I pull a towel out of the wardrobe and make my way into the lavatory. I’ve charmed the mirror above the sink not to talk, so the reflection of me just mouths silent words as I reach into the bath and twist on the hot-water faucet. I slowly strip the constricting faculty robes from my body – there are times when I wish I could wear the simpler Muggle attire, but that’s the price I pay for working here.
The coolness of the room brushes against my skin, causing my flesh to break out in goose bumps. It’s never warm in this part of the castle, no matter how many fireplaces are lit. I rub my hands up and down my arms as I wait for the steam to warm the room.
Just before I step into the streaming water, I reach over and slightly turn the cold-water faucet. I may adore hot showers, but I have no desire to boil myself to death.
I can feel the knot at the back of my neck start to loosen as I step into the now comfortable hot stream of water. I drop my head forward, resting my forehead against the cool stones as I let the water pulse against my back. I arch, stretching the muscles, feeling the tense line ache in protest.
I never truly appreciated Madam Pince whilst I attended Hogwarts, and now that I have her position, I can understand why she always wore that harried pinched look. The demands of the students and the staff go far beyond the traditional librarian role; playing research assistant to a few of the professors, is just one facet of that role. I have no doubt the poor woman was stretched out far too thin in many places with no real appreciation for what she accomplished; I know it’s how I feel some nights.
I slowly stand straight, letting the spray of water wash down on me, soaking my hair, and streaming into my face. Like a blind-man, I reach to the right, feeling along the edge of the stone to where I placed my shampoo. The Wizarding world may have created some interesting beauty potions, but there’s still nothing quite like the bubbling lather of the scented shampoo I’ve used since I was little.
My mind wanders as I push the foamy lather through the tangles of uncooperative hair. I’ve successfully avoided him all day today. Who is he to demand my presence, as if I’m some disobedient child in need of punishment? The residue drips down my face, sliding along my neck in a way that reminds me of his hand, inching across my flesh.
I try to shake that thought from me by pushing my head under the hot spray of water. I have to control myself; things have gotten far too out of hand. I shiver a bit, wishing that this room where warmer as I step into the spray of water, eyes closed. My heart skips a beat as a hand clamps over my mouth.
“Don’t scream,” his voice growls against my ear. My heart is pounding, and my breath catches tightly in my throat as I mentally go through all the different ways this could’ve happened. Obviously, my avoiding him all day hasn’t worked out quite the way I expected.
He pulls my head to the side, and I watch his other hand slide from my waist to my left breast. I can feel him breathing on my neck as he uses those long, lovely fingers to manipulate my nipple into a taut peek. I close my eyes against the sensation, thinking this simply can’t be happening. I struggle, trying to free myself, his hand at my mouth making it difficult to breathe, but he only pulls me to him tighter. I can feel the rough material of his trousers against my bare arse, and I flex my hips back, trying to dislodge him. He lets out a deep, rumbling moan in response to my actions.
With another twist of my nipple, he walks us forward, out of the shower, and I wonder what he has planned. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. I obviously miscalculated today. The tile floor is cold under my bare feet as we moved forward towards the counter. With a sweep of his hand, he pushes my towel and toiletries from it.
“I did warn you, Granger,” he says softly, pulling his hand from my mouth. He runs it down my arm, as I try to fill my lungs with the cool air, capturing my wrist with a strong hand. He reaches out to grab the other wrist, pushing me face down against the cold marble of the counter top. My nipples tighten as they encounter the ice-cold surface. I feel him pull my arms tight as he clasps both wrists in a tight one-handed grip, the edge of the counter biting into the flesh of my stomach.
We stand there, my arms behind my back, my body pressed against the cold marble, for what seems like an eternity. “I wonder,” he says finally, running a hand across the curve of my arse, “what did you think to gain from your little display of defiance?”
I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, so I don’t answer.
“Well?” He asks, squeezing my flesh hard, causing me to gasp. “Nothing to say?” Panting slightly, my wet hair obscuring my face, I shake my head no.
“Strange, I don’t remember you being this reticent as a student.” His fingers trail over my flesh lightly, almost lovingly as he talks to me, and I have to bite back a moan of pleasure. “Or perhaps it’s because you’ve never had to pay for your outright disobedience before?”
“Is that it?” he asks, spreading my legs apart with a deft movement. I moan and shift, trying to close my legs; but his leg, wedged between my legs, prevents me from doing so. He slowly runs a finger down the cleft of my arse to the front of my labia, sliding it in to tap against my clit.
In a light, circular motion, he begins to massage my clit. I clench my eyes shut, trying to will my body still, trying hard to keep my responses to myself. I don’t want him to know how he affects me – I don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how weak I am when it comes to him. I can feel myself grow wet with every circle of his finger, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.
I am so close to an orgasm, strange how quickly he can bring me to this point. I try to think about other things – anything – to distract myself from what he’s doing, but my hips seem to have a mind of their own. I can feel myself rotating against his fingers, rubbing in a way that causes a delightful friction.
Slowly he inserts a finger into me. God, this is so erotically decadent, and I bite my lips against the groan building inside my throat as my body throbs in pleasure. I can hear him breathing in synch with me as his fingers slide in and out of me.
“No response?” he asks lightly. He increases the pressure on my clit, flicking in it time with his words. “Come, come, Granger, surely you haven’t been struck speechless. There was a time when your mouth would never cease – such an annoying habit you had of continuously talking, even when you knew bloody well that you shouldn’t.”
I try to stifle my small laugh as I picture all the ways my never ceasing mouth could actually please him now. He abruptly releases my wrists, pulling his fingers from me. I try to push myself up off the counter in protest, but he pushes me back down. I can feel the scratchy, wet material of his trousers against my flesh as he presses into me, and I feel the outline of his erect cock as he grinds into me. I press down into the counter, pushing my arse against him, spreading my legs farther apart so I can feel more of him, yet he pulls away from me.
Behind me, I can hear him unbuttoning his trousers, and I shudder in anticipation. His fingers lightly caress my arse, and he presses against me. I can feel the tip of is cock rub against my cleft; he is so hot, it feels like his skin is burning mine. His fingers grip my hips hard as he slowly enters me. It feels agonizingly slow as his cock slides in, inch by inch, until I feel his stomach pressing against my arse. Once he’s all the way in, he holds himself there, as if he’s savoring the feeling of being deep inside of me.
I let out a low moan as he starts to retract. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as he pulls me back against him, hard and rough, burying himself deeply into me. Again, he holds himself still, and I wonder if this is his idea of punishment – this slow fucking that drives me insane with need.
I feel his hair tickle against the nape of my neck just before his lips kiss me. His cock slowly slides out again, and his teeth sink into my flesh, making me hiss in pain as he thrusts into me again. He slowly licks the spot as he pulls out of me.
His hands run down my body as he starts to fuck me with brutal strokes, each one of his thrusts pushing me painfully into the edge of the cold counter. I try to push back, so I don’t hit the edge at such an awkward angle, but the counter is slick with condensation, and the most I can do is hike my hips up against his. He grips my arse with a firmness that I'm sure will leave bruises tomorrow as our bodies move together.
I try not to gasp out in dismay as he starts to flick a finger against my anus. That, however, is nothing compared to the feeling of his finger slowly inserting itself into me. I automatically still at the feel of this invasion. I may be sexually expressive, but I’m not that sexually expressive. Noticing my unresponsiveness, he pulls his finger from my anus.
Then, he reaches for my right leg, pulling it up so that I have to twist my body. The strange thought of how flexible the human body can be comes to me as he forces my body to turn over, so that I am perched awkwardly on my back. I grip the edge of the counter as he thrusts into me again, with a low moan.
His hands skim up my sides until he can cup my breasts. He gently kneads them, pulling at my nipples as he watches my face. I arch my back and try to wrap my legs around him, but this is an odd angle, so they hang, limply at his sides.
Reaching behind me, he grabs one of my lotion bottles, perched precariously on a shelf near the mute mirror. I gasp at the coldness of the liquid as he squirts a bit on my chest. His fingers feel heavenly though, moving on my flesh as he rubs the lotion in.
We move in slow tandem, each of his thrusts mild as his hands work the lotion into my body. He moans as I pull harshly on his shirt, wanting to feel his flesh under my fingers. The buttons give, clattering to the floor with a soft ping, as I yank the material across his chest.
“Destroy my property, will you?” he growls in a husky whisper, tweaking my right nipple. “That shall go on my list as well, Granger.”
“Oh, please, as if,” I pant, “you didn’t like it, Severus.” I reach around his neck and pull him down towards me, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. His slick hands slide down my back, pulling me up to his chest. I’m perched oddly on the edge of the counter, balanced between it and him, seemingly anchored only by his body pressed against mine.
He rocks into me with slow, deliberate strokes. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his hips, trying to urge on his pace, but he moves with the slow ease of one used to this sort of torture. Each time he presses into me, I clench myself around him, loving the feel of him inside me. Every thrust, his breathing becomes heavier, though his pace holds maddeningly steady.
Leaning back against the cold counter, I rake my nails down his chest. He hisses in pleasure, bucking his hips against mine forcefully. I give him a small, satisfied smile as I arch up, ready for another hard thrust.
“You think you’ve won,” he whispers in a dangerous tone, cupping my face gently.
“Haven’t I?” I ask, nuzzling his palm.
He says nothing as he runs the hand that cupped my face down my neckline. It trails down my chest, over my stomach and across my hip. Slowly he strokes down the length of my right leg, his other hand follows suite with my left leg. Holding on to my ankles, he pulls my lower body roughly forward, so my arse hangs half way off the counter.
I instinctively try to pull my legs from his grasp; fully aware of how precariously I’m sitting. He chuckles deeply at my reaction, raising my legs up until they are almost on his shoulders. I grip the edge of the counter as tightly as possible as he begins to move in and out of me with hard, deliberate strokes.
His hands clutch at my arse, every thrust pushing me back on to the counter. I bite my lip, trying to stop the scream building in the back of my throat as each plunge brings me closer to orgasm. He watches my face with an impassive look, quickening his pace as my body starts to shudder in response. I cry out as the orgasm takes over.
As my body trembles, my muscles clenching all around him, he pulls out of me, and presses his cock against my arse. I have barely any time to react as he coats his cock with the lotion and then gently pushes into me.
“Severus!” I yelp, hardly daring to believe he is doing this to me. My body automatically tightens against his invasion. Shocked beyond all belief, I try to wiggle away, but he holds me firm.
“You really should relax, Granger,” he grunts, pushing his cock into my arse, I can feel the head of his cock stretching me.
Relax? I want to scream, but all I can manage is a weak, “Don’t.” It feels so odd, and the more he pushes in, the more I want to squirm away.
“Severus… please,” I gasp out as he starts to stroke my clit, all the while pressing his cock deeper into me. “You just can’t do this.”
“Ah, I knew the little chattering swot was still in there, somewhere.” His fingers tease around my clit as he nudges his cock further into me. “You really aren’t in any position to tell me what I can or cannot do, Granger. Besides, I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” I pant. “But… it...” My body feels stretched to the limits, and tears start to gather in my eyes.
“But nothing,” he says, flexing his hips. “If you would relax your muscles you might find it enjoyable.”
“Enjoyable?” I squeak out as he pushes that final bit he needs to nestle his cock fully within my arse. The feel of his cock all the way inside of me, stretching my arse so far I fear that he’ll tear me if he moves, is an intense feeling. He holds himself still above me, restraining his movements as my body adjusts to his presence.
My stomach churns, as I fight back the shock of having a cock all the way up my arse. I squeeze my eyes shut, and one of the tears escapes, running down my cheek. He bends his head down and kisses it from me. Despite my shock and shame, the feeling is intense.
Stroking my clit gently, he starts to slowly pump his cock in and out of my arse. While not as painful as when he first pushed into me, I certainly can’t claim it’s enjoyable. Every time he thrusts into me, I try to relax my muscles as much as possible.
“That’s it, Granger,” he groans, thrusting harder. I bite my bottom lip as he grinds his cock into me. Suddenly, he tenses up, and with a groan, I feel him come in my arse. He collapses on top of me, panting, his cock still deep inside my bowels. My stomach is still churning painfully.
“Severus, move,” I say in a panicked voice, pushing him from me as my stomach rolls uncomfortably. He pulls himself from my arse and I scramble off the counter, to the toilet across the room. I barely make it before a wave of nauseas hits me, and I purge the non-existent contents of my stomach in to the toilet bowl.
As I kneel on the cold tile floor, my head resting on the seat of the toilet, too weak to get up, I hear the faucet behind me turn on. I can barely believe the kindness of his gesture as he takes a damp cloth and washes my face before handing me a glass of water to rinse out my mouth.
“I hadn’t realized my touch was so noxious to you, Granger,” he says with a sneer, moving away from me.
“It’s not you,” I say weakly as another wave of nausea hits.
“Indeed.” That word is filled with disdainful disbelief.
“It’s not,” I firmly reassert. “My stomach has been off for the last week or so.”
“What is Madam Pomfrey’s prognosis?”
“I haven’t seen her,” I whisper softly, resting my chin on the seat of the toilet.
“Haven’t seen her?” he asks in an incredulous voice. “Why the bloody hell not?”
“No time to.”
“Ridiculous,” he says, grabbing the towels from the floor and thrusting them at me. “Cover yourself, Granger, unless you want to explain to Pomfrey your lack of…” his eyes travel down my naked body, “modesty.” With that, he vanishes, much in the same manner he arrived – which means, I have no bloody clue how he got in or out of my lavatory.
The coolness of the room brushes against my skin, causing my flesh to break out in goose bumps. It’s never warm in this part of the castle, no matter how many fireplaces are lit. I rub my hands up and down my arms as I wait for the steam to warm the room.
Just before I step into the streaming water, I reach over and slightly turn the cold-water faucet. I may adore hot showers, but I have no desire to boil myself to death.
I can feel the knot at the back of my neck start to loosen as I step into the now comfortable hot stream of water. I drop my head forward, resting my forehead against the cool stones as I let the water pulse against my back. I arch, stretching the muscles, feeling the tense line ache in protest.
I never truly appreciated Madam Pince whilst I attended Hogwarts, and now that I have her position, I can understand why she always wore that harried pinched look. The demands of the students and the staff go far beyond the traditional librarian role; playing research assistant to a few of the professors, is just one facet of that role. I have no doubt the poor woman was stretched out far too thin in many places with no real appreciation for what she accomplished; I know it’s how I feel some nights.
I slowly stand straight, letting the spray of water wash down on me, soaking my hair, and streaming into my face. Like a blind-man, I reach to the right, feeling along the edge of the stone to where I placed my shampoo. The Wizarding world may have created some interesting beauty potions, but there’s still nothing quite like the bubbling lather of the scented shampoo I’ve used since I was little.
My mind wanders as I push the foamy lather through the tangles of uncooperative hair. I’ve successfully avoided him all day today. Who is he to demand my presence, as if I’m some disobedient child in need of punishment? The residue drips down my face, sliding along my neck in a way that reminds me of his hand, inching across my flesh.
I try to shake that thought from me by pushing my head under the hot spray of water. I have to control myself; things have gotten far too out of hand. I shiver a bit, wishing that this room where warmer as I step into the spray of water, eyes closed. My heart skips a beat as a hand clamps over my mouth.
“Don’t scream,” his voice growls against my ear. My heart is pounding, and my breath catches tightly in my throat as I mentally go through all the different ways this could’ve happened. Obviously, my avoiding him all day hasn’t worked out quite the way I expected.
He pulls my head to the side, and I watch his other hand slide from my waist to my left breast. I can feel him breathing on my neck as he uses those long, lovely fingers to manipulate my nipple into a taut peek. I close my eyes against the sensation, thinking this simply can’t be happening. I struggle, trying to free myself, his hand at my mouth making it difficult to breathe, but he only pulls me to him tighter. I can feel the rough material of his trousers against my bare arse, and I flex my hips back, trying to dislodge him. He lets out a deep, rumbling moan in response to my actions.
With another twist of my nipple, he walks us forward, out of the shower, and I wonder what he has planned. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. I obviously miscalculated today. The tile floor is cold under my bare feet as we moved forward towards the counter. With a sweep of his hand, he pushes my towel and toiletries from it.
“I did warn you, Granger,” he says softly, pulling his hand from my mouth. He runs it down my arm, as I try to fill my lungs with the cool air, capturing my wrist with a strong hand. He reaches out to grab the other wrist, pushing me face down against the cold marble of the counter top. My nipples tighten as they encounter the ice-cold surface. I feel him pull my arms tight as he clasps both wrists in a tight one-handed grip, the edge of the counter biting into the flesh of my stomach.
We stand there, my arms behind my back, my body pressed against the cold marble, for what seems like an eternity. “I wonder,” he says finally, running a hand across the curve of my arse, “what did you think to gain from your little display of defiance?”
I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, so I don’t answer.
“Well?” He asks, squeezing my flesh hard, causing me to gasp. “Nothing to say?” Panting slightly, my wet hair obscuring my face, I shake my head no.
“Strange, I don’t remember you being this reticent as a student.” His fingers trail over my flesh lightly, almost lovingly as he talks to me, and I have to bite back a moan of pleasure. “Or perhaps it’s because you’ve never had to pay for your outright disobedience before?”
“Is that it?” he asks, spreading my legs apart with a deft movement. I moan and shift, trying to close my legs; but his leg, wedged between my legs, prevents me from doing so. He slowly runs a finger down the cleft of my arse to the front of my labia, sliding it in to tap against my clit.
In a light, circular motion, he begins to massage my clit. I clench my eyes shut, trying to will my body still, trying hard to keep my responses to myself. I don’t want him to know how he affects me – I don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how weak I am when it comes to him. I can feel myself grow wet with every circle of his finger, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.
I am so close to an orgasm, strange how quickly he can bring me to this point. I try to think about other things – anything – to distract myself from what he’s doing, but my hips seem to have a mind of their own. I can feel myself rotating against his fingers, rubbing in a way that causes a delightful friction.
Slowly he inserts a finger into me. God, this is so erotically decadent, and I bite my lips against the groan building inside my throat as my body throbs in pleasure. I can hear him breathing in synch with me as his fingers slide in and out of me.
“No response?” he asks lightly. He increases the pressure on my clit, flicking in it time with his words. “Come, come, Granger, surely you haven’t been struck speechless. There was a time when your mouth would never cease – such an annoying habit you had of continuously talking, even when you knew bloody well that you shouldn’t.”
I try to stifle my small laugh as I picture all the ways my never ceasing mouth could actually please him now. He abruptly releases my wrists, pulling his fingers from me. I try to push myself up off the counter in protest, but he pushes me back down. I can feel the scratchy, wet material of his trousers against my flesh as he presses into me, and I feel the outline of his erect cock as he grinds into me. I press down into the counter, pushing my arse against him, spreading my legs farther apart so I can feel more of him, yet he pulls away from me.
Behind me, I can hear him unbuttoning his trousers, and I shudder in anticipation. His fingers lightly caress my arse, and he presses against me. I can feel the tip of is cock rub against my cleft; he is so hot, it feels like his skin is burning mine. His fingers grip my hips hard as he slowly enters me. It feels agonizingly slow as his cock slides in, inch by inch, until I feel his stomach pressing against my arse. Once he’s all the way in, he holds himself there, as if he’s savoring the feeling of being deep inside of me.
I let out a low moan as he starts to retract. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as he pulls me back against him, hard and rough, burying himself deeply into me. Again, he holds himself still, and I wonder if this is his idea of punishment – this slow fucking that drives me insane with need.
I feel his hair tickle against the nape of my neck just before his lips kiss me. His cock slowly slides out again, and his teeth sink into my flesh, making me hiss in pain as he thrusts into me again. He slowly licks the spot as he pulls out of me.
His hands run down my body as he starts to fuck me with brutal strokes, each one of his thrusts pushing me painfully into the edge of the cold counter. I try to push back, so I don’t hit the edge at such an awkward angle, but the counter is slick with condensation, and the most I can do is hike my hips up against his. He grips my arse with a firmness that I'm sure will leave bruises tomorrow as our bodies move together.
I try not to gasp out in dismay as he starts to flick a finger against my anus. That, however, is nothing compared to the feeling of his finger slowly inserting itself into me. I automatically still at the feel of this invasion. I may be sexually expressive, but I’m not that sexually expressive. Noticing my unresponsiveness, he pulls his finger from my anus.
Then, he reaches for my right leg, pulling it up so that I have to twist my body. The strange thought of how flexible the human body can be comes to me as he forces my body to turn over, so that I am perched awkwardly on my back. I grip the edge of the counter as he thrusts into me again, with a low moan.
His hands skim up my sides until he can cup my breasts. He gently kneads them, pulling at my nipples as he watches my face. I arch my back and try to wrap my legs around him, but this is an odd angle, so they hang, limply at his sides.
Reaching behind me, he grabs one of my lotion bottles, perched precariously on a shelf near the mute mirror. I gasp at the coldness of the liquid as he squirts a bit on my chest. His fingers feel heavenly though, moving on my flesh as he rubs the lotion in.
We move in slow tandem, each of his thrusts mild as his hands work the lotion into my body. He moans as I pull harshly on his shirt, wanting to feel his flesh under my fingers. The buttons give, clattering to the floor with a soft ping, as I yank the material across his chest.
“Destroy my property, will you?” he growls in a husky whisper, tweaking my right nipple. “That shall go on my list as well, Granger.”
“Oh, please, as if,” I pant, “you didn’t like it, Severus.” I reach around his neck and pull him down towards me, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. His slick hands slide down my back, pulling me up to his chest. I’m perched oddly on the edge of the counter, balanced between it and him, seemingly anchored only by his body pressed against mine.
He rocks into me with slow, deliberate strokes. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his hips, trying to urge on his pace, but he moves with the slow ease of one used to this sort of torture. Each time he presses into me, I clench myself around him, loving the feel of him inside me. Every thrust, his breathing becomes heavier, though his pace holds maddeningly steady.
Leaning back against the cold counter, I rake my nails down his chest. He hisses in pleasure, bucking his hips against mine forcefully. I give him a small, satisfied smile as I arch up, ready for another hard thrust.
“You think you’ve won,” he whispers in a dangerous tone, cupping my face gently.
“Haven’t I?” I ask, nuzzling his palm.
He says nothing as he runs the hand that cupped my face down my neckline. It trails down my chest, over my stomach and across my hip. Slowly he strokes down the length of my right leg, his other hand follows suite with my left leg. Holding on to my ankles, he pulls my lower body roughly forward, so my arse hangs half way off the counter.
I instinctively try to pull my legs from his grasp; fully aware of how precariously I’m sitting. He chuckles deeply at my reaction, raising my legs up until they are almost on his shoulders. I grip the edge of the counter as tightly as possible as he begins to move in and out of me with hard, deliberate strokes.
His hands clutch at my arse, every thrust pushing me back on to the counter. I bite my lip, trying to stop the scream building in the back of my throat as each plunge brings me closer to orgasm. He watches my face with an impassive look, quickening his pace as my body starts to shudder in response. I cry out as the orgasm takes over.
As my body trembles, my muscles clenching all around him, he pulls out of me, and presses his cock against my arse. I have barely any time to react as he coats his cock with the lotion and then gently pushes into me.
“Severus!” I yelp, hardly daring to believe he is doing this to me. My body automatically tightens against his invasion. Shocked beyond all belief, I try to wiggle away, but he holds me firm.
“You really should relax, Granger,” he grunts, pushing his cock into my arse, I can feel the head of his cock stretching me.
Relax? I want to scream, but all I can manage is a weak, “Don’t.” It feels so odd, and the more he pushes in, the more I want to squirm away.
“Severus… please,” I gasp out as he starts to stroke my clit, all the while pressing his cock deeper into me. “You just can’t do this.”
“Ah, I knew the little chattering swot was still in there, somewhere.” His fingers tease around my clit as he nudges his cock further into me. “You really aren’t in any position to tell me what I can or cannot do, Granger. Besides, I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” I pant. “But… it...” My body feels stretched to the limits, and tears start to gather in my eyes.
“But nothing,” he says, flexing his hips. “If you would relax your muscles you might find it enjoyable.”
“Enjoyable?” I squeak out as he pushes that final bit he needs to nestle his cock fully within my arse. The feel of his cock all the way inside of me, stretching my arse so far I fear that he’ll tear me if he moves, is an intense feeling. He holds himself still above me, restraining his movements as my body adjusts to his presence.
My stomach churns, as I fight back the shock of having a cock all the way up my arse. I squeeze my eyes shut, and one of the tears escapes, running down my cheek. He bends his head down and kisses it from me. Despite my shock and shame, the feeling is intense.
Stroking my clit gently, he starts to slowly pump his cock in and out of my arse. While not as painful as when he first pushed into me, I certainly can’t claim it’s enjoyable. Every time he thrusts into me, I try to relax my muscles as much as possible.
“That’s it, Granger,” he groans, thrusting harder. I bite my bottom lip as he grinds his cock into me. Suddenly, he tenses up, and with a groan, I feel him come in my arse. He collapses on top of me, panting, his cock still deep inside my bowels. My stomach is still churning painfully.
“Severus, move,” I say in a panicked voice, pushing him from me as my stomach rolls uncomfortably. He pulls himself from my arse and I scramble off the counter, to the toilet across the room. I barely make it before a wave of nauseas hits me, and I purge the non-existent contents of my stomach in to the toilet bowl.
As I kneel on the cold tile floor, my head resting on the seat of the toilet, too weak to get up, I hear the faucet behind me turn on. I can barely believe the kindness of his gesture as he takes a damp cloth and washes my face before handing me a glass of water to rinse out my mouth.
“I hadn’t realized my touch was so noxious to you, Granger,” he says with a sneer, moving away from me.
“It’s not you,” I say weakly as another wave of nausea hits.
“Indeed.” That word is filled with disdainful disbelief.
“It’s not,” I firmly reassert. “My stomach has been off for the last week or so.”
“What is Madam Pomfrey’s prognosis?”
“I haven’t seen her,” I whisper softly, resting my chin on the seat of the toilet.
“Haven’t seen her?” he asks in an incredulous voice. “Why the bloody hell not?”
“No time to.”
“Ridiculous,” he says, grabbing the towels from the floor and thrusting them at me. “Cover yourself, Granger, unless you want to explain to Pomfrey your lack of…” his eyes travel down my naked body, “modesty.” With that, he vanishes, much in the same manner he arrived – which means, I have no bloody clue how he got in or out of my lavatory.
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