The Sexual Initiation of Severus Snape

Disclaimer: The following applies to this and all of the following chapters of this story: I do not own the characters, situations, locations or any other aspects of these stories and do not make any money from them.




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The Sexual Initiation of Severus Snape

Per my invaluable editor\'s suggestion, I must preface this by saying
that despite the posting date, this is not meant to be an April Fool\'s
Day joke.   Thanks and praise to said editor, lablanche, for her
support and
suggestions.



Chapter One:  A Pale Youth Appears at the Door



It\'s funny, even after all this time that I can remember so many of the
details.  Not the exact year, though, isn\'t that strange?
Only that it was nineteen-seventy-something and that it was a hot and
muggy Thursday in late July.  

I was in a deep sleep, having a rather nice dream, actually, until the
loud ringing of the telephone finally woke me up.  I reached over,
bleary-eyed to lift the receiver and had barely time to murmur a
\"Yes?\" before the crisply efficient voice of Nurse Thompson from Dr.
Wilbur\'s
office began to rattle off her message.

\"This is to inform you that we have received back the results of your
tests for sexually transmitted diseases.\"  She carefully
enunciated the last three words, no doubt so that anyone waiting in the
office would be sure to overhear.  \"The blood and culture tests
for syphilis and gonorrhea were negative.\"

There was a slight pause, and I shifted slightly onto my left elbow,
before hearing her add, \"Again.\"

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.  Nurse Thompson, besides
being superciliously competent, was a completely humourless old cow.
 Her steel-grey hair was held back in a severe bun underneath her
crisply-starched white hat, and she always had a look of pinched
censure
about her lips that became even more pronounced whenever I was in the
office.  Anyone other than the supremely good-natured Dr. Wilbur
would have sacked her years ago, but he apparently had taken pity on
the
poor bitch and blithely ignored her sour nature and disapproving
manner.
 

\"Well, thank you,\" I said, as sweetly as I could muster, knowing it
would infuriate the old bag even further.

\"I suppose,\" she said, \"We\'ll be seeing you next month as usual?\"

For a brief moment, I debated asking her whether senility was setting
in, as I had already made that appointment before leaving the office
the last time.  Instead, I answered, \"Yes, I look forward to
seeing you again in about three weeks time, Nurse Thompson.\"

There was an audible sniff, and then the abrupt slamming down of the
phone on her end.  I chuckled slightly as I replaced my receiver
back in its cradle.  Obviously, she disapproved of the fact that
I was a prostitute.  But I had often been tempted to ask her if
it wasn\'t at least a sign of character my part that I was at least a
whore
who cared whether or not I had the clap and was spreading it around the
neighborhood.

And, in case you\'re wondering, back in those days that was about all we
had to worry about.  Oh, there was some muttering about herpes and
Chlamydia, but nothing anyone spent too much time worrying about.
 And the nightmare of AIDS was still off in the distant future.
 So, you got yourself tested periodically tested for the two
biggies
and, if you did turn up positive, you took your medicine and waited to
get better.

I turned over, briefly thinking about going back to sleep, but by then
I was too awake and the room too sunny to consider it. With a sigh, I
threw back the covers and trudged into the bathroom.  While taking
a nice, long shower I decided that to celebrate the good medical news
by doing something special-like take the day off.  Once upon a
time, that would have meant indulging in a manicure, facial, shampoo
and set, and possibly even a massage.  But when your livelihood
depends on (mostly)
strangers groping you, the thought of surrendering your body to the
ministrations of others isn\'t nearly as tempting as it once was.
 Instead, a quiet day milling about town sounded much more
attractive.

I turned the telly on briefly to confirm that there was another
unusually hot day forecast, and dressed casually in shorts, T-shirt and
sandals, but decided at the last moment to be studiously decorous and
wear a bra for the day.  I almost regretted that as I stepped out
into the full blaze of the midday sun, but decided it would guarantee
that,
in the unlikely event I ran into one of my clients, my relatively
modest
dress and sunglasses would prevent any of them from recognizing me.
 In
the end, I spent most of the day in one of the nearby parks, enjoying
the
spray of water from the fountains as the small kids played in the
nearby
wading ponds, and idly paging through a book I had remembered to toss
into
my purse at the last moment.  Treating myself to a light lunch at
one
of the nearby restaurants, I ended the day by strolling through a large
assortment
of tourist-friendly shops, gazing at a strange collection of horribly
kitsch and hideously expensive trinkets.  

My last stop was the grocers.  Figuring that I had just been given
a clean bill of health, I decided to tempt fate and indulge in
some red meat.  Selecting the largest of several gigantic
sirloins,
I assuaged my conscience by buying the makings for an elaborate but
healthy
salad as well.  Then, deciding I was being far too wholesome, I
stopped
at the liquor store next door and purchased a bottle of Sangria.

I rather regretted that last purchase during the long bus ride home,
for I ended up having to stand up all the way, clutching at my packages
while being jostled most rudely by my fellow passengers.  But as I
stepped into the refreshing coolness of my flat, I congratulated myself
upon making a wise choice.  A nice leisurely meal with a glass or
two of wine was just what I needed. Afterward, all I planned on doing
was listening to some music or possibly turning on the telly for an
hour or two and then heading to bed to catch up on my sleep.

Placing my bags upon the kitchen counter, I turned my attention
to the mail that I had retrieved from the box on my way in. Mostly
advertisements, but there was an electrical bill as well.
 Unfolding the sheet, I blinked in surprise and let a low, shocked
whistle escape from my lips before throwing the paper down in disgust.
 It had been an unusually warm summer in London, and with air
conditioning being almost unheard of in
those days most people were simply suffering patiently, wiping off the
sweat
and praying for cooler days to arrive.  But in my line of work,
there
was plenty of hot, perspiring flesh pressed against mine to begin with,
so I refused to labor in a sweltering flat.  At the first sign of
hot
weather, I had dashed out to the store and bought a dozen fans, placing
several
of them in each room and running them continuously.  It was the
reason
that even now, with the sidewalks and buildings still radiating heat
they
had absorbed during the hottest part of the day, my flat was
comparatively cool and comfortable.  But, damn, I hadn\'t expected
it to be this expensive.

Shrugging my shoulders, I took down a glass from the cupboard and
opened up the wine.  Taking a sip, I decided I had made an
excellent choice, but it had warmed far too much on the journey home.
 Opening up the freezer, I added a few ice cubes to the wineglass
and placed the bottle back into the refrigerator to chill.  Tying
an apron around
myself, I was just setting out the knife and cutting board when the
door
buzzer sounded.

Two buzzes.  The usual code that I had a prospective client at the
door.

I slammed the knife down and debated with myself for a moment.  I
could just ignore it, of course, and there was a good chance there
wouldn\'t be any other customers bothering me for the night.
 Thursday nights were notoriously slow-most of neighborhood
workers were paid on Fridays, and by this time their paychecks were
usually long spent.  I would make up for it by being overworked
tomorrow and Saturday.  But, on the other hand-

I glanced back down at the electric bill.  I could at least answer
the buzzer, I supposed.  Considering my unexpected expenses, it
was hardly the time to insult one of my \'regulars\'.  If, on the
other hand, it happened to be a newcomer, I just might be able to con a
few extra pounds out of him.

Striding over to the panel, I depressed the intercom button and
called out, \"Yes?\"

There was a long pause, and for a moment I was convinced that whoever
it was had already left.  And then I heard a deep, low voice that
was unfamiliar to me.

\"You were recommended to me by a mutual friend.\"

Not a completely new salutation, but it was delivered in a stilted,
formal way that was oddly funny.

\"And just who was this mutual friend?\" I asked.

Again there was a long silence.

\"Is that not something-\"

I remember raising my hand to my mouth to stifle back a chuckle.
 Despite the studied formality and the attempt to keep his voice
low and even, there had been a faint crack in that baritone.  He
had
abruptly stopped speaking and I heard him clearing his throat before
beginning
again.

\"Is that not something we can discuss in person?\".  

Great.  A teenager.  A gawky, embarrassed but randy teenager.
 And a virgin to boot, no doubt.

On the other hand, it would be an easy, quick trick.

\"All right,\" I said, after a moment.  \"You can come upstairs, and
we can discuss this \'mutual friend\'.  You know which flat is mine?\"

\"Yes,\" he answered, quickly.

Releasing the intercom button, I moved my finger over and held down the
latch release for the door.  Turning back to the kitchen, I
quickly tossed the bill into the silverware drawer and then whisked the
food into the refrigerator.  But I hadn\'t had time to remove my
apron
before there were two soft raps upon the front door.

I peered out through the peephole and studied him for a moment.
 He in turn was glancing nervously about him, as if he were
terrified
that he might be spotted hanging about the door of woman of ill repute.
 He was tall and thin, dressed all in black, and with a mane of
long,
dark, greasy hair framing his gaunt, pale face.  His most
prominent
feature by far was his large nose, which not only overwhelmed the rest
of his face but seemed far too heavy a burden to be carried by that
skinny
frame.  

Well, at least judging by the lack of multi-colored hair and body
piercings, he wasn\'t one of the \'Punks\' from the neighborhood.
 Leaving the chain in place, I cautiously opened the door and
peered through the crack.

\"So who\'s your friend?\" I asked.

He wet his lips nervously and leaned down before whispering.
 \"Evan Rosier.\"

I stared up at him suspiciously for a moment.  I knew an Ethan
Rosier. He had been an occasional client for the past few years, always
managing to find me whenever I moved despite the fact that he seemed a
little befuddled and out-of-place whenever he visited.  And the
last time he had called upon me, he had seemed quite upset that I had
noticed a strange new tattoo upon his arm.

But the time before that-

I smiled as comprehension suddenly dawned.  The time before that,
he had shown up and paid me double, telling me he was paying in advance
and to expect a visit from a young man within a day or two.  Of
course, it wasn\'t the first time that a thoughtful father had provided
for
the deflowering of his son.  Sure enough, a few days later a
younger,
skinnier version of Rosier manhood had shown up at my doorstep.
 Although
he hadn\'t made enough of an impression to make me remember his name, it
looked as though he had gone back to school and enthusiastically
endorsed
my services to his mates.  And one of them had finally had the
balls
to pay a visit to me.

\"Oh, yeah, Evan,\" I said with a smile.  Releasing the chain, I
pulled the door open.  \"Come on in.\"

He nodded and hurried inside.  I closed the door behind him and
slid the dead bolt in place as well as replacing the chain. Leaning
against the door, I folded my arms over my chest and studied him for a
moment.  Although he was quite tall, I doubted that he was more
than
sixteen or seventeen years old.  He, in turn, was staring intently
into the kitchen with a look of rapt curiousity.  Oh, well.
 He was hardly the first pimply-faced kid who seemed shocked to
see that there was something other than a gigantic bed in my flat.

No, that was unkind, I thought.  He really wasn\'t pimply, although
there was a definite sheen of oil upon his pallid cheeks and forehead.
 Or perhaps he was merely sweating.  Despite the heat of the
day, he was wearing black jeans and a leather jacket.  Apparently
feeling my gaze upon his face, he abruptly turned back to face me, and
I was immediately struck by how dark his eyes were.  They were
more
than a deep shade of brown, they were an intense, brilliant black.
 And
between his equally dark brows was a distinct frown line.

\"What?\" he asked, looking suspicious and just a tad fearful.

\"Nothing,\" I said, shaking my head.  \"So, what\'s your name?\"

He blinked and swallowed before replying.  \"Potter.  James
Potter.\"

Obviously a lie, I thought, hiding my smile by tilting my head down to
study the floor for a moment.  \"Well, James,\" I said, raising
my eyes back to his face.  \"The bedroom\'s down the hall, last door
on the left.\"  I raised my right hand and pointed helpfully in the
proper direction.

He blinked again.

\"You go on ahead, I\'ll be there in just a moment,\" I added.

He took a deep breath and nodded again.  He turned and began to
hastily make his way down the hallway, his hands jammed into the
pockets of his jacket and his gaze directed toward the floor.  But
halfway
down the corridor he suddenly stopped and straightened his hunched
shoulders.
 With a studied air of indifference, he strode regally down the
rest
of the corridor and disappeared into the room.

Well, he had a little more style than most, I thought.

Still, I suppressed a sigh as I reached up to untie the apron strings
at my neck and waist.  I doubted this was going to take much time.
 Teenage boys go around with their cocks stiff two-thirds of the
time anyway.  With fifteen minutes, or half-an-hour at most, he\'d
be on his way, gratefully relieved of his virginity.  And I could
return
to my dinner with my pockets lined with a little extra cash.

I tossed the apron to the side and picked up the wineglass, taking
another sip.  For a brief moment, I debated taking down another
glass.  No, I decided, I was corrupting an innocent youth enough
tonight without adding alcohol to the mix.  But that didn\'t mean I
couldn\'t have some more myself.

I added a few more cubes to the glass. Then, with a mischievous
smile upon my face, I took a few steps out of the kitchen and glanced
down the hallway.  There was neither sight nor sound of my nervous
little soon-to-be man.

Returning to the kitchen, I quickly worked my T-shirt over my head and
tossed it onto the counter, followed shortly afterward by my bra.
 Reaching into the glass, I picked up one of the ice cubes and
rubbed it over my nipples.  After a few moments, I tossed it back
into the glass and retrieved my T-shirt.  I tucked the ends of the
shirt into my shorts, noting that the stiff, pink mounds were now
clearly visible, straining against the soft fabric.  I paused only
to refill the glass with more wine and then set off down the hallway.

I peeked in through the doorway and saw that he was standing halfway
between the bed and the doorway, his arms stiffly at his sides as if
afraid to touch anything.  He was staring at the tall,
pole-mounted fan, his body moving slightly from side to side in rhythm
with the fan\'s head as it rotated back and forth.  I suppose he
was merely trying to keep cool, but for a moment I swore he was afraid
it might attack him if he took his eyes off of it.  I cleared my
throat and he turned to look at me as I entered the room.  By the
way his eyebrows rose I could tell he was immediately aware of the
changes in my clothing.  Brushing past him, I placed the
wineglass upon my bureau as I made my way towards the window.  To
keep
out the sun, the curtains were only open a few inches.  After a
quick
glance at the slowly-receding afternoon sun, I pulled the heavy drapes
closed
and the room darkened considerably.

\"Why don\'t you turn the light on?\" I asked, stopping to shake off
my sandals.

\"What?\"

\"The light switch is over there by the door,\" I told him, picking
up the glass and taking another swallow.

He remained where he was, seemingly rooted to the floor.

Putting the glass down, I walked over to the bed and turned on the lamp
that sat upon the night stand.  \"All right, we\'ll make do with
this,\" I laughed.

For a moment, he head swiveled back to regard the still-rotating fan.

\"I\'m sorry if the fans are a little loud,\" I said.  \"But we\'d be
awfully hot in here without them.\"

He was still staring at it, seemingly mesmerized by its motion.

\"If they really bother you, you can can turn them down a bit,\" I
suggested.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the fan and shrugged, indicating
that I could leave them as they were.

He still showed no signs of moving as I sat down, my legs carefully
parted as I removed the barrette and allowed my hair to tumble down
around my shoulders.  Tossing the barrette onto the night stand, I
yawned and stretched with my arms up over my head, feeling his dark
eyes intently following my every move.

\"So,\" I said, leaning back and supporting myself on my palms.
 \"What do you want?\"

\"What?\"

His vocabulary had suddenly deteriorated to a single word, I thought.

\"Well, luv,\" I said, shaking my head.  \"This is a monetary
transaction, and how much I charge depends on exactly what you want to
do.\"

\"Oh,\" he said, his eyebrows knitting together again as he wiped a
bead of sweat from his upper lip.  Apparently Master Rosier had
neglected to mention anything specifically about money, which was
hardly surprising seeing as Daddy had paid for it.

\"You want a blow job?\" I asked, stretching out my leg so that the
very tip of the red-colored nail of my right big toe grazed lightly
against his denim-covered left knee.  \"That\'s ten pounds.\"
 My gaze traveled down to his ankle, and I noticed for the first
time that his jeans were slightly too short for his long legs.
 That was rather surprising, given
the fact they looked brand new and not even washed yet.  Allowing
my
eyes to travel upward, I saw that the crotch seemed rather tight at the
moment
as well, but that was due to his considerable hard-on.  

Yep, this shouldn\'t take long at all, I thought.  At the same
time, I was rather surprised to see that he continued to stare down at
my foot, neither welcoming or shying away from my touch.

\"But, if you want a full fuck, that\'ll be twenty-five,\" I said,
dropping my foot back to the floor.

\"And if I want both?\" he asked, raising his eyes to my face.

\"Last time I checked ten plus twenty-five equaled thirty-five,\" I
answered.

\"Oh.\"  

Back to monosyllables.  

He studied the floor for a moment and then raised his right forefinger
to his nose and rubbed it slowly.

\"I don\'t have that much in M-\".  He stopped abruptly and began
again.  \"I don\'t have that much money with me,\" he admitted.

That was hardly astounding.  \"How much do you have?\" I asked.

\"Thirty pounds,\" he said, scowling down at the floor.  He had
obviously thought that was a monumental sum.

\"Hmm,\" I said, running my eyes over his hands.  I wasn\'t above
taking other things as well, but he wasn\'t wearing any rings upon his
fingers, and didn\'t even have a watch on.  In fact, I realized, as
I studied his forearm, there wasn\'t even the tan line of one upon his
wrist.
 

\"Okay,\" I said.  \"Just this once I\'ll let you have both for
thirty.\"  I paused and threw him a wicked smile.  \"But don\'t
you go telling your friends, because I don\'t do it for everybody,\" I
teased.

\"All right,\" he said, nodding his head.  A moment later he took a
few steps forward and I saw his hands reaching out towards the front of
my shirt.

\"Hold on a minute,\" I said, moving back slightly.  

He looked down at me, slightly perplexed for a moment, and then he
dropped his hands to his belt.

\"Ah, no,\" I said, fighting back the impulse to laugh.  \"You pay me
first, luv,\" I told him apologetically, holding out my hand.

\"Oh.\"

He worked his right hand into the front pocket and fished out the
money. He handed them over, and I saw that it consisted of three crisp
new ten pound notes, folded neatly in half.

\"Must have just gotten these from the bank,\" I teased, placing them
upon the night stand.

\"Yes,\" he answered, looking rather worried. But a moment later he
was reaching out for me again.

\"One more thing,\" I said, gently pushing him away.

\"What?\" Clearly, he was beginning to feel frustrated, for his voice
broke again, turning what he meant to be a bark into a rather pathetic
yelp.

\"The bathroom\'s through there,\" I said, pointing toward its open door.
 

\"I don\'t need to use the bathroom,\" he said.

\"There\'s a clean washcloth and soap by the sink.\"

He stared down at his long, pale fingers.  \"My hands are clean,\"
he protested.

\"That\'s not the part I\'m asking you to wash,\" I replied.

For a moment he stared down at me wordlessly and then drew himself up
to his full height.  I was once more struck by how tall he was
when he bothered to stand up properly.  \"I am not dirty,\" he said,
huffily.  

I found myself staring at his mop of oily hair and saw him stiffen
again.  Poor kid, at that age it probably did look that bad even
if
he washed it every day.

\"It\'s just common courtesy, James,\" I told him.  

For a moment he started and I found it hard to keep a straight face as
he struggled to hide his surprise at being called by the phony name.
 \"What about you?\" he challenged.

\"I\'ll be getting some things ready out here,\" I answered, quietly.

He stood for a moment, his hands clenching angrily at his side, and I
was pretty sure he was debating whether or not to simply walk out of
the flat altogether.  But in the end he simply turned away
wordlessly
and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

I arose from the bed and went to take another large swallow of wine.
 Setting the glass down, I began to peel off the T-shirt and
tossed it on to the floor.  For a lousy thirty pounds I sure
wasn\'t going to waste anymore time on this kid than I needed to.  

By the time he marched back into the room, my shorts were lying beside
the T-shirt and I was sprawled across the bed wearing only my lacy
knickers.  I could tell that the washing had apparently doused his
enthusiasm a bit, but it took only a glance at the sight of a ready and
willing female to arouse his interest again.  

A moment later his jacket was off as well, although he paused for
a moment and looked around, reluctant to toss it onto the ground.
 Walking over to the bureau, he laid it carefully across the top.
 He removed his black T-shirt as well, folding it neatly before
placing it on top of the jacket.  His chest was dreadfully thin,
almost sunken in appearance, and beneath the dark nipples his ribs were
clearly visible.  But his shoulders were broader than I would have
guessed and there was a hint of wiry strength in his upper arms.

I smiled encouragingly as his awkward fingers fumbled with the stiff
leather of his belt.  Like the rest of his clothes, it looked as
though he had just bought it, and I heard him mumble something under
his breath as he struggled to undo the buckle and to unzip his fly.
 To my amusement, he dropped the trousers to his ankles and then
tried to work them over
his feet before realizing that he still had his shoes on.

He looked around rather helplessly for a moment and then shambled
over to the wall and leaned against it as he kicked his shoes.
 Finally managing to shed the jeans, he bent down and balanced on
each foot in turn to pull off his socks, managing to do a creditable
impression of a flamingo as he did so.  Although his socks were as
black as the rest of his clothes, his underwear was a brilliant,
pristine white.  They looked even better than new, I thought-they
practically looked bleached.

He was back by the bureau now, carefully folding the rest of his
clothes into a neat pile before finally reaching down and divesting
himself of his pants.  For a moment, I had a view of his flat,
pale buttocks as
he paused and placed the underwear on top of the stack of clothes.
 Then he turned and found myself staring at a rapidly-thickening
cock of considerable size, and not just because the rest of him was so
thin in comparison.

Somewhere, I thought, some virginal classmate of his should be thanking
her lucky stars that he was with me tonight rather than trying to ram
that thing through her poor little hymen.

Outwardly, I smiled and moved over slightly, allowing him to slide onto
the bed next to me.  He hesitated for a moment and then reached
out to shyly brush his fingers against my chest.  

\"Hmm,\" I murmured, moving onto my back and spreading my legs wide.
 He needed no other encouragement, moving quickly to lie on top of
me, his mouth planted on top of my lips as he supported himself on his
arms
and lowered himself between my thighs. Although I still had my knickers
on, I wrapped my legs around him and heard him moan as his warm prick
pressed against my stomach and a few drops oozed from the tip.

I threw my arms around him as well, rubbing my upper torso slowly
against his chest.  He groaned with pleasure again, and I slowly
slid my lips along his jawbone, bringing my hand up to brush his hair
away so that I could flick the tip of my tongue against his ear lobe.

He murmured something indecipherable, and then I felt him edge away
just enough so that he could work his hands between our bodies, the
fingers beginning to stroke and rub at my breasts.  He rose up
slightly and stared down at me, apparently fascinated at the sight of
the pink mounds underneath his pale hands.  He began to play with
the nipples, rubbing them softly with his thumbs before curling his
fingertips around them and beginning to squeeze them gently.

\"Oh, yes,\" I breathed, lacing my fingers through his hair and urging
his face downward.  \"Now your mouth.\"

He paused for a moment and then I felt his warm mouth upon the hardened
tips, his tongue beginning to circle around them. Then his lips closed
around them and he began to suck-very gently at first and then more
forcefully and urgently.  I arched my back and began to dig my
fingernails into his shoulders.

I felt a little more wetness upon my belly and then his hands suddenly
moved down and he began to tear almost frantically at my knickers.

\"Oh, not yet, baby, not yet,\" I said.  I moved my hand down and
circled my fingers around his hot, hard member, slowly drawing my thumb
across its moistened tip.

He moaned, half in pleasure and half in pain.  

\"Don\'t you want me to suck you first?\" I whispered, flicking my tongue
against his pale throat.

\"I-no-yes,\" he finally managed to pant.

\"Get on your back, then,\" I said.

With another cry, he moved onto his back and shifted so that I was on
top of him.  Taking my time, I slowly began to move my mouth down
his body, pausing to give his dark, hardened nipples a few licks as
well.  Although his chest was pale and smooth, a long, thin line
of downy hair sprouted beneath his navel, trailing down his abdomen and
suddenly
turning into a thick, dark mass of curls.  

Moving my right hand down to caress the base of his prick, I gently
pulled the foreskin back with my left and began to circle the head with
my tongue.   I smiled as I felt a shudder run through him, a fresh
stream of pre-come spouting out as I continued to tease him.
 Slowly widening my lips, I moved both hands down to his balls,
squeezing and massaging them as I unhurriedly moved to take him into my
mouth.  I began to gently bob my head up and down, holding him
tightly as I began to suck
more firmly, and after just a few moments I felt his hips suddenly jerk
upward.

\"No!\" he cried.

But it was too late.  His warm jism was already spurting out,
coating the back of my throat.