Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Hermione enters the returning visitors' room upon her return to TPE, using the password she was given at her last visit. As she passes through the portal, she feels the magic of the glamour shimmer from the crown of her head to the tip of her chin.

Now she is Kitten again.

There are three people before her, and she queues behind them, taking in the room.

The décor is similar to the newcomers' parlour. There is a full tea service on a table against the wall, and an arrangement of settees and chairs nearby, but no one is sitting there. Are there people who come to TPE simply to drink tea and chat? It seems very strange to her.

When she is at the front of the queue, she sees KiKi's smiling face. Ramona is not present, but the beautiful white cat with the knowing yellow eyes sits on the counter, as if in charge of passing inspection on all who enter.

"Welcome back, Kitty!" KiKi says. "I'm so happy you've returned. All of Sir Tobias' newcomers return, it seems."

Hermione delivers a perfunctory smile and says, "I must make a slight emendation to my profile, please. I am to be called 'Kitten' rather than 'Kitty'."

KiKi obliging makes the correction on the parchment bearing Hermione's registration information.

"Do you have a list of the available dominants?"

KiKi picks up a clipboard and places it on the counter before Hermione. "I do, but let me explain how it works. You may request the company of a particular dominant, but if he is otherwise engaged, we will be unable to accommodate you. To streamline the process for everyone, we need to know upfront if you will accept another dominant's company."

Hermione has reached the point of no return. She must decide now whether she is willing to yield her power to someone other than Sir Tobias. Does she simply want another opportunity to exchange her power for pleasure or does she want to see Sir Tobias again?

KiKi awaits Hermione's decision serenely. The cat, however, flicks its tail repeatedly, as if irritated by something.

Hermione glances down at the clipboard, but the top parchment is a coversheet...it says, "Availability Roster". All she must do to see if he is here is to turn the page. What if he is? What if he isn't? What does she really want?

I want his hand in my hair, controlling me, and his tongue in my mouth, claiming me. I want him inside me, making me his.

A piercing combination of hope and desire floods her all at once, and her fingers tremble as she pushes the clipboard back to KiKi. She looks directly into KiKi's eyes.

"I want Sir Tobias. And if he isn't here, I'd like to wait for him. He might come later." She swallows. "And if he doesn't come tonight, I would not care to meet with any other dominant."

The white cat stands, arches its back in a luxurious stretch, and butts its head against Hermione's hand. She obliges by gently scratching behind its ears.

KiKi's eyes dart from right to left, as if to ascertain that they are alone, and then she leans towards Hermione and speaks in a lowered voice. "Kitten, I hope you get exactly what you want...I really do. But I want you to know something. Sir Tobias has never been with the same submissive twice. Even if he's here to receive the request, he declines it."

KiKi pats the hand not caressing the white fur and smiles sympathetically. "We know how ... difficult it can be to want someone who prefers no entanglements."

Hermione feels a flash desperation. He practically told her he wouldn't see her again, didn't he? She's foolish to even ask for him.

She's about to gather her self-respect and leave when KiKi stands.

"Let me find out if he's here. If he is, I'll tell him you want to see him."

Hermione nods wordlessly, and the cat begins to purr beneath her hand. The purr is comforting...Crookshanks does not possess such soft fur as this white cat, but he does purr. She continues to stroke the cat, trying not to think about where KiKi is going...who KiKi might see...and what answer she might receive.

Instead, she says, "You'd like Crookshanks. He's my cat...well, he's half Kneazle. He lives with me at Hogwarts."

Severus enters the members' sitting room, noting the crowd. Saturday nights are busy at TPE. Even the reserve playrooms are used on most Saturday nights.

He nods greetings to those who glance his way, including two submissives with whom he has shared encounters in the past...Ursula and Yvette. Yvette turns from him with an air of cold dignity, but Ursula gives him an appraising eye, followed by a smile.

Severus turns from them to pour a perfunctory cup of tea. He is tense and wants something to do with his hands. Sir Grantham Hill joins him at the tea table, taking a small wedge of lemon from a plate.

"Busy night," Sir Grantham says conversationally.

Severus has had a few civil exchanges with the man before...he seems a decent sort. So he says, "Have you heard any requests for me?"

"Sir Tobias Prince?"

Both Severus and Sir Grantham turn towards the voice. KiKi is standing at the doorway to the playroom corridor. Sir Grantham laughs and claps Severus on the shoulder.

"No, old chap, I hadn't heard a request for you...not until now, that is."

Other dominants chuckle, but Severus pays them no mind. His attention is upon KiKi, who comes to stand at his side. When she speaks to him, she does so quietly.

"There is a request for you tonight...you saw her before, on her newcomer's visit. She was called Kitty, although when she came in tonight she asked me to change her name to..."

"Kitten," Severus says, replacing his cup and saucer on the table without a rattle of china. His face remains blank, his voice even and perfectly modulated, his hands steady.

"Yes," KiKi says, obviously wildly curious to know how Sir Tobias could have been in possession of that information. But her position requires her to show deference to dues-paying club members, so she does not question him. Instead, she says, "I don't have her service request yet. She wanted to be sure you are available."

Severus watches the club manager closely. Will she tell him if he asks or will she try to protect Kitten's confidentiality?

"She hasn't placed her service request? How odd."

KiKi nods but says nothing.

"Is it, perhaps, because she does not plan to stay if I am not available?"

KiKi returns his questioning gaze with a steady one of her own. She nods once, then says, "Will you be available?"

Elation bursts into being, giving him a glorious, giddy rush. "Yes," he says.

"I'll return with the chit." KiKi is all business again, turning to hurry off and perform her duties.

Severus halts her with a murmured question. "Is the green room available?" When KiKi nods, Severus says, "Bring her there. I'll be waiting."

KiKi opens her mouth to object...that's not the way it's done, the chit is handed to the dominant, and he studies it before the submissive enters the room...but Severus strides past her into the corridor, heading for the green room.

She's here. She wants to see me. Me, and no one else.

He feels a satisfactory thrum of something dangerously close to possessiveness.

It is the same room they met in before.

Hermione enters in darkness, barefoot and clothed in the white robes. She sees him standing in the centre with a spotlight shining down. Sir Tobias Prince wears a dark, high-necked jumper beneath his robes again. He stands at ease, facing the door she entered, his arms by his sides.

She hesitates when the door closes behind her. She has her service request in her hand, but she's not quite sure how to give it to him. She stands and waits for him to tell her what to do.

"Come here."

She walks to him, her heart seeming to lighten with every step nearer she draws. She was so afraid he would not be here...would deny her...but he's right in front of her, waiting.

He's so like Professor Snape...the height, the fit body, the commanding presence. Could he possibly be ...

When she reaches him, she stops and looks up into his disguised face. "You came to me," she says.

"You asked for me, Kitten."

She knows it's silly, but to hear him speak her name...the name he gave her...fills her with light, and she utters a breathy laugh, unable to contain her joy.

He seems to understand. His lips do not move, but his eyes crinkle at the corners.

She offers the service chit. He takes it from her but does not look at it.

"Have there been any changes in your limits?"

"No, Sir."

"Then shall I choose for you what we will do?"

She is almost too breathless to speak. "Yes...please."

He releases the parchment and it disappears. "Have you been a good girl since last I saw you?

She nods her head. "Yes. But I've also been lonely and rather sad since my last visit."

He seems to hear only the last few words. "Was it your last visit? Our time together? Or have you been here with some other dominant?"

His questions are very specific, as if he cares whether she's been with someone else. As if it matters to him.

"Our time was the only time I've been here," she tells him.

"So you've missed me."

She leans into him, her hands grasping his robes. "Oh, yes."

He smirks, and her heart turns over. Such an obnoxious, cocky expression, but one she remembers with great fondness...one she was afraid she would never see again.

His fingertips ghost over her cheek, and he takes her chin in his hand. When he speaks, his voice is lower pitched, rich with intimacy. "Do you remember your safe word?"

"Bubotuber," she answers promptly. She has something to ask...something she has to know...and her voice trembles a bit with the temerity of her question. "And you, Sir? Have you been back here since our time? With another woman?"

His eyelids fall to half-mast, and his lips curl into the sensual snarl she recalls with such breathless delight. "Who holds your power, little one?"

His aftershave is the same as before, spice and musk, and she inhales, wishing it were as easy to absorb his voice...his touch...his will. "You do, Sir. You hold my power. And I don't mean to be impertinent, but I would really like to know, if you don't mind."

His hand slides down from her chin, caressing the skin of her throat, coming to rest over her larynx, with the very slightest exertion of pressure on either side of her neck. "Perhaps I will tell you. What will you give me?"

Hermione is very excited by his hand on her throat, but she fumbles and finds the fastening for her robes. She shrugs, allowing them to puddle at her feet. She is naked and terribly embarrassed...but her embarrassment is tinged with a delicious naughtiness...and knowing that he approves her audacity only makes it sweeter.

His eyes rest appreciatively on her breasts before making the leisurely journey down to her pudendum, ending at her feet. "Good girl, little Kitten," he murmurs. "The answer is no. I have been very busy and have not had the opportunity to visit again since our time together."

He does not say that he didn't want to be with someone else.

She's not ashamed. She'll say it.

"I think about you every day. I dream about you at night. I don't want to be with anyone else."

Severus schools his face to impassivity, stunned to silence by her words. The girl has no finesse, no savoir faire. She blurts out the thought on the tip of her tongue and hands herself to him on a platter, with no concern for how he might use her words or feelings to his own advantage.

She behaves like a bloody Gryffindor.

Even worse, he is finding the emotional impact of this meeting to be every bit as disconcerting as the first time. Instead of the previous tryst reducing the tension between them...a reasonable expectation, surely...their time apart has brought his desire to dominate her to a fever pitch, and he can see she is in the same state.

He is a fool of the first order to have thought he could see her again with no repercussions. Even so...even though he has yet to touch her sexually...he can no more walk out of this room and leave her than he can forego oxygen.

She sees me...she sees to the depths of me...she wants me for who I am.

He feels Sir Tobias slipping away from him, as if he is a creature sloughing off a skin he no longer needs. He cannot fight the voice in him that believes every outrageous word this woman speaks. He cannot withstand her disingenuous spilling of all her pearls at his unworthy feet.

All he can do it give her what she wants, what she unquestionably needs, and in so doing, satisfy the deepest desires of his dark, dishonourable heart.

He does not speak a word...does not respond to her confession with the slightest change of expression. All he does is scoop her into his arms and walk with her to the extra-wide sofa. He puts her on her feet and gestures for her to recline on the cushions. She lies back, her hands fisted at her sides to prevent her from covering her breasts or her sex.

As he looks down at her like a starving man considering the offerings of a banquet, he unfastens his robes and steps out of them, still clothed in his dark jumper and trousers. Then he lies down beside her, stroking a fingertip along her lower lip until her mouth opens.

He kisses her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with a hint of cinnamon and a flood of testosterone.

This is nothing like their first time...there's no stand up kissing, no bare bottom spanking...there is only her desire colliding with his, and the conflagration raining down upon them both.

He sucks her tongue into his mouth, his imperious touch trailing from her throat to her breasts, kneading, then leaving a wake of fire behind as fingertips trail down her ribcage, dip into her navel, and part her labia.

His lips travel down her throat, and he nips the lobe of her ear before he whispers, "Who has your power?"

Her hips thrust up, helplessly seeking contact for her aching cunt. "You, Sir...you have my power."

He draws a finger over her clitoris, pulling a gasping cry from her. Then he slides two fingers into her body, slowly thrusting. "This is mine, Kitten...this pretty little pussy."

She wants him so badly, she feels as if her very blood is burning in her veins. The provocation of his possessive words simply increases her agitation. She wants to feel his skin...to touch his cock...to get him as naked as she is. But he is in control, finger fucking her and sucking a nipple into his mouth with a moan. He will set the pace...he will decide everything that happens tonight...and she has given over her control to him.

She relaxes onto the cushions and lets him have his way.

As if he is aware of the tension leaving her torso, he looks up from suckling her breasts. "That's right, Kitten. I'll take care of you...I'll take care of it all. Just yield to me like the good girl you are."

He shifts away from her, off the cushions onto the floor, and she misses the warmth and the weight of him...but then he grasps her hips, moving her bottom to the edge of the cushions.

With the first application of his tongue to her clitoris, she loses the capacity for thought, although speech seems to be no problem, providing coherency isn't what's required.

Her focus narrows to the cleft between her thighs, the plump lips of her labia parting to provide access for his tongue, lips, and hands. He feasts and fingers, lapping at her juices and then pulling the core of her into his mouth. Deep in the heat, his tongue flicks and slides up the underside of her clit to the nub, and when he applies pressure with the flat of his tongue, she begins to unravel. It's almost too much, too intense, but when she tries to move away, he pins her hips to the sofa and looks up the length of her body.

"My power, little Kitten. All mine. And I'm going to keep eating you out until you dissolve like a lump of sugar in my mouth."

The lower portion of his face is slick with her essence, and she is on the cusp of climax. She sees the long, clever muscle of his tongue dart out, and when he closes his eyes and bends his head to her again she submits to the intensity, the overwhelming enormity of the feeling.

His fingers are pumping in and out of her body, he suckles and massages with his lips as if he's kissing her mouth. When next his lips close over the engorged tissue of her clitoris, there is a flash of light behind her eyes, and she's falling helplessly through light and heat into space.

He settles her on the cushions again and lies behind her, an arm about her torso holding her against him. It is as it was in his dreams, the sated Kitten lying quiescent in his arms, the scent of her slick wetness and her clean hair permeating the air. His cock is like a rod in his trousers, and he anticipates burying himself in her, this safe harbour, and taking his pleasure. But for this moment, he is content to hold her, to ignore the imperative of possession and simply be with her.

Slowly, her breathing evens, and she says, "Thank you."

He presses a kiss to the back of her neck, first a lick, then a soft bite, then a strong suckle. She murmurs and presses her bottom against him. He presses back, increasing the suction on her nape.

"It was entirely my pleasure, I promise you."

She giggles and turns, burrowing her face into his jumper, as if she might find some aperture through which she can slide into him. She runs a hand down his belly to his slowly subsiding erection, and he twitches instantly to life again at her touch.

"Hell-o," she says, in a sexy, breathy voice.

He feels an urge to tumble her over and finish what they started, but he exercises restraint. He wants tonight to last...he won't allow himself to consider why it's important to prolong their time together.

He does not obstruct her investigative hands, and soon she is half upright and unbuckling his belt. He watches her with enjoyment. Her breasts are a bit larger than average, plump and bouncy. Her nipples are rosy pink, pebbled now with the cool air, looking as if they need sucking. And biting. And clamping.

She succeeds in unfastening his trousers and extracting his cock. This time he does not prevent her when she bends over him and places an open-mouthed kiss on the knob. Her lips are soft, her inner mouth is warm, and he groans, thrusting very lightly to see how serious she is.

She opens her mouth and slides her lips over the bulbous, slick tip, sucking very lightly and swirling her tongue for good measure. She handles him more like a curious beginner than an experienced cocksucker, and he finds that he prefers her to be that way. Less satisfaction initially, but to be the man who schools her in fellatio ...

No. He won't think about that.

She moves farther down his body, and now her hot little mouth is closing over the fleshy front of him, suckling her way up his length. Her oral explorations are enjoyable, but he wants to...needs to...fuck her.

He levers partway up, gets a hold on her, and drags her up lie on top of him. She promptly kisses him, and he tastes the salty residue of his lubrication on her tongue. When he speaks to her, his voice is commanding growl.

"Pick a place, Kitten. Do you want to be on top or on the bottom?"

Her face lights up. "I can choose? I want to be on top. I've never done that before."

He doubts the wisdom of his acquiescence, but once the impossibly tight heat of her slides down his cock, he is beyond caring. She is upright above him, the globes of her breasts like the world's most entertaining bobble toys. He pays little attention to the details of her glamoured face, save for her expressions. She is clearly diverted by riding him, and for now, he is content to watch her do it.

After a time, he licks his fingers and touches her clit. She gasps, her eyes opening wide, and he uses the other hand to fondle her breasts. Her arousal is rising now, her breathing quickening, and he feels the urge to finish.

She angles her torso forward, her breasts dangling enticingly, and he grasps her hips.

Hermione throws her head back, revelling in the rocking motion of her body atop his. It's like nothing she's done or imagined, and the rekindling of her passion is slow but sure. This man entices her full capacity for passion from her with little more than his presence.

His intensity increases, and he grasps her hips, thrusting up into her body. She misses his fingers in her cunt, so she mimics him, licking her fingertips and touching herself. The sensation is immediate. The great thickness of him spreads her wide, he labours beneath, fucking her, and her fingers move faster and harder on her clit. Her orgasm takes her by surprise and she cries out, eyes wide.

She leans farther forward, as if all the starch has gone from her, and she braces one hand on the cushions and the other on his shoulder. He stiffens beneath her, his head arches back, and he emits a muted roar.

Hermione watches him as if she's viewing a work of art...performance art...but something jars her out of her reverie. She closes her fingers on the fabric of his jumper, tugs lightly, and she sees it.

At the edge of the collar is a band of raised pink skin, rimmed by an angry red line. Knowledge, full and complete, washes over her.

Quickly she releases her hold on the jumper. He mustn't know she has seen.

His face is sweaty, his eyes closed, and when he lowers his chin again, even the hint of scarring disappears.

Hermione tests her emotions, and she finds herself surprisingly calm. She had followed him here, hadn't she? She had hoped...pretended...that Sir Tobias was Severus Snape, and here is the indisputable proof that she's been right all along.

But now that she knows who he is, she knows too why he's so phobic about an entanglement. It's alright. She's found him...she's not afraid of hard work...she can slowly show him that she's made of sterner stuff than he imagines.

And one day, she can even reveal her true identity to him.

They lie in each other's arms for a long time afterwards. He is reluctant to end their tryst, and she seems perfectly content to simply be, without needless chatter.

Another little piece of perfection on Kitten's ledger.

It is only when they approach the ninety minute time mark that Kitten stirs in his arms.

"I should go," she says, smiling down at him, stroking his cheek.

He tries to pull himself together. It's his responsibility to make sure she's alright, to say when they should part company, to send her off with a positive leave-taking. He's falling down on the job.

He rises and tucks himself away before Summoning her robes and helping her dress.

"In the interest of full disclosure, you should know there is a love bite on the nape of your neck."

"Is there?"

She smiles at him. She is almost unnaturally serene, full of tender smiles and gentle touches. It's a bit perturbing. She does not seem at all sad or anxious about leaving him.

Perhaps the bloom is already off his rose?

"Thank you," she says at the door, and she puts her arms around him and rests her cheek on his chest.

He is strict about end-of-session kisses...he doesn't do them. It's important to emotionally prepare the submissive for their separation, and that requires gradual detachment. Yet in spite of all his rules, he is moved to kiss her forehead, and before he knows what he's about, they are lip-locked.

She is the first to pull away. "Good night, Sir. Until next time."

He opens his mouth to say they won't be meeting again, but she is gone before he can speak a word of denial.