‘Pushing its way out, burning in my mouth’
‘Dry’
Tura Satana
A year before the many consummations between the Potions Master and Elizabeth Short began, just around the time she discovered flavoured lip gloss and suspender belts, she began to watch him. She had always been transfixed by his voice and stern demeanor, right from the first time she had ever seen him. Their first ever lesson together. She had been eleven years old and he had swept into the room like a black tornado, silencing all the children in the dingy dungeon classroom. At first she didn’t care for him at all and thought he was just a mean looking man, but when he spoke she found her attention being diverted from her nails and straight to him. He needed no more than a whisper to control the classroom; which on the first day of term was bubbling much like the cauldrons set out in front of the excited students. Back then she was just a face in the crowd and she remained that way until she was just about to turn sixteen.
When she started to notice her ever developing curves she changed so quickly, he couldn’t help but notice her, she was like an orchid blooming in fast forward. Her body had begun to change before she noticed it really; to her it had just been a certain tightness in some clothes; where her widening hips were spreading and her thighs were becoming more shapely. Her breasts had appeared almost as suddenly. One day she was sulking and moaning at her friends because they all had heaving bosoms that all the boys were transfixed with and she didn’t and the next she had her own pair of deadly weapons. It was almost overnight, so it seemed, they just appeared. That was when Elizabeth became popular. Snape noticed with a mounting interest that he tried to suppress. She started to smell different. He noticed that when she came up to his desk one day to hand in an essay. He hadn't heard her approach, but her gentle yet intoxicating smell reached him as she stood there, parchment in hand.
She smelt like cherries and sweetened cream, like deserts and things you weren’t supposed to have too much of. He had looked up at her and took the paper without a word, but watched her as she walked back to her desk; all the way. He watched her for the following few moments as she slid into her seat, watched the looks of other boys in the class who were blushing furiously and had obviously noticed the same things he had. He deducted ten points from Gryffindor for no particular reason.
She started to walk differently; not like a girl hurrying around and bumbling with her group of stupid friends but like a prowling panther. He loved to watch her walk. She had the natural grace and jiggle of a stripper or pole dancer.
He wondered at times if she knew what she did to him.
The looks she gave him were just too much. She would sit there as bold as anything in her sixth year classes and just stare at him, showing no fear or embarrassment. She was supposed to be working. More often than not he would shout at her and tell her to get on with her potion making or coping from the blackboard. Sometimes he wouldn’t though. Sometimes he would stare back. He was the King of Staring; he could make anyone uncomfortable with his charcoal piercing glares, he could make anyone feel the chill of his resolve with just a look, but she did not seem to care. Once or twice when they were deeply involved with staring at each other, in a silent battle of wits, he would notice with his peripheral vision that some of the other students had noticed and they were nudging each other. With that he would usually bark at her to stop looking at him and get on with her work, at which she would do, but not without giving him one last small, smile, just to let him know he hadn’t misread her expression.
At night he would return to his chambers and try and steady his nerves with a large whisky and a good book, maybe some dark classical music. She was a little whore and he knew what she was up to. She knew he was not allowed to act on her little tempting looks and wiggles. He would try and read, he would try hard, but it wasn’t easy when you had the kind of imagination Severus Snape had. He wanted to smack her bottom for making him lust after her so much. She needed to be punished. His books were dull and lifeless, but she was so vibrant and sensual. He wanted to bite her bottom and see what she looked like beneath that uniform. The uniform that had shortened over the course of the past year and gotten much tighter as well. Her breasts literally strained against the thin white cotton of her shirt. He couldn’t stop staring at her. And then he found himself with a fist around his cock, always the left one so that it felt like it was someone else. He was right handed and always found that using the left one for self-pleasure helped a great deal. It helped him sink into fantasy better. Strangely enough, he had to try and not think about her. That way he could prolong his orgasm a bit. He would begin with his usual, pre-prepared myriad of erotic imagery; a mixture between memories of past sexual endeavors and imaginary lovers. Then as he felt the spiraling loss of self control from within, descending down the slide of orgasm, he would allow himself to think of her; sliding his hand up and down and breathing hard. She would come to him in a flurry of sexual tension. She was always the same more or less, bound in black lace bondage, growling with desire for him, whispering words of filth that seemed to drip with honey when they passed her lips. In his fantasies she was the perfect sex slave. A gothic princess with magenta lips and a big arse, the only kind he ever liked. He always tried to hold back with his fantasies, but then within seconds the curled fingers around his erection were covered with salty semen and he was shaking, conjuring tissues and mopping up the mess.
As a teacher and head of house at Hogwarts he had responsibilities and he had loyalties. He had agreed to many things when becoming the youngest teacher there, the safety and the education of the children was supposed to come first. But now it was himself who came first, at roughly ten o’clock every evening. He did still care about his school duties.
Well, kind of. That only really meant that he still taught his classes and marked their work. He did nothing more and didn’t really care. He was doing his job as far as he was concerned.
Though he chose not to dwell on the fact that in no way, under no circumstances should he be having such strong feelings about a pupil, let alone be masturbating over her.
His dreams were the worst part of it. It had got to the point where he half dreaded going to sleep because of the subconscious sex he had with her. In his dreams she was a nymphomaniac, seducing him time and time again. She would ride him on his tattered old sofa, make him fuck her hard on his bed, suck him off in the shower, masturbate in front of him across his desk with his wand and with her little fingers and then complete the lot by bending over to teach her toes in front of him, begging him to discipline her.
He had an interest in BDSM that had begun in his youth. When he was a death-eater his friends had gotten him into it. Now and again they would go and visit Muggle brothels and pay for a group of the best looking ones to accompany them to a nearby Muggle hotel. When in there, the girls would be made to ‘perform’ as Lucius Malfoy liked to put it. The girls would be made to pleasure each other with their tongues and full sensuous lips and the group of death-eaters would lounge around on the sofas and beds and watch the display. Severus liked these memories most of the time. Though it upset him a little when he thought about the girls themselves; they often had a look in there eye that said they put no value on their own bodies and souls and didn’t care what the rowdy young group of men did to them as long as they were assured payment. But at the time he didn’t care about the girls feelings. He just wanted sex and to be pleasured by the whores, he didn’t care if they looked as though they were about to cry or not as they did it. Often those memories of Muggle girls romping with one another, tasting each others flesh with timid mouths came back, a pre-Elizabeth masturbation fantasy if you will. But when he left the death-eaters he left the BDSM behind.
Well, kind of. There had been the odd time when wandering through the more adult parts of Knockturn Alley when he had seen a dark witch prostitute stood in a doorway with a leg hooked out around the frame that he couldn’t resist. The first thing that came into his head was not sex, or even just a blow job. But to spank her for being such a bad girl across his lap. The prostitutes were always rather surprised and visibly relieved that he didn’t want to fuck.
Sometimes they looked at him like he was a pervert when he told them all he wanted was to spank their creamy buttocks and tell them how bad they were, but on the whole they just complied and bent over. It was a habit he always attributed to his death-eater days so he tried not to dwell on the fantasy, so not to make it grow.
He tried to concentrate on other objects of fantasy. Nuns spanking each other with their rosary beads and nurses with skirts so short you could see their buttocks without them needing to bed over. French maids with feather dusters tickling places they were not supposed to go. His mind was a playing field because of the loneliness; a kaleidoscope of sex. During the days he was pretty safe because his work took his mind off things, gave him something to concentrate on, but in his chambers he was frantic. His appetite for whisky and wine didn’t help things much either. He was a horny drunk. He liked drunk girls. The hazy look in their eyes as they pushed him around made his lip curl with arousal.
When he and the death-eaters had their orgies with the prostitutes in the 70’s he liked them to drink with him before he fucked them. To tease them as he stared them out over large glasses of red wine. He had been a very good looking teenage boy with his mysterious black clothing, hair and hollow eyes. He liked the relaxed look on their faces, the way they could hardly stand as they giggled around him, such nervous creatures. It brought out the sex in them, though that is all they really were, the electricity was released in them, the real passion, not the fake gasps and groans they elicited during a normal fuck with a punter. The life in them. They asked him to spank them when they were drunk, they wanted to be part of something different, something more involving than just the routine jobs they undertook. They actually wanted him.
That was part of the interest in Elizabeth, the life in her. It wasn’t the schoolgirl thing that aroused him, that had never really been that erotic for him. Schoolgirls to him were silly and wrapped up in themselves, they were not objects of lust. Maybe a gynecologist would understand what he meant. If you’ve seen two many pussies, you don’t want to see any more. And Severus had never really left Hogwarts, which was wall to wall with schoolgirls since he himself was taught there. It was the fact that she wanted him. She looked at him like he was the centrefold in ‘Witch Weekly.’ She looked at him like he was turning her on by simply teaching her how to make potions. Her eyes devoured him. Once, he was sure he had seen her lick her lips at him as she stared with those gorgeous big blue eyes. He had looked away and then taken a double take just to check if he had been dreaming. He would never know for sure if she had, but he would have bet all the gold he had that she did. She wanted him and he wanted her to want him. He wanted to be the object of a girls desire. It had often occurred to him that maybe he should confront her about her flirtatious ways. But how? It made him feel ridiculous. How on earth do you confront someone as alluring as that? What technique of seduction do you use with someone who could blatantly have anyone?
What he wanted to do to her….. well, it would be forceful that was for sure. In the bedroom he liked to take control. He liked to be ridden also, there was something so exquisite about having a woman squirming around on top of you, screaming your name. He wanted to tie her up with her school socks and ram himself so hard into her he made her see stars. He wanted to bend her over and raise his hands high above her buttocks and bring them smacking down onto her flesh, so she cried out in pain and shock. He wanted to fuck her with every inch he had; to bury his head between her legs and make her scream out blasphemous profanities, to make her come and clamp his hand over her mouth as she did so she didn’t even have the release of making a noise to express her pleasure.
Maybe he should invite her to his chambers……no, better still, his dungeon office, that way it would seem official and he could trick her into staying under his own authority.
Now and again he had to ask himself what it was he really wanted from the teenage temptress. Was it to simply conquer that shapely body so he could gloat over it in the future to himself? Was it so he could sate his lust? Sex with the occasional prostitute relieved the dreadful pain of being single for so long and having no-one to fuck, but would he want her to leave after he had filled her up with all his lust?
His fantasies often continued after the sex. After his routine wank, he could picture her sleeping in his bed, curled up beneath the sheets and the thought made him feel happy. Happiness was not something he felt very often. The thing was, he wasn’t accustomed to it, so he wasn’t too sure himself what made him happy. If you can’t make yourself happy you don’t really have much hope. He knew that she made him feel good though. Not having her made him feel like death warmed up; but her presence was a welcome glow in his otherwise dull existence. Be it sexual dreams or painful urges to have her by his side. He didn’t like to think about his deeper feelings for her, they worried him too much and filled him with a horrid sense of foreboding. But at the end of it all, as long as he just accepted that nothing would ever come of it he could never be hurt. Because all his longings were pure flights of fantasy and dreams and as long as they were kept that way they could never harm him or her, or anyone else either.
Because dreams were harmless.
Weren’t they?
Kandyslasher@killamail.com
