|Trio Maxwell-Chang (trio) wrote in fictionaltrio,|
@ 2007-08-17 14:26:00
|Entry tags:||harry potter series, hermione granger, severus snape|
[Harry Potter] A Tiny Break
Title: A Tiny Break
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter - Snape/Hermione
Word Count: 3113
Summary: Hermione learns that she can crack without breaking completely.
Table/Prompt: 5.3 - Orgasm Denial
Disclaimer: All characters, places, and other copyrightable items within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and her associated parties. No monetary benefit is being gained and no infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Bondage, orgasm control, orgasm denial, pain, domination/submission, nudity, masturbation, Teacher/student relationship, het
A/N: This story takes place during Hermione's 7th year, and ignores canon past Order of the Phoenix. Also, what Snape practices here is mainly considered orgasm control as opposed to orgasm denial, but he does both.
Hermione, queen of tenacity, had buckled down. In the wake of McGonagall's worry and Snape's disturbing little lesson, made all the moreso by the fact that her body had stung for a good day after, and tingled for a couple of weeks, leaving her wondering whether she really wanted it to happen again, she had set her nose to the grindstone and studied. In the weeks leading up to Christmas Break, Harry and Ron couldn't prise her from the library no matter what they tried, though she wondered if they really tried all that hard. Certainly, they seemed happy enough at the idea of having a bit more non-Hermione time to spend with their girlfriends. And squirreled away as she was in the library, she only saw Snape in his classroom. One sharp word for her to, "Focus, Miss Granger. These potions do not make themselves," in that cold sneer, followed by a look of surprise on Harry and Ron's faces, and utter shock on Neville's, and she'd forced herself to focus, cheeks growing uncomfortably warm.
During those weeks of enforced study, Snape did not contact her once, a fact for which she was grateful. Although the anticipation teased her senses, making her nearly addictively aware of his presence when he was remotely close, she could focus, knowing that when she saw him again, it would be her choice. The memory of why she was doing this - those panties she'd had stolen from her months before - was a faint ghost of knowledge, forgotten in the wake of the shocking pleasure he'd brought her. The fear of Voldemort, once so paramount throughout the entirity of the school year, seemed to fade into nothing. She had her studies. She had her secrets. And she had expectations.
She Owled her parents partway through November, explaining that she was having some trouble with her studies. A bit of communication back and forth, and a couple of owls to McGonagall, and she was finally granted permission to stay over the Christmas holidays. The days came and went, most students wandering off to be with their families. Harry stayed, as he always did, and they did spend time together, but ultimately, she was given the study time she needed. She'd caught up, settling back into her nature as always on top of studies, with some pride. And once she'd ensured that she would stay there, she allowed herself another lesson... one as likely to be rewarding as informative. She dressed carefully, the silk shirt under a tawny sweater and her skirt returned. She would brave the cold of the dungeons with bare legs for a short time, anyway. Besides, as she'd already learned, sometimes what she wore could prove difficult.
Her shoes, hard-soled loafers settled on top of ankle socks, made soft clicks as she walked down the halls. The stone of the floor seemed to almost delight in announcing her path, but rather than grind her teeth with each step, she straightened her shoulders, head held high as she made her way along. There were so few students this time of year, and those that stayed generally wanted fun. They'd carted Harry off when Hermione had protested, so she was alone in the halls, and unexpected back in her rooms. But she had somewhere to be, something to do, and anticipation of it curled darkly in her stomach, a sleeping snake whose tongue flicked out to tickle her skin with nervous energy. And when she reached Snape's rooms, her breath caught and she hesitated a moment. Tickling. Flogging. Coming over and over, spurred on by his hands and his toys, pitch-dark eyes watching her solemnly. She drew a shuddery breath, one hand splaying open against her thigh as she held herself still, waiting for the memories to pass. What would it be this time?
At length, when curiosity outweighed caution, she reached up, knocking at the door. It opened for her nearly immediately, Snape standing beyond, in the middle of his room. There was a satisfied smile on his face, what could only be considered a smirk as he beckoned her forward. Silently, she stepped in, wincing a little at the clicking of shoes on stone, and paused just inside the door. A few muttered words from him, a wave of the wand he sneered at in class, and it closed behind her, the thud loud and final in the silence between them. And he waited, tall and black, like a shadow given substance.
"I've come for my lesson, Professor," Hermione finally murmured, her eyes dropping away from him as she clasped her hands in front of her, feeling their weight against her stomach. He prowled closer, predatory and hungry, one hand reaching for her chin. She felt her face lifted, tried briefly to fight it, then finally gave in and her eyes met his.
"You've come, Miss Granger, for your last two lessons," he countered finally, one stained thumb rubbing against her lower lip. Heat flared in his eyes as her mouth opened slightly, and he dipped the thumb within so that she could feel it, suck against it. "Your first will begin momentarily. And when it is finally done, your second will begin." No options offered for her, but she hadn't really expected any. "Now," he said, and waved toward the bed she'd once been tied to, as he'd tickled her unmercifully. "Disrobe, Miss Granger. Lay there, on your back, just as before." But unlike before, he moved to watch, standing back and folding his arms over his chest, his eyes riveted on her form. For the first time since that one night, she'd have to make it interesting...
The sweater came off first, tugged over her head and leaving her hair to float up with the static. Blushing, she reached up, combing it down before realizing that Snape's frown was directed at her. Get on with it, the look seemed to say, and she stumbled a bit before nodding and moving to the first button of her shirt. Trembling fingers fumbled at the button for a long minute, finally getting it undone as her own eyes traveled his form. Beneath that black robe, was he excited even a little? Had he ever enjoyed what they did together after that first night? Another button, and another, until her bra popped into view, and still she continued down. It was easier to do while envisioning him naked, really. Her fingers simply did what they'd memorized, and her mind wandered over him, certain that even bare to the world, he'd exude that dark promise of authority and pain.
When her shirt hung open, she reached for the cuffs and was told to stop. He gestured instead to her skirt and she nodded, understanding. He wanted the feel of silk somewhere. Perhaps there was more than a little hedonist in him. Perhaps he was simply offering her a bit of favor. Whatever the reason, her hands crept down to her skirt and she unsnapped it, zipping it down the side and letting it float down to puddle at her feet, the pleats spread. Shoes were next, but like her shirt, she was told to keep the socks on, the underwear on, so that she was still relatively clothed, modest in this setting where she'd been so very bare before.
"On the bed, Miss Granger. I will handle any further necessities," Snape intoned, and she nodded, moving to climb onto the bed. Careful of her shirt, she settled onto her back, making sure the material settled around her properly, giving her back delicious luxury to lay on. Before he could bind her, she drew the sides of the shirt up over her breasts, so that it gaped just an inch at the center, teasing and tantalizing. And then her hands were bound, her ankles following suit, so tightly that she could barely move. He liked the control if it, she decided. He liked knowing that she was utterly dependent on him for everything.
He retrieved a knife, the handle black leather and the blade gleaming silver, so sharp the edge disappeared. "You do like teasing me, do you not, Miss Granger?" he asked softly, with a voice like venomous velvet curling around her. He ran the tip of the knife over her skin, not hard enough to break skin, but the faint pink of lines that appeared in its wake made her tense. And then the flat of that blade was sliding against her skin, coldly dipping under the bit of bra still visible through her open shirt. A brief twist and tug, and she felt the fabric give. It was in her to protest the destruction, but the words died on her tongue as she stared at his face. Still not opening her shirt, he moved that blade down to one hip, then the other, cutting at both sides so that her panties could be laid open without any difficulty. But he didn't bare her. Not now. Not yet.
"You are a tenacious soul, Miss Granger," he said softly, one hand lifting to rub against the soft mound of her breast through the silk, through the bra. "Whatever your desired goal, you pursue it relentlessly, unwilling to leave a single thing overlooked as you charge ahead. This is an admirable trait... but also a dangerous one," he murmured. "It gets you in danger. It gets you into situations like this one," he added, and finally that side of her shirt was pushed back, and his hand slipped in, the rough, scarred skin caressing her directly. She sighed softly, the sound a soft plea as he pinched at her nipple, rolling it between his fingers before drawing back. "You are headstrong, believing you can handle whatever it is life throws at you by virtue of your determination. That is a fool's quest, Miss Granger. Tonight, you will be shown what it is to lose control, to be forced to simply endure until you break down."
Oh how she tensed then, the rich chocolate of her brown eyes flying to his in fear. He'd yet to truly hurt her, he was her professor, he had protected her... but his promise remained, laid between them more bare than she herself was. "Yes, Miss Granger. Tonight you will experience a small taste of what it is to break. And you will survive, intact and a little wiser, your soul a little stronger for the knowledge." He sounded so very certain as he reached for her other breast, toying with it as he had the first. But where there had been pleasure the first time, now there was only nerves, her breath coming a little faster until he finally paused, pulling back.
"I will do nothing to harm you, Miss Granger," he sighed, frowning and rising. "No moreso than your last lesson. If you could bear that, you can certainly bear this." A pause, a glance at the door, and then he said something that shocked her. "Of course, if you have no more need of your panties, Miss Granger, you are free to cease this extracurricular learning. A few mend charms and your clothing will be good as new." He waited, silent and solemn, as she stared at him in confusion. For the first time, he'd told her that this was optional, that she had some power in this. The idea rocked her, shook her.
Did she trust him? Yes. It was not an absolute thing, but he'd proven himself more trustworthy than not, and despite his cold manner, he'd saved them more than once, protected them more than once. Did she want to feel that hand of his again? Definitely. It was warm, and seemed to have an unerring instinct for what would feel good to her. Even when he'd tormented her, he'd finished by making her feel good. Did she want to leave, then? Did she want to stop these lessons, to go back to the safety of Gryfifndor Tower and never learn what he wanted to teach her? "No, Professor," she whispered, her voice breathy and low, a husky sound that surprised her all the more. "Please continue."
The smile he bestowed on her was feral, a wild thing's smirk as he reached out, opening those cut panties so that he could see her mound. One hand reached to fluff the dark curls up, stopping when they were a little dark cloud over the center of her need, and he moved to his box of toys, retrieving the same thin vibrator as last time. This time, Hermione could see that there was a curved wire with a little brush at the top, the soft bristles bending easily as he waved it back and forth at her. "Let's begin, then," he decided, sliding the thin toy into her and turning it on. It sprang to life, buzzing quietly as it teased her. And Snape moved to position the brush just over her clitoris' hood, letting it tease with no real power. It was a ghost touch, not powerful enough to push her pleasure higher but instead just teasing her into frustration. And then he was back at her breasts, pinching them, teasing them. He rubbed oil over the nipples, cupped and massaged them. And she squirmed, feeling herself get closer to the edge.
He did not kiss her, did not lower his mouth to touch any part of her body. Instead, his hands teased life into her, driving her nearly wild. They knew every place to touch, all the right places to push her higher. And suddenly, just as she was reaching that delicious cliff of relief... the touches stopped. A second later, so did the vibrator, the hum still present. But he'd summoned it to his hand. "No!" she cried out, hips lifting in desperate entreaty. Her legs were bound wide, her arms held tight. She couldn't touch herself, couldn't get any relief. It hurt, as she felt the orgasm begin to subside, fading out to tolerable, disappointing levels. Head tossed to one side, she bit her lip to keep from crying at the loss, unable to understand what he was doing to her.
After several minutes, when only the ghost of her arousal remained, he returned, sliding the vibrator into her once more, positioning it, teasing her. Hurt eyes locked onto him as her body immediately responded, screaming back to life. There wasn't much foreplay this time. There didn't need to be. She'd been prepared before, just like now... except once more she was abandoned. Where it had been a faint pain the first time, the second was sharp, shocking. She looked at him through betrayed eyes, hips lifting as high as she could make them. "Don't stop, Professor," she begged, shaken by the need within her.
"You may not command me to do anything, Miss Granger," he sneered in return, turning away from her. When he turned back, there was a measure of black silk in his hands. He tied the blindfold around her head, settling it snugly against her so that she couldn't see. And then he waited.
More torture, less down time, as the night progressed. Hermione had no idea how much time passed while he teased her. And every time he left her cold, her arousal would fade a little less, leaving her squirming for more, staying closer to the edge, like a girl taking two steps forward and one step back. She was crying by then, the blindfold soaked with her tears and her pleas mindless. It didn't matter that he wouldn't listen to a single word as she begged. All that really mattered was that she couldn't stop. Even when the fingers stopped completely, she was left begging, head thrashing from side to side as she sobbed.
It hurt. The thought of such denial had never really entered her mind before, but her center felt thick, heavy, and pained, throbbing in desperation. Her legs ached from where she'd tensed them and relaxed them, pumping her hips as she tried to get some relief. Her stomach twisted, faintly nauseous with need, her breasts aching. Her ankles and wrists ached where she fought against her bindings, needing touch. Before, he'd always seemed to savor her reactions, her body, her pleasure. But now...
The minutes blended together. She quieted slowly, face drying as she ran out of tears, her voice scratchy from constant pleas. She tried to concentrate on her own body, forcing from it what she wanted so badly. But that seemed no more likely than Snape was to break. So she was left, curled up on the ruin of her underwear, juices oozing from her. And she was unable to do anything at all. She wondered, deep within her soul, if this was what it was like to break, if this constant pain she felt was what she might face in the future. And she wondered, too, whether she'd ever know relief again. Would he release her? Would it matter if he did? Dazed and silent, her mind conjured up horrible fantasies of depending solely on him, on this demon in black that loved to torture her so.
When his fingers finally returned to her, it was an unexpected shock. Jolted out of her reverie, she screamed out. "No more, please! Professor, please," she cried, the words repeated over and over brokenly, her hips lifting to meet his fingers viciously, each time slamming into the entrancing digits with violence. Closer to the edge, closer, and he wasn't stopping this time, wasn't holding back. She bit her lip at the idea, at the fear, and tasted the copper tinge of blood in her mouth, her mind identifying the flavor for only a second before the explosive pleasure blocked everything else out...
"Miss Granger...?" The words were solemn, quiet and unmocking, and the voice so very familiar now. "Miss Granger, wake up," he encouraged quietly, and she could smell the acrid scent of smelling salts. Turning her face away, she blinked a few times, the world seeming somehow too bright to her. She lay still bound, naked and shaking a little. But her body was quiescent, floating on contented bliss that confused her. Looking warily up at Snape, she asked the question silently, entreating her eyes to speak for her so that she didn't have to chance her throat. He nodded. "You orgasmed, Miss Granger. Quite impressively, I might add," he complimented, and she blushed, looking away even as one hand tugged at the bindings holding her to his bed yet.
"Not yet, Miss Granger. Once you've recovered, we still have one last lesson..."