her real hair...and he massages her scalp with strong, clever fingertips.

She is amazed at the sensual pleasure of his touch, and her eyes close in bliss, a little murmur of delight passing her lips.

Then he is nuzzling her ear, taking a deep breath of her hair. "Is Kitty your real name?"

Hermione does not hesitate. "No."

"Good girl," he says, his lips trailing down the curve of her jaw to her throat. "Then I shall call you 'Kitten,' because it is far more fitting name for such a delectable little morsel." One of the hands in her hair tightens and he pulls her head back until she is looking into his eyes again. "'Kitten' is the perfect name for a woman as submissive as you are. You'll remember to change it the next time you come back, won't you, Kitten?"

She strains against the hand in her hair, trying to kiss him, but he holds her in place, watching her with obvious satisfaction. Accepting her defeat, she turns her head as far to the right as she can and presses a kiss to his left forearm, to the sleeve of his jumper, revealed by the looser sleeve of his robes. Is there a Dark Mark beneath that jumper? Ah, if she could see even the edge of it, she would know Sir Tobias' true identity.

"You want to orgasm, don't you, Kitten?"

Hermione feels her face burn. She did put that on her service chit...that she wants an orgasm tonight. It's not as if she doesn't have them regularly by her own hand, but that's not the same as having one from him. She wets her lips, aware of the way Sir Tobias' gaze sharpens, and says, "Yes. Yes, I do."

There is something almost predatory in the curl of his lip, but rather than frightening her, it simply increases her desire.

"I wonder how I'm to achieve that objective, with you and all your delightful little erogenous zones covered by this silly sheath. Shall we remove it?"

She knows there is logic on his side, but she cannot bear the thought of standing before him in this spotlight completely naked. She gives a quick shake of her head, sorry to deny him, but unwilling to comply.

"They ... they said I can keep it."

Sir Tobias frowns, a Snape-like furrow of displeasure creasing his unlined forehead. "I won't ask you again, Kitten, but if at any point during our interactions you find the sheath to be troublesome, you need only ask, and I will assist you to be rid of it. Do you understand?"

Hermione is entranced by the familiar-seeming glower, and she answers quickly. "Yes, Sir Tobias."

He releases her and steps back again, drawing another whimper of desolation from her. "Yes, my name is Sir Tobias, and you will address me by that or 'Sir.' "

He pauses, as if awaiting a response, and Hermione nods her understanding.

"I have read your list of likes, dislikes, soft and hard limits, and I understand your needs and ... desires."

His voice is such an instrument of expression...his simple utterance of the word "desires" sends a wash of warmth to the fuel-hungry fire now beginning to blaze in her most secret places.

"I am going to satisfy your wants, Kitten...scratch your itch, tickle your fancy, and fulfil your dreams. All you must remember is the safe word I will give you. It is imperative for you to remember your safe word and to speak it aloud to me if you want me to stop what I'm doing to you. You may speak it at any time, for any reason, and I will stop and listen to you. Is it understood? I require a verbal response."

Hermione nervously moistens her dry lips, aware again of Sir Tobias' sharp glance at her tongue, and she says, "I understand, Sir."

His intent gaze moves from her lips to her eyes. "Your safe word is 'Bubotuber'."

Hermione is startled into a giggle, and there is the flash of a smile from Sir Tobias. His even, white teeth are a startling contrast to Snape's unfortunate ones. Disguised, she reminds herself, but then he is advancing on her, and she steps forward to meet him.

He stops her by taking hold of her upper arm. "You said you wanted to try a spanking...I think we'll begin with that, shall we?"

Hermione wants to kick herself. She did put that on the questionnaire. What was she thinking?

He's watching her with enigmatic hazel eyes. "Changed your mind?"

It sounds like a challenge, and she knows he means it for one. Well, she'll do it. He seems to want it, and he said he was going to make her orgasm, so she'll get what she wants before they're finished together.

"No, sir," she says.

Half a smile this time. "That's my little Kitten. Come along to the spanking bench."

He pulls her closer with a hand at her waist and walks her to an elevated, well-padded device with different levels and attachments. She is able to see clearly because the spotlight follows her as if its magic is keyed to her movement.

Sir Tobias indicates the lowest level, which is perhaps two feet off the ground. "Kneel here," he says, "and rest your stomach here..." he indicates the next level, gently sloped "and your arms go here."

He watches while she arranges herself on the apparatus, comfortable save for the feeling that her bottom is ridiculously thrust up and out. Well, he said he likes her bottom, so who is she to worry that it's too big?

He touches her hand, resting now upon the arm of the spanking bench. "There are ways for me to tie your hands down, Kitten. Shall I take care of that for you? Some little ones enjoy the sensation of ... helplessness."

As he speaks the last, delicious word, he moves her hair aside and presses a kiss to the back of her neck, his lips cool, his tongue warm, his teeth sharp...and the inside of his mouth as he sucks on her skin hot...perhaps as hot as the lava pit aching between her thighs. Her nipples, pressed to the padded slope of the bench, harden to peaks, and she draws her lower lip between her teeth to swallow a moan.

"I'll take that for 'yes, please, Sir Tobias,' " he says, his face so close that his cheek is pressed to hers. "You're lovely, little Kitten...I will enjoy you tonight."

Her teeth tighten on her lip, but a murmur of helpless desire shudders through her.

He notices...of course he does. He notices everything.

"You're my good girl," he says.

Then she feels silk on her wrist, and opening her eyes, she sees his able, agile fingers tying her to the bench with a red silk scarf. She knows those hands. How can she doubt for a moment this is Severus Snape, preparing to spank her bottom...the bottom now clothed with nothing more than a see-through piece of fabric?

At this thought, miraculously, she relaxes completely. She releases her lower lip and draws in a deep, steadying breath. She wants to be fully present in this out-of-context moment with him, closed into this space where she owns his full, undiluted attention.

Then his hand is on her bottom, stroking down first one cheek, then the other. Hermione pushes into the hand, arching her neck too, as if that will bring her needful centre closer to the hands promising her deliverance.

"It is a pity, of course, about the sheath," he says, and she realizes his hand now strokes flesh...his first touch made the fabric of the sheath dissolve, exposing her arse to him. "I only spank bare bottoms, Kitten...don't you agree it ought always to be that way?"

She scrabbles mentally for the pure relaxation of mere moments before, but she is rigid with embarrassment. Then he takes the matter completely away from her...she has given him her power, has she not?...when his hand delves between her thighs and cups her vulva.

"Let's see if you're wet for me."

And with two fingers he slips between her nether lips and owns her pulsing heat.

"You are a very, very good Kitten," he says, rolling her clitoris beneath the faintest touch of his proficient fingertips. "You're already quite prepared for me to make you scream with ecstasy, aren't you?"

She gasps, and her head slowly falls to the padded surface of the bench. Almost against her will, she moves her legs further apart, giving him more complete access to her heat.

"That's right, Kitten. Such a good girl. Now, let's purchase your pleasure with a taste of pain, shall we?"

Wait! What?

But before she can protest, his slick fingertips paint the flesh of her arse cheeks with her own essence.

"Gorgeous."

The word is more a breath than an utterance, and then she feels his lips on her bottom, sucking the residue of her wetness from her skin. The pure, carnal decadence of the gesture is like a drug to her mind. She is enveloped in him, completely in his orbit, a satellite to the sun of his existence.

When the palm of his hand lands on the fullness of her bottom, she absorbs the sting like fuel. The blows he delivers are like the point and counterpoint of the finest symphonic music. No two successive blows land in the same exact spot, and the ones that land on the lower portion of her arse feel like slaps to the slickness of her cunt. She is enthralled, inhibitions melting away as if they were never a true part of her personality. She feels every blow in her cunt...she embraces the naughty name for it...and as long as his actions promote the pure pleasure in her aching cunt, she does not care what he does to her.

It's all good.

She hears her own gasps and cries as part of the symphony he plays on the instrument of her body. She is not embarrassed or ashamed of her vocal responsiveness...somehow she knows he inhales her sounds like the aroma of her arousal, as turned on by her cries as he is by the slickness of her vulva.

When the blows to her bottom cease, she is quiescent, her breaths panting, but her spirit accepting. He is in control. He has a plan for her, based on the deepest wishes and desires of her authentic self. He will tell her when more is required of her.

Then his fingers are at the red silk scarves, releasing her wrists and thrusting the scarves in his pockets. Without words, he assists her up to a kneeling position, then he scoops her into his arms, cradling her against him and walking across the floor as if she weighs nothing at all.

As before, the bright light follows them, and Hermione looks up into Sir Tobias' face, willing it away, wanting to see the hawk-faced Severus Snape, to look into his never-ending black eyes.

When he becomes aware of her regard, Sir Tobias stops and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You are the very best Kitten of my acquaintance, little one. You are a good girl. I could not be more pleased with you."

The words of praise feed directly into the depths of her bottomless need for approval. Hermione presses her face against the black robes, one hand stroking down his light brown hair and ending at the high neck of his jumper. She runs a fingertip along the edge of the knitted fabric. Severus Snape has a scar on his neck. He might wear such a jumper to hide the tell-tale scar. But Sir Tobias captures her hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm.

She stops thinking about the scar.

He sits on a sofa. It is covered in a dark paisley fabric, all blues and browns and creamy ivory. The seat cushions are particularly wide, as if to accommodate two reclining bodies, but he settles Hermione in his lap, his upper body maintaining a gentle rocking motion, as if to soothe her.

She closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder, one hand tangled in the fabric of his robes. After a moment, she realizes there's a hard rod of muscle beneath her bottom. Her lips curve into a smile, and she squirms gently for its benefit.

"Naughty Kitten," he says, but his hips thrust upwards, belying his words. He nuzzles her hair, and one hand strokes down her flank, dissolving the sheath, leaving bare skin in its wake. He smoothes his fingertips down the newly naked flesh, and Hermione purrs, not even aware she knew how to make the vibrating murmur in her throat.

Sir Tobias chuckles appreciatively. "The Kitten purrs," he says. "You are an unending delight, little Kitten."

She opens her eyes and raises her head. "I want to delight you. Tell me how."

A slight frown touches his forehead, and he looks searchingly into her eyes. Hermione touches the edge of her Occlusion, finds it intact, and opens her eyes wider, as if to assure him of her sincerity. Abruptly, almost as if against his will, Sir Tobias kisses her.

---

Severus stares into the young woman's eyes, scarcely able to believe his ears. He has pleasured many an emergent submissive in this place, coaxing her into yielding her will to him, but never in his life, whether within or without these walls, has a woman ever spoken such words to him. It rocks him out of his complacency, out of the safe confines of his Sir Tobias personality, and it is Severus Snape who crushes his lips to the woman's willing, inviting mouth.

Kitten squirms more upright to gain the use of both arms, and the movement sends another shock of want through his cock. She twines her arms around his neck, pressing her delicious little tongue into his mouth, aggressively pursuing his tongue, bringing the flavours of champagne and something other...more elemental...to his taste buds. He suckles her tongue, drawing a moan of unadulterated arousal from her throat. No longer the contented, purring Kitten...now she's the wanton, demanding Kitten...but he does not begrudge this little wilful expression. This is her first time. He will have plenty of time to school her to...

What the fuck is he thinking? He cannot see Kitten again...cannot meet her in this room to enjoy her luscious woman's body and fuck her hot little cunt. Not after this time. Never again.

So do you want her to see some other dominant? Lucius Malfoy, perhaps? Or perhaps Sir John Smith? Or...

He threads his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck and gently but firmly takes control of her motions, reasserting his power. She immediately relaxes into his hold, prettily offering up her will to him, compliant, passionate, and beautiful.

Buggering fucking hell.

---

Hermione relaxes into his hold, awaiting her sure reward for experiencing her first ever spanking. Not even her parents have ever raised a disciplinary hand to her...no, her parents, now lost to her by her own actions...her parents were adherents of a non-violent disciplinary process.

She blinks slowly, looking into Sir Tobias' face, but it is almost as if someone else is looking out from those somewhat commonplace hazel eyes. He has a slightly different aura about him now, one that is tinged with danger.

This does nothing but increase her desire for him.

With great deliberation, he strokes a hand from her jugular notch to the apex of her thighs, the sheath disintegrating at his touch, baring her flesh to his hot, hungry gaze.

Hermione instinctively raises an arm to cover herself, but his strong, insistent fingers close about her wrist.

"No. You want me to look at your succulent breasts and your hot little cunt, Kitten. Say it out loud to me."

Hermione feels her face flush, even as her inner pragmatist points out the folly of her modesty. How does she expect him to fuck her...to pinch and suck her nipples, to push the length of cock pressing against her arse into her heat...without undressing her?

And sweet Circe but she wants it.

"I want you to look at me, Sir." Her voice is tiny, barely audible, but she can't seem to make it sound louder, firmer.

"Just look, Kitten?" he says, allowing his fingertips the ghost of a touch to one pebbled, erect nipple, then stroking across to the other.

"N-no!" She has no problem saying this with more volume than strictly necessary.

His lips twist, almost a cruel expression, but he accompanies this with taking a nipple between his forefinger and thumb and compressing, then releasing.

Hermione's torso jerks in response, as if she is trying to press her nipple back into his fingers. His snarl intensifies, but the expression in his eyes marks it as a gesture of dominance rather than one of derision.

"I want you to touch me and kiss me and finger me and fuck me," she says, the words tumbling out so quickly that she's said them before she can consider.

He does not move to touch her, his expression at once cold as ice and hot as fire. How can he be both at once? But he waits, as if there is no urgency. His hold on her is such that she can neither raise to kiss him nor to move to touch him.

What does he want?

"Please," she says.

Before she can complete her sentence...tell me what you want...he cups her vulva and presses a kiss to her open mouth.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs into her hair, a finger sliding along her clitoris, wringing a cry from her. "Beg me for what you want, and I'll give it to you, Kitten."

"Oh please, Sir," she says, her hands stroking his face. "Please touch me and fuck me and make me come."

He spreads her labia, the air cold against the wet heat of her arousal, and he looks at her exposed sex. Hermione feels a touch of shame...no one has ever looked at her in this way before...but in the next instant, the palm of his hand presses against the slickness between her thighs, and two long fingers tease up into her body.

"Sweet Circe," she says, the words a moan, and she goes slack in his arms, able to do no more than lift her hips and thrust against his hand.

"That's right, Kitten," he says, and he thrusts his cock against her bottom, joining the erotic exchange, like taking his place in a carnal dance.

Hermione presses her heels into the sofa cushion, spreading her thighs more...certainly far enough to accommodate his slim hips, but he makes no move to change positions, and his expert touch on her clitoris is driving her surely along the path of explosive orgasm.

"You are such a nasty little Kitten, aren't you, pet? You need my fingers up your cunt...you need to spread your legs for me to look at you, don't you?"

The words ought to have been embarrassing...denigrating...but she is only further aroused by the calculated taunting. He isn't shaming her...he's delving into her deep-seated fantasies, ratcheting up the tension, the delicious abandon of what he's doing to her.

"Don't be shy...don't hold back...let me hear how much you like it when I finger fuck you."

She is not aware of holding back, but at this command, she emits a whimpering cry, hearing it echo back to her from the walls of the room.

"Such a beautiful little pet...precious Kitten...give me your orgasm, little one. Fuck my fingers and come all over them."

This is spoken in a voice of command...no entreaty, not taunting, but decisive, controlling. Her body, his instrument and pleasure toy, responds to the voice of the master...Master! the delirium of her mind chants...and the body he has so surely put his stamp of ownership on arches from his lap in an orgasm of mind-shattering thunder.

---

She heard herself scream, heard the sobbing gasps of breath, but it was as if she no longer inhabited her corporeal body. Her self was elsewhere, wrapped in cotton wool and lovingly cradled by Sir Tobias.

She slowly returns to herself...to what some would call her right mind, though she had felt perfectly right when it was as if the spark of her soul inhabited his soul...and knows that she is held against the long, fit body of Sir Tobias. She opens her eyes, and she realizes he has felt some concern for her. He is looking down at her face, mere inches from her, hazel eyes sharp and searching. His right arm holds her securely against his reclining form, the cushions of the sofa back on her other side.

With an gesture almost too tender, he dries her cheeks with a clean white handkerchief, soft and smelling of sunshine, as if it's been dried on a bright, sunny day.

"Did I cry?" she asks, her voice sounding scratchy as if from disuse.

"Yes," he answers simply. "Are you alright?"

She nods solemnly.

"Are you ready to leave?"

"Must I?" She has no desire to leave him, but if he says she must, she will. She's given over her power, hasn't she?

And besides, he's as moved by their interaction as she is. She's sure of it. She'll see him again.

Won't she?

"Not if you prefer to stay a while longer," he says. "If, perhaps, you might wish to do something about this."

He's shed the robes, but he's still fully dressed in a dark high-necked jumper and black trousers. He lifts her left leg and rests her knee on his hip, then thrusts, his erection prodding against her.

She reaches for him, not terribly adept at handling a man's penis, but more than willing to give back for the grace she's received. He's stiff and straight in his trousers, and when she grasps him, his eyes flutter closed.

She strokes up experimentally, feeling inordinately proud when she sees him take a deep breath, and then strokes down to the root, reaching down to fondle the sac beneath. His eyes open when she does this, and he shifts partially over her body.

"Kitten knows something about petting a randy tomcat, doesn't she?"

Hermione giggles, but her giggle turns into a gasp when he lowers his head and licks a nipple. He raises himself up on an elbow and leans forward to push his face between her breasts. Unable now to reach his erection, Hermione contents herself with stroking his face and hair. She's had her (rather mind-blowing) pleasure, and she wants with all her being to allow him the same release. She thinks she's past passion, but the more he plays with her breasts, the more she begins to feel it in her cunt.

He suckles a nipple, plucking at the other with fingertips, and soon she is arching into his mouth, loving the attention to her breasts. The intensity increases, and Sir Tobias shifts himself between her legs, kneeling to unfasten his belt. She is riveted on the action of his fingers, waiting for her first sight of his cock.

The placket of his trousers falls open and she sees that he wears no underpants. He smirks at her. "Saves time," he murmurs, then he strokes down his length and the purpled head of his erection appears from the foreskin.

Hermione makes an inarticulate sound, wanting to touch...to taste...but he foils her attempts to reach him.

"You're a relentless little tease, Kitten," he says, his voice almost a growl. Her parts her labia and deliberately draws the head of his cock over her clit. When she cries out and arches up, his snarly lip-curl reappears. "If I let you touch my cock, you'd have to lick up all the spunk I'd spew...wouldn't you rather I do that as deep in your cunt as possible?"

She gasps and reaches for him with her arms. He teases no more, but pushes his thick cock slowly into her body, his upper body still clothed, the rasp of the fabric lightly abrading her stomach. She feels him inside her, a welcome intruder, but an alien one, nevertheless. The breadth of him stretches and fills her as no one and nothing else has ever done. She wraps her legs about his hips, feeling the trousers slide down so that her bare legs caress his bare hips and tense, muscled arse.

---

Severus thrusts slowly but surely to his full length, eyes closing as if to protest the incredible rush of pleasure her tight cunt provides. She's slick, hot, and wanton, her lovely, bare legs wrapping about him and holding him deep in her body.

He's lost his fucking mind...there's no denying it...he's breaking every rule he's ever made for himself, both in and out of TPE. He never fucks a newbie submissive, yet here he is, balls deep in one whose sweetness sears him like burning brands.

She's perfection...he tries not to think it, not to believe it...but the needy side of himself he represses with the ruthlessness of a tyrant cries out for her, the little Kitten. His Kitten.

He looks down into her face, her clear blue eyes (what colour are they really?), and in them he sees hero-worship. It's just the reaction of a submissive to her first dominant...nothing personal...but the whinging inner voice he never listens to doesn't believe that.

She sees me. She knows me. She wants me.

He struggles to push the needy voice out of his mind, even as he begins a slow, methodical fucking. Her eyes have fallen closed now. Her breasts bob rhythmically, an erotic sight at any time, but doubly so when he's the one causing the bouncing. Her lips are parted, her breaths tiny gasps and whimpered murmurs, her body learning the pace of their joining and beginning to move in concert with his. Not perfectly...fucking isn't meant to be perfect...but effectively, and he feels his bollocks tighten, preparing the tidal rush deep into her womb.

Close as he is to coming, he's determined to bring her off again too. He snaps his hips and feels the satisfying contact with her inner wall...the sweet spot. Her eyes fly open in surprise.

"Oh...oh Sir..."

She's gibbering now, and he does it again, feeling the impact at the base of his spine.

"Come on, little one...don't make me go there by myself...come with me ..."

She seems to be listening to him with her whole self. One last time he snaps, and with this impact, his control is gone. The physical expulsion has begun, and if she doesn't climb aboard this Express, he'll have to bring her off with his fingers.

He allows himself to plunge, driving now, mindless, and as the first hot jet of semen leaves his body, he hears her scream...piercing, desperate, and music to his ears.

---

Her mind liquefies and rushes out with the voice she gives to the concatenation he creates in her body. She hears her cries echoing around the room as Sir Tobias collapses to one side of her, his face and hair wet with sweat, his eyes closed, breath gasping from him.

Hermione is no virgin, but this is nothing like the sex she's had with the young men of her acquaintance. Nothing has ever spent her like this...pulled her soul from her body into another's keeping...left her too scattered to think or put words together. She'd read about such things, but thought it was poetic license...she never suspected for a moment that such a thing could happen to her.

She trembles, her sweat, mingled with his, drying on her body with the mix of their other body secretions. She feels as if she's been anointed by a god, and for a wild, silly moment, wishes that she did not have to wash him from her.

---

Severus regains his breath, staring at this newcomer, a submissive who has placed herself in the care of TPE, as represented by Sir Tobias. It is easy now to push Severus Snape back into his box, to bring Sir Tobias to the fore to deal with Kitten...no, Kitty.

Her name is Kitty.

He turns from her and rolls to his feet, doing up his fly and fastening his belt. She is limp on the sofa, looking like a well-shagged young woman. He raises his hand, and her white robes fly obediently to him. He can feel her wand, secured in the inner pocket sewn there for precisely that purpose. For the last ninety minutes, this witch has given her power over to him, not once even feeling for her wand. She has done tremendously well for a first-timer.

Fully in his Sir Tobias persona, he proceeds with after care. It is a necessary part of total power exchange. It is his responsibility to make sure the submissive is fully recovered and steady on her feet...no longer in sub-space, not physically shaky...before he allows her to leave the room.

She sits docilely on the sofa, allowing him to tend to her.

"I just want to make you aware that you have a bruise on your bottom," he tells her, quietly, helping her to stand. "I apologise...generally, we make an effort not to mark one another during sessions here. Many people have partners outside of TPE."

She allows him to help her into the white robes. "That's not a problem for me," she says.

He tries not to hear...not to know...that she has no boyfriend or husband waiting at home for her.

He fastens her robes up, his hands gentle but impersonal. She leans into him, her arms stealing around his waist, and she rests her cheek on his chest, her eyes closed in contentment.

He hardens his inner resolve. Submissives often feel quite affectionate after a session. It's only natural. There's nothing personal about it.

After a moment, he steps out of her embrace and places hands on her shoulders to hold her off.

"Alright, Kitty? Do you feel well? All recovered?"

He sees a flash of pain cross her face and presses down hard on the part of him that wants to soothe her hurt feelings. What a fucking idiot he was before, telling her she ought to change her name to Kitten...as if it mattered to him...as if he'd see her again.

Of course she feels it as a rejection of some sort.

After a moment, he sees her pull herself together. The fuzzy, just-fucked, bedazzled look fades from her eyes, and she takes a step back, allowing his hands to fall away from her. Her little chin comes up in a gesture that seems eerily familiar to him, as does the stiffening of her spine.

"I feel fine, thanks," she says, trying and almost managing to sound indifferent.

"I hope you found your first time at TPE to be satisfactory," he says, dutifully repeating the words he is supposed to say to her.

She cocks her head to one side, as if trying to see past the shield he is projecting to the real person behind it. "I think you know I found it ... doubly satisfactory," she says with a small, genuine smile.

She sees...she likes what she sees...she's perfect...

He ruthlessly slams the lid on his puling inner voice and nods, projecting just the right mixture of cocky dominant, friendly TPE member, and equally satisfied sexual partner.

"Very glad to hear that," he says, his voice infused with a heartiness he despises. "Please feel free to return at any time. You'll find a listing of our calendar of events and price list in the dressing room. If you need anything, just ask KiKi, and she'll assist you." He makes an expansive gesture towards the door, encouraging her to walk towards it.

Kitty goes with him to the door, but when his fingers touch the knob to open it for her, she fleetingly touches the back of his hand.

Unable to prevent his reaction, he jerks away from her, as if burned.

Her chin rises another notch. "I can ... request you again, if I return?" she says.

Severus uses a non-verbal spell to open the door and takes a step away from her. "There are a number of dominants at TPE. You are always welcome to make a request, but if I am unavailable, you'll still be well taken care of." He attempts a smile to bolster the credibility of this blatant lie. The expression feels alien on his glamoured face.

She swallows, but he can see the tears shining in her eyes. He wishes he'd never come here tonight...wishes he could carry her off with him to his rooms...wishes he were dead and in the ground.

"Thank you," she says, her voice only slightly choked by the tears. "Good bye, then."

He opens his lips to answer her...to call her back and apologise...to give her a cold canned response...but she's gone, the door closing firmly in his face.