Needs Must
Author: Melusin
Title: Needs Must
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Severus Hermione
Wordcount: 5,159 (This is a WIP)
Warnings: BDSM (consensual), anal play.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted belong to JK Rowling. No infringement of copyright is intended and no money has changed hands.
Summary: Human sexuality covers a wide spectrum. Most of us fit into a very small part of it. This is a story about two people who don't. A BDSM love story.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing in this genre and would welcome any feedback. This hasn't been beta'd, by the way, so if anyone is interested, please drop me a line.
Chapter 1. First Session: Hermione.
He stands before me, dressed in his black travelling cloak. If he has followed my instructions, that is all he is wearing - apart from his boots, of course. It has taken weeks for me to get him this far; he trusts no one and I can hardly blame him. I know who he is, my former teacher, Death Eater, spy, murderer - many things, but basically just a man; a man with needs.
He stands head bowed respectfully, awaiting my command. I let the tension build.
Since Lucius Malfoy scarred me for life ten years ago, I wear a glamour - partly from vanity and partly to disguise my identity. I was never beautiful, but I miss my face. If he knew who I was, this enigma before me, I doubt he would be here, calmly awaiting his fate.
‘Remove your cloak,’ I say.
He reaches for the clasp. A moment’s hesitation…
‘If you don’t want to do this, you know where the door is.’
He unfastens his cloak and takes it off. He folds it neatly on the chair provided.
‘And your boots.’
He complies.
And now he is standing there, naked, hands behind his back, eyes lowered. He is trembling, waiting for me to approve of him - or not as the case may be.
I make him wait. He wants this humiliation; needs it. I have seen it all before. Men who suffered abysmal childhoods, beaten and abused during their formative years; ridiculed by women. Their stories are all different but they share the same anguish. It is laughably simple, really. Whatever they do, whatever they accomplish in life, they never feel good enough, therefore they are not worthy of praise or of love, only pain; they want punishment over and over again for what crime God only knows. But I know Severus Snape. I know his demons. He thinks he is an abomination on the face of the Earth, but I know he is nothing of the kind. He is the bravest man I have ever met; I would not be alive if it were not for him and yet I will give him what he requires of me. I will give him pain, humiliation and punishment for his crimes, real and imagined but I will give him something I have never bestowed on any other sub. I will give him peace.
I contemplate his body for the first time. His skin looks almost deathly white in the candlelight, but I find this attractive. He is like a piece of fine porcelain, his black hair contrasting sharply with his pallor. However, much to my annoyance, he has not removed his body hair as instructed in my owl. He must know he will be punished for this error which, I assume, is why he has defied me. I conclude this is some kind of test. Very well, two can play at that game.
I stare at his cock and sigh, feigning disappointment. It stands proud from his body, long and not overly thick. It is in proportion to the rest of him, but unlike the rest of his skin it is a dark rose colour. The veins are prominent. I hope this is not as a result of the cock-ring he is wearing and enquire if it is too tight. He assures me it is not. I keep staring at him as if I am still undecided about letting him stay. He is undeniably beautiful in his nakedness and submission, although I know he thinks he is as ugly as sin. I let him suffer under my scrutiny.
Finally, I walk to my chair, sit down and cross my legs. ‘You may approach me,’ I say.
The sigh of relief is audible. Gracefully, he falls to his knees and crawls towards me. Even in this, he is elegance personified. As he draws near to my feet, I order him to kiss my boots. This he does with due reverence and gratitude.
‘Thank you, Mistress Roxanne.’
I ignore him and stand up. I move behind him to take a good look at his arse, deciding on his punishment.
‘Repeat the instructions I sent you in my owl.’
‘I was to come here no later than 5 o’clock wearing only a cloak, my boots and a cock-ring, Mistress.’
‘And,’ I say, reaching for my riding crop, ‘what else?’
He professes ignorance.
‘You are trying my patience.’
‘I-I was to remove all my body hair, Mistress.’
‘But, you haven’t, have you?’ I say, circling him and swishing the crop. ‘Did you not do it, perhaps, in the hope that I may punish you?’
He gasps as I swish the crop close to his ear.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘And, so I shall, if only for your impudence. But… maybe not quite in the way you would like. Stand up.’
A quick swish and flick and he is bound by ropes, stretched out on a St Andrew’s cross. I pass my wand in front of his face and he recoils from it. I laugh at this little display of fear then perform a shaving spell on his underarms, legs and the smattering of hairs around his nipples. Apart from the thatch around his crotch, he is not a hairy man.
‘You know your safe words?’ I ask.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Excellent. Now,’ I say, ‘What shall we do about all this?’ I catch hold of a couple of hairs near the base of his cock and pull.
He yelps.
‘Shall I get a pair of tweezers and pull them out one by one, hmm?’ I yank hard on some hair on his balls. ‘Would you like that?’
He grits his teeth, but a moan escapes.
‘I asked you a question, you worthless piece of shit.’ I keep pulling.
‘No, Mistress, please…no.’
I wind some hairs around my finger. He inhales expectantly. I wait for him to relax before plucking them out. Tears are forming in his eyes.
‘When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?’ I walk behind him.
‘Yes.’
Thwack. I hit him on the arse with my riding crop.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Better.’
I Summon a pair of scissors and start trimming his pubes. He watches me nervously.
‘Look away, or I shall blindfold you.’
He does as he’s told, but he finds it difficult not to tremble as the scissors get closer to his balls.
Once I am satisfied I have trimmed as much as possible, I Summon some shaving cream and a cut throat razor. He realises what’s coming next.
‘Thought I’d do it with a Charm, didn’t you?’ I say, ‘Well, it just goes to show how wrong you can be. Maybe next time, you won’t be so eager to ignore my instructions.’
I soap him up and commence shaving him. If it weren’t for the ropes, I doubt his legs would hold him. He is shaking now and I am being extremely careful not to cut him. Sweat is running down his chest in his effort to remain completely still. He is also aroused by the experience; his cock is hard and straining against the confines of the cock-ring. I am careful to avoid touching it as I continue to scrape away. He moans and I tell him to be quiet.
Once finished, I clean him up and survey my handiwork.
‘Much better,’ I say. ‘I like to be able to see my toys before I play with them. You are never to hide them from me again.’ I grab his balls and twist. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
He moans in pain and pleasure. ‘Yes, Mistress. Perfectly.’
‘Good. Now, for creating unnecessary work for me, I am going to give you thirty with the crop. You will count.’
I banish the cross so that only the ropes suspend him. He stands on his toes at full stretch, muscles taut from the exertion. He reminds me of a thoroughbred stallion. I want to stroke him, calm him, which is unusual for me as I always keep any physical contact to a bare minimum. It is a pleasure I refuse to grant him, so I must, therefore, deny my own. Instead, I begin to strike his buttocks, laying down a pattern. Soon, his lily-white arse has some lovely red stripes on it, but he takes his punishment almost silently. Once I have finished, he thanks me. I release the ropes and he falls to his knees, panting.
‘Lean forward and spread your buttocks.’
He reaches behind him and pulls his cheeks apart. I perform a shaving spell on the remaining hair around his anus and perineum.
‘Do not move.’ I leave him like that while I search out some lubricant and a butt plug. He does not attempt to watch what I am doing. The first thing he knows is when I press a lubed finger against his anus. He jumps.
‘Relax.’ I work a finger inside, then two. ‘Tell me, Sub Severus have you ever been buggered?
‘No, Mistress,’ he says through clenched teeth.
I laugh. ‘Well, guess what?’
He grunts in discomfort as I work the butt plug into his tight arse. When it’s in as far as it’ll go, I leave him kneeling there and go back to my chair. I sit a while watching him struggle with his humiliation and embarrassment.
‘Come here.’
He crawls over to me again and I tell him to sit up straight on his heels. I put the riding crop under his chin and lift his head up. Remembering what a superb Legilimens he is, I am careful to Occlude my mind before I look into his eyes.
‘When was the last time you had an orgasm?
‘Ten days ago, Mistress.’
‘You have not masturbated, as I instructed, since then?’
‘No, Mistress. I have done as you asked.’
‘I see. You are willing to follow my instructions so long as you can pick and choose which ones. Is that it?’
He swallows but says nothing.
‘That,’ I say, ‘is not acceptable. I will not waste my time on scumbags like you who think they can do what the hell they please. You have disappointed me greatly.’
‘I am sorry I disobeyed you, Mistress. It will not happen again.’
‘No, it most assuredly will not.’
I sit back in my chair. ‘Remove the cock-ring and wank for me.’
He forgets himself and looks at me in astonishment.
‘Keep your eyes down - no, on second thoughts keep looking at me.’ I do not give him the comfort of averting his eyes as he grasps his cock. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? I gave you an order.’
He is clearly ashamed and I laugh at him. It does not take long before he cries out and comes all over his hand.
I look at him in disgust, reach for my wand and clean him up.
‘You may leave,’ I say.
‘Mistress?’
‘I am cutting this session short. This is your punishment for your disobedience.’ I inspect my fingernails. ‘However, I am feeling generous. You may return at the same time next week.’
The look on his face is priceless, but he hides it quickly and moves towards the door.
‘And,’ I continue, ‘you are to wear that plug day and night, removing it only to defecate. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. If you disobey me again there will not be a third time. I want you to be perfectly clear on this.’
He nods, putting on his cloak. ‘I will not make the same mistake again, Mistress.’
I wave my hand, dismissively.
He bows and Disapparates.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 2. The Interview: Severus
‘I used to have a recurring dream, during my early years as a Death Eater,’ I began. ‘In it, I would be stumbling down Diagon Alley stark naked, apart from a leather collar around my neck, being pursued and… flogged by persons unknown. People were pointing and laughing and…and yelling words of encouragement to my persecutors as I vainly tried to cover myself. I was distressed, looking for something or someone - needing protection. The thing I remember most was how… aroused I was by the whole thing - the pain, the humiliation, the nakedness - everything. I would always wake up painfully erect and sometimes… sometimes I would…would have-’
‘Ejaculated,’ she said helpfully.
‘Yes. Quite.’ I sipped the tea she had provided; still not believing I was having this conversation.
‘I am not a psychiatrist, Professor Snape, but I can assure you that the feelings you have are not uncommon.’ The woman calling herself Mistress Roxanne smiled at me.
It has been a long journey to this unassuming flat overlooking the less salubrious end of Diagon Alley. I am not entirely sure how it began, but she encourages me to think back. If there is one thing I have resolved, it is to be honest with her. It has not been easy for me to admit, even to myself, this …need to be dominated, this… ache that I have, but now that I have recognised it - named it, if you will, then I am determined not to be embarrassed by it, at least not with her. It seems to be as much a part of me as… the colour of my hair or my eyes.
Ah, yes, my childhood. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘my mother was a strong woman, certainly. A typical, no nonsense northerner, and a witch, naturally. My father adored her. There were times when I saw her deal with him after he’d had one too many down the pub… but, she never laid a hand on me-’
‘You always felt safe with her,’ she interrupts.
‘Yes, always,’ I reply. ‘Dad, however… well, let’s just say he ignored me as much as possible. Sometimes it was like I did not exist. The only time he ever paid me any attention was when I misbehaved. Then, he would shout or slap me.’ I pause remembering something. ‘And, sometimes,’ I say softly, ‘he would take his belt to me.’
Mistress Roxanne says nothing. Her face is expressionless. I realised, as soon as I saw her, that she was wearing some kind of glamour. I do not know why, and it is not my place to ask. It has also crossed my mind, that in all likelihood, I was once her teacher. She certainly knows me - if only by reputation. Strangely, this does not seem to bother me as I confess my darkest secrets to this rather lovely woman. If I am to pursue this journey I have begun, then I have to trust someone to guide me on the way and I think that I may have found that someone in Mistress Roxanne. So far, she has neither ridiculed nor judged me. She is being sympathetic and understanding and I feel at ease in her presence. A weight seems to be lifting from my shoulders. The thought occurs to me that she may have put something in the tea.
I try again. ‘I went through a… phase when I would behave badly, just to attract my father’s attention. He would chase me around the house, yelling at me to ‘come and take my punishment like a man.’ I have to confess to feeling a certain thrill from running from him, which only served to make him even more furious when he got hold of me. And I-I … Gods…’
‘It’s all right, Professor,’ she says. ‘Take your time.’
‘I am sorry. I am not accustomed to talking about such… private matters.’
‘I appreciate that, but it is important for you to recognise where your feelings come from. I need to know too, so I can help you.’
I nod and struggle with a memory I thought I had buried forever. ‘I suppose I came to perceive the beatings my father gave me as an expression of his love, and I wanted more. I yearned for that little frisson of anticipation I always felt when he wrapped the end of his belt around his hand and told me to bend over.’ I sip the tea, building up the courage to say what I must. ‘Then, I suppose I was about nine or ten - approaching puberty anyway - a burst of spontaneous magic from me set the kitchen on fire. It was not deliberate, but that did not let me off the beating and-and while he was doing it, I had my first… erection.’
‘Did he see it?’
‘Yes.’ I look away remembering my shame and my father’s embarrassment. ‘He always pulled my shorts down before he beat me.’ I stop again. I do not know if I can do this.
‘What happened?’
I swallow hard. ‘I-I was bewildered. Suddenly, there was this-this thing… and I-I couldn’t help it. I touched myself.’
She sighs. ‘What did your father do?’
‘He called me a filthy little bastard and told me to get out of his sight.’
‘Did he ever beat you like that again?’
I shake my head. ‘No, never again.’
‘So,’ she says, ‘before you even knew what sex was, you thought that a normal physical reaction was something… dirty.’
‘It would seem so,’ I reply. I had not given it any real consideration before today.
‘Did it affect your ability to masturbate?’
I choke on my tea. ‘I have always considered it a… guilty pleasure.’ I manage to say.
‘You feel the need, but resist the urge as long as possible then feel bad about it after the event?’
I am shocked that she has so easily surmised this about me. ‘Yes.’ My voice is barely above a whisper.
She worries her bottom lip and frowns. Somewhere, at the back of my mind another memory awakens.
‘Professor,’ she says finally, ‘most people go though life seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. What they fail to realise is that they are two halves of the same coin. You, however, learned at a very young age to associate pain not just with pleasure, but also with love. Your sexual awakening, shall we say, was also rather unfortunate -’
I snort at that.
‘ -coupled as it was with, as you saw it, the withdrawal of your father’s physical expression of his love for you. So, what happened after that?’
I trawl through my memories, dragging up old heartaches and one bad experience after the other. I was not exactly popular with the girls at school, although I did fancy one or two of them, but my physical appearance ensured I was constantly rejected - laughed at even. Perversely, the ones who ridiculed me the most were the ones I desired the most. I begin to see how these experiences compounded my feelings of worthlessness.
‘… And then there was Lily Evans. She was kind, beautiful, intelligent - the sort of person who would light up a room with her personality, and amazingly, she was attracted to me. We tried dating but… nothing happened - and I mean, nothing happened. I had no physical reaction to her at all. I began to suspect I might be queer, although I did not appear to be attracted to members of my own sex. So, where did that leave me? I spent hours worrying over that one, thinking I was some strange, asexual creature, until that is, the night I took the Dark Mark.’
‘What happened?’
‘Bellatrix Lestrange.’
Mistress Roxanne stiffens at the name.
I feel my cock stir as I recall the night I lost my virginity. Bella looked at me and I felt my soul burn. She knew what I wanted all right and she was more than happy to give it to me. I was beaten, humiliated, used and abused and I loved every second of it. But that was the only time we had sex. She kept me dangling on a string after that, knowing she need only snap her fingers and I would fall at her feet. I sigh remembering the crazy bitch. Bellatrix was a force of nature, even if she was madder than a box of snakes and for a long time, fool that I was, I would have done anything to have her use me again.
‘Was there no one else?’
‘No one of any significance. But then, my time was taken up with… other things.’
She nods again and does not push me further on that score. ‘So, what brought you to me?’
That was another long story. I put my cup and saucer down. ‘Mistress Roxanne,’ I say, ‘I realised many moons ago that love was not for the likes of me, but I have only recently acknowledged that my sexual proclivities, as much as I would like to ignore their existence, are as valid as anyone else’s. Once I came to that realisation, I concluded, quite rapidly, that my best course of action would be to seek out a professional dominatrix as I did not think my chances of finding a willing, not to mention, discreet partner, to be that great.’
She does not contradict me. This does nothing for my self-confidence, but I continue regardless. ‘I made a lot of contacts in, shall we say, the lower echelons of society when I was a…Death Eater and spy for the Order. I decided to call in some favours in Knockturn Alley. To put it succinctly, your name kept coming up - one of the best they said, but almost impossible to get an interview with.’
‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I rarely take on new submissives.’
She does not elaborate on this. ‘Submissives?’ I enquire. ‘Not slaves?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ she exclaims. ‘That would take up far too much of my time. If you want that, I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere.’
‘I’m not sure if I do or not, to be perfectly honest.’
She looks at me kindly. ‘A Master/Slave relationship is very much like a marriage. It requires total commitment from both parties and the emotional investment is enormous. As a slave, your needs and desires would amount to nothing. You would exist purely to serve your mistress, receiving pain or pleasure only when and if she saw fit. The master - or mistress - is in total control of the slave’s life, making all his decisions for him - every minute of the day. I, for one, do not want that kind of responsibility. Contrary to popular belief, I do not want to spend my entire life walking about in thigh-high leather boots cracking a whip!’
My cock takes notice of that image. ‘Pity,’ I quip before I have the chance to stop myself.
She looks at me and laughs; a rich throaty laugh. I feel a pull in the pit of my stomach. I know this woman.
‘I can see I’m going to have my work cut out with you.’ She laughs again.
‘Does that mean you’re willing to take me on?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Yes,’ she replies, ‘but not yet. I will let you know when I have a vacancy.’
‘Oh,’ I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
She smiles kindly. ‘It will likely be only a few weeks. Between now and then we will correspond by owl. Always open the letters when you are alone. I shall set you little tasks which I expect you to undertake. I will send you some reading material, too, so that you will know the basics of how to behave when we next meet. I normally only take on subs who have prior experience and who already know the ropes - no pun intended. You have a lot of catching up to do. You should also know that I do not have sexual intercourse with my clients - ever.’
I was already aware of this and assure her that it does not bother me. My main purpose in this, my first real attempt at exploring my sexuality, is to learn how to be a good submissive.
‘Good. Then we know where we stand.’ I notice her put her hands across her lower abdomen in a defensive gesture. ‘Now, one last thing before you go. I would like you to give me some idea of the level of pain and humiliation you are prepared to tolerate.’
‘Well, nothing life threatening,’ I say. ‘I do not like the idea of breath control, for example, or anything to do with water. I like… whips and well, anything really - and leather, I like leather.’
She nods approvingly as I am saying this. ‘It is responsible of you to set safety limits but you do realise there are as many different views on what constitutes humiliation as there are people in the world? One man’s fetish is another man’s perversion, so to speak. You need to give me a bit more to work with.’
I am a bit mystified by this.
‘Well, for example,’ she says. ‘Do you want to dress up in women’s clothes and be told you’re a slut, or be a naughty schoolboy? Do you want me to dress up as a Mediwitch and give you a medical examination? Do you want to be treated like a dog, or a horse? Would you like me to pee on you-?’
‘Good God, no.’ I am horrified at the last suggestion. ‘Why would anyone want such a thing?
‘Professor Snape,’ she sighs patiently, ‘you would be surprised at the things men have asked me to do to them over the years. I have one dear young man who is a closet transvestite and is ashamed of the fact. He comes to me wearing a pink bra and a pair of frilly knickers under his robe. I tell him off for wearing his sister’s underwear, put him over my knee and spank him and he goes home happy. Another, more elderly wizard, pays me so he can clean this flat, without magic, until it gleams like a new pin-’
‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
‘Because, I presume, his wife has a problem with him wearing only six inch stilettos and rubber gloves while he does the dusting at home.’
I stare at her incredulously.
‘One man,’ she continues, ‘once offered me two hundred galleons if he could clean my toilet - with his tongue.’
‘Oh, please, that is disgusting.’
‘I try not to make judgments, Professor. I am just trying to give you some points of reference.’
‘I understand.’
‘What about your dream? Does the thought of public humiliation arouse you?’
‘I-I no, no.’ The question was unexpected. The thought, for some strange reason, is almost unbearable exciting, but could never be anything other than a fantasy. I try to think of something to say. ‘I have done enough acting in my time, Mistress Roxanne. I want to be myself, now - whatever that may be. I have no desire for role play.’
She is looking at me now; sizing me up. I realise I am on the verge of making a big mistake. ‘Other than that,’ I add hurriedly, ‘I am in your hands. You are in charge. You know what is best for me.’
She smiles again. ‘I will push you to your limits. You can be sure of that.’
She stands up. It seems the interview is over.
She does not offer her hand, so I merely bow and take my leave. As she sees me out, she stands close enough for me to smell her and I inhale deeply. Yes, I know you, but I can’t for the life of me remember.
I Apparate back to Hogwarts and walk up the drive, marvelling at this newfound sense of liberation I feel. I am both excited and apprehensive about the whole venture, but most of all I am intrigued by the true identity of ‘Mistress Roxanne’. My mind mulls it over; smell, voice, laugh… biting the bottom lip. I stop dead, just before I reach the castle doors.
‘Fuck me! Hermione Granger!’
~*~*~*~
I do not think I have run so fast in my entire life, and I am not as fit as I used to be. By the time I get to my chambers and ward the door, my heart is thumping in my chest and the sweat is pouring off me. I lean against the door and bang my head against it.
How could I have been so fucking stupid? I have spent the better part of an afternoon pouring my heart out to Hermione fucking Granger! What if she tells anyone? I’ll be a laughing stock. Worse still, she could tell Minerva and I’d be out of a job.
I pour myself a firewhisky - a large firewhisky and try to calm down.
‘Well, Severus,’ I say to myself, ‘you wanted to be humiliated. You’ve only got yourself to blame.’
It just goes to show you should be careful what you wish for. Chances are, it’ll turn around and bite you in the arse.
I sit down and go over the conversation I had with Mistr-Miss Granger. There is no doubt about it, she gave me enough rope to hang myself with, and like an idiot I took the bait.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I take a swig of whisky and concentrate on the numbing burn in my throat. That’s what I would like to be at this moment - numb.
She had come so highly recommended, though. All my contacts said the same thing. Professional, strict, discreet and … expensive. The thought strikes me that the subject of money never came up. She mentioned letters. Does she intend to blackmail me? I start to panic again.
Deep breaths, Severus, and think.
Discreet. All right, let’s focus on that. She is supposedly the best dominatrix in the business. She couldn’t be that if she blabbed about her clients to all and sundry, now, could she? No, she could not.
I rarely take on new submissives.
Then why me? What’s so special about me? Is she after some sort of revenge? I pour myself another whisky and notice that my hands are shaking.
Hermione Granger. It must be ten years since I saw her last but it seems like yesterday. She came to see me when I was incarcerated at the Ministry awaiting trial. I will never forget her… Oh, sweet, Merlin! That’s why she’s wearing that glamour!
The wound Lucius gave her was still fresh then - she had been lucky not to lose an eye. Even though I saw him do it, it was still a shock to see her young, pretty face so badly disfigured and I’m ashamed to say I recoiled at the sight of it. She turned away from me, thanked me for saving her life and…
‘Yesss,’ I let out a long breath, ‘I did, didn’t I?’
She owes me.
Well, Miss Granger or Mistress Roxanne or whatever else you want to call yourself, do your worst. I am more than ready for whatever you care to throw at me.
~*~*~*~*~
Title: Needs Must
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Severus Hermione
Wordcount: 5,159 (This is a WIP)
Warnings: BDSM (consensual), anal play.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted belong to JK Rowling. No infringement of copyright is intended and no money has changed hands.
Summary: Human sexuality covers a wide spectrum. Most of us fit into a very small part of it. This is a story about two people who don't. A BDSM love story.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing in this genre and would welcome any feedback. This hasn't been beta'd, by the way, so if anyone is interested, please drop me a line.
Chapter 1. First Session: Hermione.
He stands before me, dressed in his black travelling cloak. If he has followed my instructions, that is all he is wearing - apart from his boots, of course. It has taken weeks for me to get him this far; he trusts no one and I can hardly blame him. I know who he is, my former teacher, Death Eater, spy, murderer - many things, but basically just a man; a man with needs.
He stands head bowed respectfully, awaiting my command. I let the tension build.
Since Lucius Malfoy scarred me for life ten years ago, I wear a glamour - partly from vanity and partly to disguise my identity. I was never beautiful, but I miss my face. If he knew who I was, this enigma before me, I doubt he would be here, calmly awaiting his fate.
‘Remove your cloak,’ I say.
He reaches for the clasp. A moment’s hesitation…
‘If you don’t want to do this, you know where the door is.’
He unfastens his cloak and takes it off. He folds it neatly on the chair provided.
‘And your boots.’
He complies.
And now he is standing there, naked, hands behind his back, eyes lowered. He is trembling, waiting for me to approve of him - or not as the case may be.
I make him wait. He wants this humiliation; needs it. I have seen it all before. Men who suffered abysmal childhoods, beaten and abused during their formative years; ridiculed by women. Their stories are all different but they share the same anguish. It is laughably simple, really. Whatever they do, whatever they accomplish in life, they never feel good enough, therefore they are not worthy of praise or of love, only pain; they want punishment over and over again for what crime God only knows. But I know Severus Snape. I know his demons. He thinks he is an abomination on the face of the Earth, but I know he is nothing of the kind. He is the bravest man I have ever met; I would not be alive if it were not for him and yet I will give him what he requires of me. I will give him pain, humiliation and punishment for his crimes, real and imagined but I will give him something I have never bestowed on any other sub. I will give him peace.
I contemplate his body for the first time. His skin looks almost deathly white in the candlelight, but I find this attractive. He is like a piece of fine porcelain, his black hair contrasting sharply with his pallor. However, much to my annoyance, he has not removed his body hair as instructed in my owl. He must know he will be punished for this error which, I assume, is why he has defied me. I conclude this is some kind of test. Very well, two can play at that game.
I stare at his cock and sigh, feigning disappointment. It stands proud from his body, long and not overly thick. It is in proportion to the rest of him, but unlike the rest of his skin it is a dark rose colour. The veins are prominent. I hope this is not as a result of the cock-ring he is wearing and enquire if it is too tight. He assures me it is not. I keep staring at him as if I am still undecided about letting him stay. He is undeniably beautiful in his nakedness and submission, although I know he thinks he is as ugly as sin. I let him suffer under my scrutiny.
Finally, I walk to my chair, sit down and cross my legs. ‘You may approach me,’ I say.
The sigh of relief is audible. Gracefully, he falls to his knees and crawls towards me. Even in this, he is elegance personified. As he draws near to my feet, I order him to kiss my boots. This he does with due reverence and gratitude.
‘Thank you, Mistress Roxanne.’
I ignore him and stand up. I move behind him to take a good look at his arse, deciding on his punishment.
‘Repeat the instructions I sent you in my owl.’
‘I was to come here no later than 5 o’clock wearing only a cloak, my boots and a cock-ring, Mistress.’
‘And,’ I say, reaching for my riding crop, ‘what else?’
He professes ignorance.
‘You are trying my patience.’
‘I-I was to remove all my body hair, Mistress.’
‘But, you haven’t, have you?’ I say, circling him and swishing the crop. ‘Did you not do it, perhaps, in the hope that I may punish you?’
He gasps as I swish the crop close to his ear.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘And, so I shall, if only for your impudence. But… maybe not quite in the way you would like. Stand up.’
A quick swish and flick and he is bound by ropes, stretched out on a St Andrew’s cross. I pass my wand in front of his face and he recoils from it. I laugh at this little display of fear then perform a shaving spell on his underarms, legs and the smattering of hairs around his nipples. Apart from the thatch around his crotch, he is not a hairy man.
‘You know your safe words?’ I ask.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Excellent. Now,’ I say, ‘What shall we do about all this?’ I catch hold of a couple of hairs near the base of his cock and pull.
He yelps.
‘Shall I get a pair of tweezers and pull them out one by one, hmm?’ I yank hard on some hair on his balls. ‘Would you like that?’
He grits his teeth, but a moan escapes.
‘I asked you a question, you worthless piece of shit.’ I keep pulling.
‘No, Mistress, please…no.’
I wind some hairs around my finger. He inhales expectantly. I wait for him to relax before plucking them out. Tears are forming in his eyes.
‘When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?’ I walk behind him.
‘Yes.’
Thwack. I hit him on the arse with my riding crop.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Better.’
I Summon a pair of scissors and start trimming his pubes. He watches me nervously.
‘Look away, or I shall blindfold you.’
He does as he’s told, but he finds it difficult not to tremble as the scissors get closer to his balls.
Once I am satisfied I have trimmed as much as possible, I Summon some shaving cream and a cut throat razor. He realises what’s coming next.
‘Thought I’d do it with a Charm, didn’t you?’ I say, ‘Well, it just goes to show how wrong you can be. Maybe next time, you won’t be so eager to ignore my instructions.’
I soap him up and commence shaving him. If it weren’t for the ropes, I doubt his legs would hold him. He is shaking now and I am being extremely careful not to cut him. Sweat is running down his chest in his effort to remain completely still. He is also aroused by the experience; his cock is hard and straining against the confines of the cock-ring. I am careful to avoid touching it as I continue to scrape away. He moans and I tell him to be quiet.
Once finished, I clean him up and survey my handiwork.
‘Much better,’ I say. ‘I like to be able to see my toys before I play with them. You are never to hide them from me again.’ I grab his balls and twist. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
He moans in pain and pleasure. ‘Yes, Mistress. Perfectly.’
‘Good. Now, for creating unnecessary work for me, I am going to give you thirty with the crop. You will count.’
I banish the cross so that only the ropes suspend him. He stands on his toes at full stretch, muscles taut from the exertion. He reminds me of a thoroughbred stallion. I want to stroke him, calm him, which is unusual for me as I always keep any physical contact to a bare minimum. It is a pleasure I refuse to grant him, so I must, therefore, deny my own. Instead, I begin to strike his buttocks, laying down a pattern. Soon, his lily-white arse has some lovely red stripes on it, but he takes his punishment almost silently. Once I have finished, he thanks me. I release the ropes and he falls to his knees, panting.
‘Lean forward and spread your buttocks.’
He reaches behind him and pulls his cheeks apart. I perform a shaving spell on the remaining hair around his anus and perineum.
‘Do not move.’ I leave him like that while I search out some lubricant and a butt plug. He does not attempt to watch what I am doing. The first thing he knows is when I press a lubed finger against his anus. He jumps.
‘Relax.’ I work a finger inside, then two. ‘Tell me, Sub Severus have you ever been buggered?
‘No, Mistress,’ he says through clenched teeth.
I laugh. ‘Well, guess what?’
He grunts in discomfort as I work the butt plug into his tight arse. When it’s in as far as it’ll go, I leave him kneeling there and go back to my chair. I sit a while watching him struggle with his humiliation and embarrassment.
‘Come here.’
He crawls over to me again and I tell him to sit up straight on his heels. I put the riding crop under his chin and lift his head up. Remembering what a superb Legilimens he is, I am careful to Occlude my mind before I look into his eyes.
‘When was the last time you had an orgasm?
‘Ten days ago, Mistress.’
‘You have not masturbated, as I instructed, since then?’
‘No, Mistress. I have done as you asked.’
‘I see. You are willing to follow my instructions so long as you can pick and choose which ones. Is that it?’
He swallows but says nothing.
‘That,’ I say, ‘is not acceptable. I will not waste my time on scumbags like you who think they can do what the hell they please. You have disappointed me greatly.’
‘I am sorry I disobeyed you, Mistress. It will not happen again.’
‘No, it most assuredly will not.’
I sit back in my chair. ‘Remove the cock-ring and wank for me.’
He forgets himself and looks at me in astonishment.
‘Keep your eyes down - no, on second thoughts keep looking at me.’ I do not give him the comfort of averting his eyes as he grasps his cock. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? I gave you an order.’
He is clearly ashamed and I laugh at him. It does not take long before he cries out and comes all over his hand.
I look at him in disgust, reach for my wand and clean him up.
‘You may leave,’ I say.
‘Mistress?’
‘I am cutting this session short. This is your punishment for your disobedience.’ I inspect my fingernails. ‘However, I am feeling generous. You may return at the same time next week.’
The look on his face is priceless, but he hides it quickly and moves towards the door.
‘And,’ I continue, ‘you are to wear that plug day and night, removing it only to defecate. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. If you disobey me again there will not be a third time. I want you to be perfectly clear on this.’
He nods, putting on his cloak. ‘I will not make the same mistake again, Mistress.’
I wave my hand, dismissively.
He bows and Disapparates.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 2. The Interview: Severus
‘I used to have a recurring dream, during my early years as a Death Eater,’ I began. ‘In it, I would be stumbling down Diagon Alley stark naked, apart from a leather collar around my neck, being pursued and… flogged by persons unknown. People were pointing and laughing and…and yelling words of encouragement to my persecutors as I vainly tried to cover myself. I was distressed, looking for something or someone - needing protection. The thing I remember most was how… aroused I was by the whole thing - the pain, the humiliation, the nakedness - everything. I would always wake up painfully erect and sometimes… sometimes I would…would have-’
‘Ejaculated,’ she said helpfully.
‘Yes. Quite.’ I sipped the tea she had provided; still not believing I was having this conversation.
‘I am not a psychiatrist, Professor Snape, but I can assure you that the feelings you have are not uncommon.’ The woman calling herself Mistress Roxanne smiled at me.
It has been a long journey to this unassuming flat overlooking the less salubrious end of Diagon Alley. I am not entirely sure how it began, but she encourages me to think back. If there is one thing I have resolved, it is to be honest with her. It has not been easy for me to admit, even to myself, this …need to be dominated, this… ache that I have, but now that I have recognised it - named it, if you will, then I am determined not to be embarrassed by it, at least not with her. It seems to be as much a part of me as… the colour of my hair or my eyes.
Ah, yes, my childhood. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘my mother was a strong woman, certainly. A typical, no nonsense northerner, and a witch, naturally. My father adored her. There were times when I saw her deal with him after he’d had one too many down the pub… but, she never laid a hand on me-’
‘You always felt safe with her,’ she interrupts.
‘Yes, always,’ I reply. ‘Dad, however… well, let’s just say he ignored me as much as possible. Sometimes it was like I did not exist. The only time he ever paid me any attention was when I misbehaved. Then, he would shout or slap me.’ I pause remembering something. ‘And, sometimes,’ I say softly, ‘he would take his belt to me.’
Mistress Roxanne says nothing. Her face is expressionless. I realised, as soon as I saw her, that she was wearing some kind of glamour. I do not know why, and it is not my place to ask. It has also crossed my mind, that in all likelihood, I was once her teacher. She certainly knows me - if only by reputation. Strangely, this does not seem to bother me as I confess my darkest secrets to this rather lovely woman. If I am to pursue this journey I have begun, then I have to trust someone to guide me on the way and I think that I may have found that someone in Mistress Roxanne. So far, she has neither ridiculed nor judged me. She is being sympathetic and understanding and I feel at ease in her presence. A weight seems to be lifting from my shoulders. The thought occurs to me that she may have put something in the tea.
I try again. ‘I went through a… phase when I would behave badly, just to attract my father’s attention. He would chase me around the house, yelling at me to ‘come and take my punishment like a man.’ I have to confess to feeling a certain thrill from running from him, which only served to make him even more furious when he got hold of me. And I-I … Gods…’
‘It’s all right, Professor,’ she says. ‘Take your time.’
‘I am sorry. I am not accustomed to talking about such… private matters.’
‘I appreciate that, but it is important for you to recognise where your feelings come from. I need to know too, so I can help you.’
I nod and struggle with a memory I thought I had buried forever. ‘I suppose I came to perceive the beatings my father gave me as an expression of his love, and I wanted more. I yearned for that little frisson of anticipation I always felt when he wrapped the end of his belt around his hand and told me to bend over.’ I sip the tea, building up the courage to say what I must. ‘Then, I suppose I was about nine or ten - approaching puberty anyway - a burst of spontaneous magic from me set the kitchen on fire. It was not deliberate, but that did not let me off the beating and-and while he was doing it, I had my first… erection.’
‘Did he see it?’
‘Yes.’ I look away remembering my shame and my father’s embarrassment. ‘He always pulled my shorts down before he beat me.’ I stop again. I do not know if I can do this.
‘What happened?’
I swallow hard. ‘I-I was bewildered. Suddenly, there was this-this thing… and I-I couldn’t help it. I touched myself.’
She sighs. ‘What did your father do?’
‘He called me a filthy little bastard and told me to get out of his sight.’
‘Did he ever beat you like that again?’
I shake my head. ‘No, never again.’
‘So,’ she says, ‘before you even knew what sex was, you thought that a normal physical reaction was something… dirty.’
‘It would seem so,’ I reply. I had not given it any real consideration before today.
‘Did it affect your ability to masturbate?’
I choke on my tea. ‘I have always considered it a… guilty pleasure.’ I manage to say.
‘You feel the need, but resist the urge as long as possible then feel bad about it after the event?’
I am shocked that she has so easily surmised this about me. ‘Yes.’ My voice is barely above a whisper.
She worries her bottom lip and frowns. Somewhere, at the back of my mind another memory awakens.
‘Professor,’ she says finally, ‘most people go though life seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. What they fail to realise is that they are two halves of the same coin. You, however, learned at a very young age to associate pain not just with pleasure, but also with love. Your sexual awakening, shall we say, was also rather unfortunate -’
I snort at that.
‘ -coupled as it was with, as you saw it, the withdrawal of your father’s physical expression of his love for you. So, what happened after that?’
I trawl through my memories, dragging up old heartaches and one bad experience after the other. I was not exactly popular with the girls at school, although I did fancy one or two of them, but my physical appearance ensured I was constantly rejected - laughed at even. Perversely, the ones who ridiculed me the most were the ones I desired the most. I begin to see how these experiences compounded my feelings of worthlessness.
‘… And then there was Lily Evans. She was kind, beautiful, intelligent - the sort of person who would light up a room with her personality, and amazingly, she was attracted to me. We tried dating but… nothing happened - and I mean, nothing happened. I had no physical reaction to her at all. I began to suspect I might be queer, although I did not appear to be attracted to members of my own sex. So, where did that leave me? I spent hours worrying over that one, thinking I was some strange, asexual creature, until that is, the night I took the Dark Mark.’
‘What happened?’
‘Bellatrix Lestrange.’
Mistress Roxanne stiffens at the name.
I feel my cock stir as I recall the night I lost my virginity. Bella looked at me and I felt my soul burn. She knew what I wanted all right and she was more than happy to give it to me. I was beaten, humiliated, used and abused and I loved every second of it. But that was the only time we had sex. She kept me dangling on a string after that, knowing she need only snap her fingers and I would fall at her feet. I sigh remembering the crazy bitch. Bellatrix was a force of nature, even if she was madder than a box of snakes and for a long time, fool that I was, I would have done anything to have her use me again.
‘Was there no one else?’
‘No one of any significance. But then, my time was taken up with… other things.’
She nods again and does not push me further on that score. ‘So, what brought you to me?’
That was another long story. I put my cup and saucer down. ‘Mistress Roxanne,’ I say, ‘I realised many moons ago that love was not for the likes of me, but I have only recently acknowledged that my sexual proclivities, as much as I would like to ignore their existence, are as valid as anyone else’s. Once I came to that realisation, I concluded, quite rapidly, that my best course of action would be to seek out a professional dominatrix as I did not think my chances of finding a willing, not to mention, discreet partner, to be that great.’
She does not contradict me. This does nothing for my self-confidence, but I continue regardless. ‘I made a lot of contacts in, shall we say, the lower echelons of society when I was a…Death Eater and spy for the Order. I decided to call in some favours in Knockturn Alley. To put it succinctly, your name kept coming up - one of the best they said, but almost impossible to get an interview with.’
‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I rarely take on new submissives.’
She does not elaborate on this. ‘Submissives?’ I enquire. ‘Not slaves?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ she exclaims. ‘That would take up far too much of my time. If you want that, I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere.’
‘I’m not sure if I do or not, to be perfectly honest.’
She looks at me kindly. ‘A Master/Slave relationship is very much like a marriage. It requires total commitment from both parties and the emotional investment is enormous. As a slave, your needs and desires would amount to nothing. You would exist purely to serve your mistress, receiving pain or pleasure only when and if she saw fit. The master - or mistress - is in total control of the slave’s life, making all his decisions for him - every minute of the day. I, for one, do not want that kind of responsibility. Contrary to popular belief, I do not want to spend my entire life walking about in thigh-high leather boots cracking a whip!’
My cock takes notice of that image. ‘Pity,’ I quip before I have the chance to stop myself.
She looks at me and laughs; a rich throaty laugh. I feel a pull in the pit of my stomach. I know this woman.
‘I can see I’m going to have my work cut out with you.’ She laughs again.
‘Does that mean you’re willing to take me on?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Yes,’ she replies, ‘but not yet. I will let you know when I have a vacancy.’
‘Oh,’ I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
She smiles kindly. ‘It will likely be only a few weeks. Between now and then we will correspond by owl. Always open the letters when you are alone. I shall set you little tasks which I expect you to undertake. I will send you some reading material, too, so that you will know the basics of how to behave when we next meet. I normally only take on subs who have prior experience and who already know the ropes - no pun intended. You have a lot of catching up to do. You should also know that I do not have sexual intercourse with my clients - ever.’
I was already aware of this and assure her that it does not bother me. My main purpose in this, my first real attempt at exploring my sexuality, is to learn how to be a good submissive.
‘Good. Then we know where we stand.’ I notice her put her hands across her lower abdomen in a defensive gesture. ‘Now, one last thing before you go. I would like you to give me some idea of the level of pain and humiliation you are prepared to tolerate.’
‘Well, nothing life threatening,’ I say. ‘I do not like the idea of breath control, for example, or anything to do with water. I like… whips and well, anything really - and leather, I like leather.’
She nods approvingly as I am saying this. ‘It is responsible of you to set safety limits but you do realise there are as many different views on what constitutes humiliation as there are people in the world? One man’s fetish is another man’s perversion, so to speak. You need to give me a bit more to work with.’
I am a bit mystified by this.
‘Well, for example,’ she says. ‘Do you want to dress up in women’s clothes and be told you’re a slut, or be a naughty schoolboy? Do you want me to dress up as a Mediwitch and give you a medical examination? Do you want to be treated like a dog, or a horse? Would you like me to pee on you-?’
‘Good God, no.’ I am horrified at the last suggestion. ‘Why would anyone want such a thing?
‘Professor Snape,’ she sighs patiently, ‘you would be surprised at the things men have asked me to do to them over the years. I have one dear young man who is a closet transvestite and is ashamed of the fact. He comes to me wearing a pink bra and a pair of frilly knickers under his robe. I tell him off for wearing his sister’s underwear, put him over my knee and spank him and he goes home happy. Another, more elderly wizard, pays me so he can clean this flat, without magic, until it gleams like a new pin-’
‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
‘Because, I presume, his wife has a problem with him wearing only six inch stilettos and rubber gloves while he does the dusting at home.’
I stare at her incredulously.
‘One man,’ she continues, ‘once offered me two hundred galleons if he could clean my toilet - with his tongue.’
‘Oh, please, that is disgusting.’
‘I try not to make judgments, Professor. I am just trying to give you some points of reference.’
‘I understand.’
‘What about your dream? Does the thought of public humiliation arouse you?’
‘I-I no, no.’ The question was unexpected. The thought, for some strange reason, is almost unbearable exciting, but could never be anything other than a fantasy. I try to think of something to say. ‘I have done enough acting in my time, Mistress Roxanne. I want to be myself, now - whatever that may be. I have no desire for role play.’
She is looking at me now; sizing me up. I realise I am on the verge of making a big mistake. ‘Other than that,’ I add hurriedly, ‘I am in your hands. You are in charge. You know what is best for me.’
She smiles again. ‘I will push you to your limits. You can be sure of that.’
She stands up. It seems the interview is over.
She does not offer her hand, so I merely bow and take my leave. As she sees me out, she stands close enough for me to smell her and I inhale deeply. Yes, I know you, but I can’t for the life of me remember.
I Apparate back to Hogwarts and walk up the drive, marvelling at this newfound sense of liberation I feel. I am both excited and apprehensive about the whole venture, but most of all I am intrigued by the true identity of ‘Mistress Roxanne’. My mind mulls it over; smell, voice, laugh… biting the bottom lip. I stop dead, just before I reach the castle doors.
‘Fuck me! Hermione Granger!’
~*~*~*~
I do not think I have run so fast in my entire life, and I am not as fit as I used to be. By the time I get to my chambers and ward the door, my heart is thumping in my chest and the sweat is pouring off me. I lean against the door and bang my head against it.
How could I have been so fucking stupid? I have spent the better part of an afternoon pouring my heart out to Hermione fucking Granger! What if she tells anyone? I’ll be a laughing stock. Worse still, she could tell Minerva and I’d be out of a job.
I pour myself a firewhisky - a large firewhisky and try to calm down.
‘Well, Severus,’ I say to myself, ‘you wanted to be humiliated. You’ve only got yourself to blame.’
It just goes to show you should be careful what you wish for. Chances are, it’ll turn around and bite you in the arse.
I sit down and go over the conversation I had with Mistr-Miss Granger. There is no doubt about it, she gave me enough rope to hang myself with, and like an idiot I took the bait.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I take a swig of whisky and concentrate on the numbing burn in my throat. That’s what I would like to be at this moment - numb.
She had come so highly recommended, though. All my contacts said the same thing. Professional, strict, discreet and … expensive. The thought strikes me that the subject of money never came up. She mentioned letters. Does she intend to blackmail me? I start to panic again.
Deep breaths, Severus, and think.
Discreet. All right, let’s focus on that. She is supposedly the best dominatrix in the business. She couldn’t be that if she blabbed about her clients to all and sundry, now, could she? No, she could not.
I rarely take on new submissives.
Then why me? What’s so special about me? Is she after some sort of revenge? I pour myself another whisky and notice that my hands are shaking.
Hermione Granger. It must be ten years since I saw her last but it seems like yesterday. She came to see me when I was incarcerated at the Ministry awaiting trial. I will never forget her… Oh, sweet, Merlin! That’s why she’s wearing that glamour!
The wound Lucius gave her was still fresh then - she had been lucky not to lose an eye. Even though I saw him do it, it was still a shock to see her young, pretty face so badly disfigured and I’m ashamed to say I recoiled at the sight of it. She turned away from me, thanked me for saving her life and…
‘Yesss,’ I let out a long breath, ‘I did, didn’t I?’
She owes me.
Well, Miss Granger or Mistress Roxanne or whatever else you want to call yourself, do your worst. I am more than ready for whatever you care to throw at me.
~*~*~*~*~