Needs Must (Chapters 3 and 4)
Author: Melusin
Title: Needs Must
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Severus Hermione
Wordcount: 3,140
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.
In these two chapters, Hermione assesses Severus as a potential client, and Severus begins his journey into submission.
A/N: Still looking for a beta. Any feedback is welcome.
3. The Interview: Hermione.
During my time in this business, I have seen some bizarre behaviour and received some very odd requests. I thought I had seen it all and that I was, to all intents and purposes, shockproof. That was until the day I received the letter from Severus Snape requesting an interview with me.
Don’t get me wrong, I was not surprised that Snape was the kind of man who wanted to be dominated and humiliated; I have had many men use my services over the years who have very high profile, demanding jobs in real life - men who you would think would be very dominant in the bedroom. In fact, to me, it made a strange sort of sense. Snape had been easily influenced by the likes of Lucius Malfoy - and Voldemort, of course, in his youth, which could easily be taken as an early indication of his submissive tendencies. No, what shocked me was the forthrightness of his request. There was no fawning or begging for me to take pity on his unnatural urges. He did not use an alias, which many people do - at least in the initial stages; he signed his own name and said in no uncertain terms that he was looking for a ‘strict mistress.’ He also said he appreciated that I was expensive, that money was not a problem and that he was approaching me because I had been highly recommended.
These days, I rarely take on new submissives, especially novices, mainly because there is no need for me to do so. I have my half dozen or so regulars, which provides me with a steady income and leaves me the time to spend doing the things I really want to do. An arrangement which suits me just fine.
But, I have to say I was intrigued. For one thing, this was a former teacher who had once been the bane of my life and who had terrorised generations of schoolchildren, some of whom had been my friends. It seemed like a case of what goes around comes around; poetic justice even. But, mainly, I was just plain curious to see this reclusive man once again; this extraordinarily brave man who had risked his own life on too many occasions to count during the war with Voldemort. He had saved my life, too, saved me from the clutches of Lucius Malfoy in fact, and I knew I owed him big time. The least I could do would be to grant him an interview.
~ * ~
I check my glamour and my general appearance in the mirror five minutes before he is due to arrive. I like to look neat and businesslike in the initial meeting so that my prospective clients understand from the outset that I am a professional and that my time is money. He will be on time, I know. This is Severus Snape we are talking about - Mr Punctuality himself. As expected, there is a knock at the door just as the clock chimes the hour.
I open the door, feeling suddenly nervous for no apparent reason, and there he is, older than I remember, but then I haven’t seen him in years. He hasn’t altered that much, he’s as thin as ever and his hair is still as black as a raven’s wing, but he does look… I hesitate to use the word haggard but… tired, certainly. He also looks slightly apprehensive as he appraises me, but he hides it well.
‘Come in, Professor Snape,’ I say. ‘I am Mistress Roxanne.’ I hold out my hand. He hesitates before shaking it. ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Yes, I would,’ he replies and I shiver as that voice brings back so many memories both good and bad. ‘Thank you.’
I pour the tea and we make smalltalk about inconsequential things. Normally, I would do this until I feel the client is relaxing in my presence. Snape, however, is not a man for idle chitchat and so I cut it short. I sit back in my chair with my cup of tea and ask him to tell me about himself. I also ask that he is honest with me and to be aware that the more he puts into the experience, should I decide to take him on, the more he will get out of it. He nods in understanding.
He struggles to put his feelings into words; for a man like Snape, this must be torture. It’s a wonder he isn’t squirming in his seat. He tells me of a dream, which may or not may be significant. A lot of people have dreams about being naked in a public place; that does not make them exhibitionists. I smile and encourage him to continue.
Snape proceeds to tell me about his childhood. It is a variation on a theme I have heard countless times. I watch his body language as he talks about his father and then his mother. As always, it is the things they leave out that interest me. It is evident that he was sure in the unconditional love of his mother and yet he barely mentions her. Isn’t it strange how we emphasise the bad things that happen to us and take for granted or ignore the good things? I take a few mental notes. I will jot down my impressions once he has left.
When I mention masturbation I can see I have struck a nerve. Guilt, self-hatred, the desire to be punished and a feeling of disgust about the body, all things that keep people like me in business. His life obviously didn’t improve during his adolescence and he seems to have had a pretty miserable time at Hogwarts. My ears prick up when he mentions Harry’s mother - it seems the rumours were true, then.
Out of nowhere he mentions Bellatrix Lestrange and I almost drop my tea into my lap. I have to listen to the sordid details of his first sexual encounter and try to remain detached, but it is not easy not after… I try not to drift off and allow my own demons to claim me. I want to tell him that what she did to him was abuse, plain and simple, and has nothing to do with the kind of activities that consensual adults indulge in, but he is talking less hesitantly now and I do not want to interrupt. It saddens me that there has hardly been anyone else in his life since then.
‘So, what brought you to me?’
The question seems to galvanise him as he goes about explaining his motives. Again, I am struck by his low self-esteem and feelings of unworthiness. As I have said, I have heard it all before but with him… I just feel he deserves more out of life.
‘…I did not think my chances of finding a willing, not to mention, discreet partner, to be that great…’
He’s probably right, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m sure he has no idea of the emotional investment he would have to make with a dominant woman for a partner. He would have to give as well as take and I’m not sure he would be capable of making that kind of commitment within a relationship. Keeping it professional will allow him to maintain a certain amount of emotional detachment which, I think, is what he requires. I am therefore surprised when he expresses an interest in slave training. Again, he has no idea of what that entails, and I make it quite clear that I would not be able to help him should he decide to explore that option.
‘Pity,’ he says and I cannot help but laugh. I always knew Severus Snape had a rather dry sense of humour. I feel myself warming to this rather dour wizard. I shall take him on - I knew I would as soon as I saw him, but although I could easily give him a session this week, I will stall him. I want him eager and I want him ready. This may take a few weeks preparation, but he is new at this game and I want him to be sure he knows what he’s letting himself in for. Nevertheless, he is obviously disappointed at the delay.
We talk a bit more about fetishes in general and his in particular. I am not surprised when I learn what his preferences are. Whips and leather. I knew it would be that somehow; predictable, safe even. He averts his eyes in embarrassment at his confession, so I tell him about some of the other things men have asked me to do, simply to demonstrate how normal he is, relatively speaking. I do not want him to feel like a freak when he is with me. Far from it, I want him to find some degree of contentment from our relationship. Just how much, I have yet to decide.
When I ask him about his dream again, he seems flustered. I cannot imagine a situation where Severus Snape would willingly take his clothes off in a public place, but… stranger things have happened. I decide to let that idea simmer for a while. He hesitates suddenly, seemingly afraid that he has gone a little too far in his demands and that he be about to offend me. I see a brief glimmer of fear in his eyes that I might reject him. Oh, he will make a good sub, I am sure of that.
I have heard all I need to hear. I lead him to the door and we say our goodbyes. I stand perhaps a little too close to him and he trembles slightly. I cannot help but wonder how he would react if he ever realised who I was.
~*~
4. Correspondence (i): Severus.
For two days, I have been in the foulest of moods. I have had no time for the dunderheads that plague me on a daily basis and I can barely keep a civil tongue in my head when engaging in conversation with my esteemed colleagues. Even Minerva, who has always ignored my ‘temper tantrums’ as she calls them, saw fit to reprimand me for my ‘attitude’.
On the third morning after my… I suppose, ‘encounter’ best describes it, I was drinking my coffee when an owl dropped a letter on my plate. I stuffed it hastily into my pocket, but I was not quick enough. As I rarely get letters, Minerva just had to comment.
‘A letter, Severus? How unusual. Does this have anything to do with your continual bad humour these past few days, by any chance?’
I grunted something non-committal and left the Great Hall.
Throughout the day, I have been painfully aware of the letter in my pocket, but I have resisted the temptation to open it until I am alone in my chambers. I know I have a pile of work to plough through by tomorrow, but my concentration is shot. It will have to wait.
After an interminable staff meeting and a hurried dinner, I am, finally, able to retire to my quarters for the evening. I close and ward the door behind me and walk over to the hearthrug to light the candle sconces. I cannot put it off any longer. I take the letter out of my pocket, take a deep breath and open it.
‘Good Evening, Sub Severus, I trust you are well.’
Holy Mother of Merlin, the bitch has charmed it to speak! Thank God I didn’t open it in the Great Hall!
The sound of her laughter fills my living room. ‘I hope you remembered to wait until you were alone before opening this, Sub Severus.’ She laughs again.
Sub Severus. I bristle at being called that by Hermione sodding Granger. However, my body is responding in a different manner, imagining the potentially mortifying embarrassment I have narrowly avoided.
‘I am going to give you your first task, but before I do, you are to stop where you are, take off all your clothes, and kneel on the floor. Do it now. By hand. You are not to use magic. When you have done this, say, ‘I am ready, Mistress Roxanne.’’
I am frozen to the spot. I look at the letter, but there are no more words visible. I do not want to do this, but the authority in her voice compels me to obey. If I do not, I reason, she may make things worse for me. As if under the influence of the Imperius Curse, my hands move to the buttons of my robe. Slowly, I begin to undress. It does not take me long, as I am only wearing my day robe, socks, boots and underpants. I kneel on the rug, feeling cold, exposed and somehow vulnerable. This is the first time I have ever been naked in my chambers, other than my bedroom or bathroom, and I feel like a fish out of water.
‘I am ready, Mistress Roxanne.’
‘Good. First of all, I want you to be comfortable. If you are cold, for example, then light the fire…’
With a flick of my wrist the fire is lit. I am grateful for its warmth.
‘Your task this week is quite simple. From now on, I want you to think of this time between now and when you rise in the morning as my time. When you visit me, you will be spending a lot of your time on your knees, naked…’
In spite of myself, my heartbeat quickens.
‘I want you to think about this right now…’
I can think of nothing else.
‘When you return to your chambers each evening, you are to remove your clothes as you have done tonight, where you are tonight Anything you have to do from now until you get up in the morning you will do naked…’
I cannot possibly-
‘If you have to patrol the corridors, you will wear your cloak. Naturally, I do not expect you to expose yourself in front of the children. If there is an emergency, then you may use your discretion. Otherwise, in the confines of your quarters you are to remain unclothed. Furthermore, you are to refrain from masturbating until further notice. That is all for the moment.’
All? My cock is harder than it’s been for a long time. She expects me to mark essays like this?
I pull myself up into my armchair without thinking and jump as my bare arse hits the cold leather. I lean back cautiously. I have always loved this chair. I love the crinkled texture of the old leather and its wonderful smell, particularly after the house-elf has polished it, but I have never had so much of it in contact with my skin before. This is a new experience, and I find that I am relishing the tactile sensations.
I close my eyes and sigh in contentment. I have always loved the feel of leather. Yes, I know, I know, it goes back to my father’s belt. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to work that out. It feels like I am indulging in some forbidden pleasure, which, if I were to analyse it, would be rather pathetic. I am approaching fifty years of age, I am sitting in my own chair in my own quarters with the door securely warded and I feel guilty about the feel of leather against my skin. I arch my back and rub my hands over the rougher, more worn leather on the arms of the chair. I am no stranger to sexual abstinence, but I feel a strong urge to stroke my cock. Why wouldn’t she…
My thoughts go back to Hermione Granger. There was nothing untoward in the letter, and still no mention of money. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right now, it doesn’t seem that important. I get up and stretch. Perhaps if I concentrate on my work, I will feel less aroused.
Even the short walk to my desk is an assault on the senses, however. I am keenly aware of the air on my skin, my nipples are stiff and I am coming out in goosepimples. The stone floor is cold under my bare feet. I may have to conjure up some more rugs. I sit down on my desk chair, more gingerly this time, preparing myself for the shock of the cold leather. If this keeps up, I am going to have to invest in some new cushions.
Within the hour, the inane scribblings of thirteen and fourteen year olds have dampened my ardour. By the time I have begun on the seventh years, I have almost forgotten that I am not wearing a stitch of clothing. Ah, Miss Lawson. As usual her work is neat, concise and well researched. She is rather a sour looking witch who never seems to smile much and has a short temper. She also has the most enormous breasts that not even her school robe can disguise. My cock twitches as the brief image of Miss Lawson, in a corset wielding a whip, flashes through my mind.
I wonder what she’d say if she knew I was thinking about her tits while marking her essay in the altogether?
‘Dirty old pervert, probably.’ I chuckle to myself.
I stretch my back and sigh. Now that’s all out of the way, the rest of the evening is mine to do with as I please - well, almost. I pour myself a drink and stand with my back to the fire. Mercifully, I am not on duty until next week, but that does not normally prevent me from patrolling the corridors on the lookout for curfew breakers and hormonal adolescents seeking a private place for a shag. Right now, however, Gryffindor Tower could be hosting an inter-house orgy and I wouldn’t give a monkey’s. This is my time or rather Miss…tress Roxanne’s time and for once I do not care about the comings and goings of the castle’s inhabitants.
Although it is still a little early, I decide to go to bed and read for a while. I will feel less exposed in my bedroom, not to mention, warmer. The house-elf has laid out a clean nightshirt for me on the bed, as usual. I reach for it and stop.
Anything you have to do from now until you get up in the morning, you will do naked…
I throw the nightshirt towards the chair and pull back the bedclothes. I very rarely sleep in the nude, mainly due to the fact that even in summer the dungeons are cold. It would seem, however, that this is something else that will have to change.
~*~
Title: Needs Must
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Severus Hermione
Wordcount: 3,140
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.
In these two chapters, Hermione assesses Severus as a potential client, and Severus begins his journey into submission.
A/N: Still looking for a beta. Any feedback is welcome.
3. The Interview: Hermione.
During my time in this business, I have seen some bizarre behaviour and received some very odd requests. I thought I had seen it all and that I was, to all intents and purposes, shockproof. That was until the day I received the letter from Severus Snape requesting an interview with me.
Don’t get me wrong, I was not surprised that Snape was the kind of man who wanted to be dominated and humiliated; I have had many men use my services over the years who have very high profile, demanding jobs in real life - men who you would think would be very dominant in the bedroom. In fact, to me, it made a strange sort of sense. Snape had been easily influenced by the likes of Lucius Malfoy - and Voldemort, of course, in his youth, which could easily be taken as an early indication of his submissive tendencies. No, what shocked me was the forthrightness of his request. There was no fawning or begging for me to take pity on his unnatural urges. He did not use an alias, which many people do - at least in the initial stages; he signed his own name and said in no uncertain terms that he was looking for a ‘strict mistress.’ He also said he appreciated that I was expensive, that money was not a problem and that he was approaching me because I had been highly recommended.
These days, I rarely take on new submissives, especially novices, mainly because there is no need for me to do so. I have my half dozen or so regulars, which provides me with a steady income and leaves me the time to spend doing the things I really want to do. An arrangement which suits me just fine.
But, I have to say I was intrigued. For one thing, this was a former teacher who had once been the bane of my life and who had terrorised generations of schoolchildren, some of whom had been my friends. It seemed like a case of what goes around comes around; poetic justice even. But, mainly, I was just plain curious to see this reclusive man once again; this extraordinarily brave man who had risked his own life on too many occasions to count during the war with Voldemort. He had saved my life, too, saved me from the clutches of Lucius Malfoy in fact, and I knew I owed him big time. The least I could do would be to grant him an interview.
~ * ~
I check my glamour and my general appearance in the mirror five minutes before he is due to arrive. I like to look neat and businesslike in the initial meeting so that my prospective clients understand from the outset that I am a professional and that my time is money. He will be on time, I know. This is Severus Snape we are talking about - Mr Punctuality himself. As expected, there is a knock at the door just as the clock chimes the hour.
I open the door, feeling suddenly nervous for no apparent reason, and there he is, older than I remember, but then I haven’t seen him in years. He hasn’t altered that much, he’s as thin as ever and his hair is still as black as a raven’s wing, but he does look… I hesitate to use the word haggard but… tired, certainly. He also looks slightly apprehensive as he appraises me, but he hides it well.
‘Come in, Professor Snape,’ I say. ‘I am Mistress Roxanne.’ I hold out my hand. He hesitates before shaking it. ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Yes, I would,’ he replies and I shiver as that voice brings back so many memories both good and bad. ‘Thank you.’
I pour the tea and we make smalltalk about inconsequential things. Normally, I would do this until I feel the client is relaxing in my presence. Snape, however, is not a man for idle chitchat and so I cut it short. I sit back in my chair with my cup of tea and ask him to tell me about himself. I also ask that he is honest with me and to be aware that the more he puts into the experience, should I decide to take him on, the more he will get out of it. He nods in understanding.
He struggles to put his feelings into words; for a man like Snape, this must be torture. It’s a wonder he isn’t squirming in his seat. He tells me of a dream, which may or not may be significant. A lot of people have dreams about being naked in a public place; that does not make them exhibitionists. I smile and encourage him to continue.
Snape proceeds to tell me about his childhood. It is a variation on a theme I have heard countless times. I watch his body language as he talks about his father and then his mother. As always, it is the things they leave out that interest me. It is evident that he was sure in the unconditional love of his mother and yet he barely mentions her. Isn’t it strange how we emphasise the bad things that happen to us and take for granted or ignore the good things? I take a few mental notes. I will jot down my impressions once he has left.
When I mention masturbation I can see I have struck a nerve. Guilt, self-hatred, the desire to be punished and a feeling of disgust about the body, all things that keep people like me in business. His life obviously didn’t improve during his adolescence and he seems to have had a pretty miserable time at Hogwarts. My ears prick up when he mentions Harry’s mother - it seems the rumours were true, then.
Out of nowhere he mentions Bellatrix Lestrange and I almost drop my tea into my lap. I have to listen to the sordid details of his first sexual encounter and try to remain detached, but it is not easy not after… I try not to drift off and allow my own demons to claim me. I want to tell him that what she did to him was abuse, plain and simple, and has nothing to do with the kind of activities that consensual adults indulge in, but he is talking less hesitantly now and I do not want to interrupt. It saddens me that there has hardly been anyone else in his life since then.
‘So, what brought you to me?’
The question seems to galvanise him as he goes about explaining his motives. Again, I am struck by his low self-esteem and feelings of unworthiness. As I have said, I have heard it all before but with him… I just feel he deserves more out of life.
‘…I did not think my chances of finding a willing, not to mention, discreet partner, to be that great…’
He’s probably right, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m sure he has no idea of the emotional investment he would have to make with a dominant woman for a partner. He would have to give as well as take and I’m not sure he would be capable of making that kind of commitment within a relationship. Keeping it professional will allow him to maintain a certain amount of emotional detachment which, I think, is what he requires. I am therefore surprised when he expresses an interest in slave training. Again, he has no idea of what that entails, and I make it quite clear that I would not be able to help him should he decide to explore that option.
‘Pity,’ he says and I cannot help but laugh. I always knew Severus Snape had a rather dry sense of humour. I feel myself warming to this rather dour wizard. I shall take him on - I knew I would as soon as I saw him, but although I could easily give him a session this week, I will stall him. I want him eager and I want him ready. This may take a few weeks preparation, but he is new at this game and I want him to be sure he knows what he’s letting himself in for. Nevertheless, he is obviously disappointed at the delay.
We talk a bit more about fetishes in general and his in particular. I am not surprised when I learn what his preferences are. Whips and leather. I knew it would be that somehow; predictable, safe even. He averts his eyes in embarrassment at his confession, so I tell him about some of the other things men have asked me to do, simply to demonstrate how normal he is, relatively speaking. I do not want him to feel like a freak when he is with me. Far from it, I want him to find some degree of contentment from our relationship. Just how much, I have yet to decide.
When I ask him about his dream again, he seems flustered. I cannot imagine a situation where Severus Snape would willingly take his clothes off in a public place, but… stranger things have happened. I decide to let that idea simmer for a while. He hesitates suddenly, seemingly afraid that he has gone a little too far in his demands and that he be about to offend me. I see a brief glimmer of fear in his eyes that I might reject him. Oh, he will make a good sub, I am sure of that.
I have heard all I need to hear. I lead him to the door and we say our goodbyes. I stand perhaps a little too close to him and he trembles slightly. I cannot help but wonder how he would react if he ever realised who I was.
~*~
4. Correspondence (i): Severus.
For two days, I have been in the foulest of moods. I have had no time for the dunderheads that plague me on a daily basis and I can barely keep a civil tongue in my head when engaging in conversation with my esteemed colleagues. Even Minerva, who has always ignored my ‘temper tantrums’ as she calls them, saw fit to reprimand me for my ‘attitude’.
On the third morning after my… I suppose, ‘encounter’ best describes it, I was drinking my coffee when an owl dropped a letter on my plate. I stuffed it hastily into my pocket, but I was not quick enough. As I rarely get letters, Minerva just had to comment.
‘A letter, Severus? How unusual. Does this have anything to do with your continual bad humour these past few days, by any chance?’
I grunted something non-committal and left the Great Hall.
Throughout the day, I have been painfully aware of the letter in my pocket, but I have resisted the temptation to open it until I am alone in my chambers. I know I have a pile of work to plough through by tomorrow, but my concentration is shot. It will have to wait.
After an interminable staff meeting and a hurried dinner, I am, finally, able to retire to my quarters for the evening. I close and ward the door behind me and walk over to the hearthrug to light the candle sconces. I cannot put it off any longer. I take the letter out of my pocket, take a deep breath and open it.
‘Good Evening, Sub Severus, I trust you are well.’
Holy Mother of Merlin, the bitch has charmed it to speak! Thank God I didn’t open it in the Great Hall!
The sound of her laughter fills my living room. ‘I hope you remembered to wait until you were alone before opening this, Sub Severus.’ She laughs again.
Sub Severus. I bristle at being called that by Hermione sodding Granger. However, my body is responding in a different manner, imagining the potentially mortifying embarrassment I have narrowly avoided.
‘I am going to give you your first task, but before I do, you are to stop where you are, take off all your clothes, and kneel on the floor. Do it now. By hand. You are not to use magic. When you have done this, say, ‘I am ready, Mistress Roxanne.’’
I am frozen to the spot. I look at the letter, but there are no more words visible. I do not want to do this, but the authority in her voice compels me to obey. If I do not, I reason, she may make things worse for me. As if under the influence of the Imperius Curse, my hands move to the buttons of my robe. Slowly, I begin to undress. It does not take me long, as I am only wearing my day robe, socks, boots and underpants. I kneel on the rug, feeling cold, exposed and somehow vulnerable. This is the first time I have ever been naked in my chambers, other than my bedroom or bathroom, and I feel like a fish out of water.
‘I am ready, Mistress Roxanne.’
‘Good. First of all, I want you to be comfortable. If you are cold, for example, then light the fire…’
With a flick of my wrist the fire is lit. I am grateful for its warmth.
‘Your task this week is quite simple. From now on, I want you to think of this time between now and when you rise in the morning as my time. When you visit me, you will be spending a lot of your time on your knees, naked…’
In spite of myself, my heartbeat quickens.
‘I want you to think about this right now…’
I can think of nothing else.
‘When you return to your chambers each evening, you are to remove your clothes as you have done tonight, where you are tonight Anything you have to do from now until you get up in the morning you will do naked…’
I cannot possibly-
‘If you have to patrol the corridors, you will wear your cloak. Naturally, I do not expect you to expose yourself in front of the children. If there is an emergency, then you may use your discretion. Otherwise, in the confines of your quarters you are to remain unclothed. Furthermore, you are to refrain from masturbating until further notice. That is all for the moment.’
All? My cock is harder than it’s been for a long time. She expects me to mark essays like this?
I pull myself up into my armchair without thinking and jump as my bare arse hits the cold leather. I lean back cautiously. I have always loved this chair. I love the crinkled texture of the old leather and its wonderful smell, particularly after the house-elf has polished it, but I have never had so much of it in contact with my skin before. This is a new experience, and I find that I am relishing the tactile sensations.
I close my eyes and sigh in contentment. I have always loved the feel of leather. Yes, I know, I know, it goes back to my father’s belt. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to work that out. It feels like I am indulging in some forbidden pleasure, which, if I were to analyse it, would be rather pathetic. I am approaching fifty years of age, I am sitting in my own chair in my own quarters with the door securely warded and I feel guilty about the feel of leather against my skin. I arch my back and rub my hands over the rougher, more worn leather on the arms of the chair. I am no stranger to sexual abstinence, but I feel a strong urge to stroke my cock. Why wouldn’t she…
My thoughts go back to Hermione Granger. There was nothing untoward in the letter, and still no mention of money. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right now, it doesn’t seem that important. I get up and stretch. Perhaps if I concentrate on my work, I will feel less aroused.
Even the short walk to my desk is an assault on the senses, however. I am keenly aware of the air on my skin, my nipples are stiff and I am coming out in goosepimples. The stone floor is cold under my bare feet. I may have to conjure up some more rugs. I sit down on my desk chair, more gingerly this time, preparing myself for the shock of the cold leather. If this keeps up, I am going to have to invest in some new cushions.
Within the hour, the inane scribblings of thirteen and fourteen year olds have dampened my ardour. By the time I have begun on the seventh years, I have almost forgotten that I am not wearing a stitch of clothing. Ah, Miss Lawson. As usual her work is neat, concise and well researched. She is rather a sour looking witch who never seems to smile much and has a short temper. She also has the most enormous breasts that not even her school robe can disguise. My cock twitches as the brief image of Miss Lawson, in a corset wielding a whip, flashes through my mind.
I wonder what she’d say if she knew I was thinking about her tits while marking her essay in the altogether?
‘Dirty old pervert, probably.’ I chuckle to myself.
I stretch my back and sigh. Now that’s all out of the way, the rest of the evening is mine to do with as I please - well, almost. I pour myself a drink and stand with my back to the fire. Mercifully, I am not on duty until next week, but that does not normally prevent me from patrolling the corridors on the lookout for curfew breakers and hormonal adolescents seeking a private place for a shag. Right now, however, Gryffindor Tower could be hosting an inter-house orgy and I wouldn’t give a monkey’s. This is my time or rather Miss…tress Roxanne’s time and for once I do not care about the comings and goings of the castle’s inhabitants.
Although it is still a little early, I decide to go to bed and read for a while. I will feel less exposed in my bedroom, not to mention, warmer. The house-elf has laid out a clean nightshirt for me on the bed, as usual. I reach for it and stop.
Anything you have to do from now until you get up in the morning, you will do naked…
I throw the nightshirt towards the chair and pull back the bedclothes. I very rarely sleep in the nude, mainly due to the fact that even in summer the dungeons are cold. It would seem, however, that this is something else that will have to change.
~*~