In the Dungeon Damp and Dark
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,695
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,695
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter. I make no money from this sordid tale.
In the Dungeon Damp and Dark
In the Dungeon Damp and Dark
Two professors strode authoritatively, side by side, through the dungeon damp and dark. The tall dark-haired man was a full head and shoulders taller than the smaller woman. Their robes swirled around them as they moved. They did not speak, yet, seemed to share a quiet camaraderie.
The woman halted in front of her door while the man continued on, never breaking stride, or even glancing at her in her departure from his side. She made to pull open the heavy wooden door with its cast iron hinges and handles. Suddenly, she whirled and faced down the corridor towards the receding figure in black.
“Professor Snape?” she called out, her voice ringing off the stone walls lining the damp corridor.
The black-robed figure paused, turning his head over his shoulder, rendering a striking profile with his prominent nose outlined in torchlight.
“Yes,” he barely managed not to snarl.
“May I have a few moments of your time after office hours?” she requested respectfully, her voice smooth and assured.
He turned his head slightly more, casting his scrutiny upon her, assessing her intent. After an uncomfortable suspension of time, he nodded, nearly imperceptibly, and growled his answer, “Yes.”
Turning on his heel, he returned to his journey, disappearing around a corner in a frightful flutter of heavy black wool.
The Beauxbatons professor smiled, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, triumph and the flickering reflection of the candlelight. A very faint flush began to creep up her neck in contempt of the coolness of the air in the dungeon damp and dark.
She pressed her lips together, setting her stern face, and swooped menacingly into her own classroom, her thoughts barely focused on the lesson she was about to teach.
Adeptly, she put her students through their paces, vigorously correcting, chiding or cajoling as necessary. When the last little French girl disappeared out of the doorway, she allowed herself to smile once more while straightening the room with a practiced hand. She glanced at the small brass-encased clock on the right hand corner of her oversized mahogany desk. With a flick, she moved her robes out of her way and sat down in the leather chair, reaching for her business-like quill to begin marking first-years’ scrolls.
She bent over her work, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand and not on her planned assignation with the dour, sour-tempered man with whom she shared her classroom space in the dungeon damp and dark.
Down the hall, and around the corner, the aforementioned dour, sour-tempered man mimicked the woman with eerie similarity. He bent over his marking, his steam-greased hair falling forward, hiding his face, except for the hook of his nose. His mind was completely focused on his marking; he had paid no heed to the visiting professor’s odd request. What type of concern could a trifling woman cause him, after all?
The small brass clock chimed softly, signaling the end of office hours. The woman gently and carefully blotted the ink on the scroll she had been working on, laying down her quill, and capping the inkwell. Smoothing out the other scrolls, she set her desk to rights, glanced around the room, and made her way to the door. With a quick flick of her wand, and a sharply commanded, “Nox,” the flames in all the torches extinguished and she locked the door with her personal signature. She smiled in satisfaction. All had been put to rights in her section of the dungeon damp and dark.
Quickly, but not eagerly, maintaining her normal dignified poise, she turned down the corridor towards the Potions classroom, not towards the stairs that would lead her to the Great Hall and her evening meal but taking the path that would lead her only deeper into the dungeon damp and dark.
She found his office door without incident. No students milled about down in the dungeon damp and dark, not even his own precious Slytherins or the dark-loving Durmstrang boys. Rapping sharply with her knuckles, she announced her presence, the sound echoing throughout the dungeon damp and dark.
“Enter,” Snape called from within.
She pulled the door open and entered, her head held high.
“Professor Snape,” she offered in lieu of a greeting.
“Your business?” he growled, eager to dispense with this minor annoyance of a woman as quickly as possible and get to his meal and the following well-deserved tumbler full of Firewhiskey waiting in his personal quarters.
“I request a favor, sir,” she stated calmly, her eyes locked on his.
“Sit,” he commanded, waving at the hard, straight-backed wooden chair opposite his desk, sighing as he sat back down in his chair. She did not accept his offer, but stepped close enough to rest her hands on his desk. They merely studied each other over the desktop for quite a few minutes before Snape’s curiosity rose to the forefront. He offered, “A potion?”
“No,” she answered softly, shaking her head.
“Indeed?” he asked incredulously.
“Indeed, I would ask a more personal favor,” she only added with a small smile.
“My person is not available for favors, today or ever,” he rebuked her sharply, rising to his feet and pointing towards the door.
“Even if I offer to do all the work?” she continued coyly, casting her eyes up at him, gauging his nearly indiscernible reactions.
“Work?” he asked again as his curiosity could not be curbed.
“Yes, Professor,” she sighed, pausing to lick her lips. “I fear I must be brazen in my request.”
“Brazen?”
“I have an overwhelming desire for …” She broke off her request to ease to his side as she worried the corner of her lip between her small, neatly formed white teeth. Snape backed away from her advance, alarmed by the strange woman’s closeness. “A cock, Professor,” she started boldly. “I want to taste a man, to run my lips over his pulsing vein, to rub my cheek against a blood-filled shaft, to suck on a fluted, swollen head, and tongue a dripping hole.”
Snape forgot to breathe as she whispered her request to him, the chill air of the in the dungeon damp and dark doing nothing to quell the heat rising to his face. He could not stop the shiver that ran down his spine as she proceeded to lay out her terms, apparently encouraged by his normal taciturn nature, taking his silence for encouragement .
“I want to bury my nose in your balls, and inhale, drawing the cool air over your sacs before exhaling all warm air over you again. I want to smell you, to use my tongue to play along the crevice underneath your head I want to feel your length weigh heavy on my tongue, and your head push against the back of my throat.”
“Madam!” he attempted to protest vocally while physically his body rejoiced.
“Would your person be unavailable for such a request?” she solicited in a lust-laden voice.
“Me?” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Yes, Professor Snape, you,” she affirmed. “I want to taste you, bring you pleasure, give you head.“ In desperation, she continued more vulgarly, “A blow job, fellatio, suck you off.”
“Why?” He could not fathom any sane reason for her decidedly crass though intriguingly odd behavior.
“I am a very oral person,” she supplied. “You would be doing me a favor, truly,” vowed the woman. “I find the male anatomy very pleasing.”
She licked her lips once more, then retreated, folding her arms and waiting for him to make the next move. She had laid out her opening gambit, baring her secret desires for him to mock and let die in the exposure to the air in the dungeon damp and dark.
He studied her closely, considering Legilimency as a means of ascertaining her honesty, then quickly discarded that possibility. He remembered overhearing some of the tittering little French girls complaining about her abilities with a wand.
“I will not wait forever, Severus.” She added his name deliberately, drawing out each syllable in a low purr.
He didn’t answer, simply dropped both hands to his silver belt buckle, and slid the tongue of the black leather free. A grin of triumph spread over her face.
“Allow me?” she offered, stepping forward to drop to her knees in front of the not-so-dour-looking Professor, guiding him to sit again.
Victoriously, she buried her face in his crotch and moaned as she rubbed her cheek against his rigid cock -- hard, pulsing and hot while hiding in his dungeon damp and dark.
Two professors strode authoritatively, side by side, through the dungeon damp and dark. The tall dark-haired man was a full head and shoulders taller than the smaller woman. Their robes swirled around them as they moved. They did not speak, yet, seemed to share a quiet camaraderie.
The woman halted in front of her door while the man continued on, never breaking stride, or even glancing at her in her departure from his side. She made to pull open the heavy wooden door with its cast iron hinges and handles. Suddenly, she whirled and faced down the corridor towards the receding figure in black.
“Professor Snape?” she called out, her voice ringing off the stone walls lining the damp corridor.
The black-robed figure paused, turning his head over his shoulder, rendering a striking profile with his prominent nose outlined in torchlight.
“Yes,” he barely managed not to snarl.
“May I have a few moments of your time after office hours?” she requested respectfully, her voice smooth and assured.
He turned his head slightly more, casting his scrutiny upon her, assessing her intent. After an uncomfortable suspension of time, he nodded, nearly imperceptibly, and growled his answer, “Yes.”
Turning on his heel, he returned to his journey, disappearing around a corner in a frightful flutter of heavy black wool.
The Beauxbatons professor smiled, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, triumph and the flickering reflection of the candlelight. A very faint flush began to creep up her neck in contempt of the coolness of the air in the dungeon damp and dark.
She pressed her lips together, setting her stern face, and swooped menacingly into her own classroom, her thoughts barely focused on the lesson she was about to teach.
Adeptly, she put her students through their paces, vigorously correcting, chiding or cajoling as necessary. When the last little French girl disappeared out of the doorway, she allowed herself to smile once more while straightening the room with a practiced hand. She glanced at the small brass-encased clock on the right hand corner of her oversized mahogany desk. With a flick, she moved her robes out of her way and sat down in the leather chair, reaching for her business-like quill to begin marking first-years’ scrolls.
She bent over her work, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand and not on her planned assignation with the dour, sour-tempered man with whom she shared her classroom space in the dungeon damp and dark.
Down the hall, and around the corner, the aforementioned dour, sour-tempered man mimicked the woman with eerie similarity. He bent over his marking, his steam-greased hair falling forward, hiding his face, except for the hook of his nose. His mind was completely focused on his marking; he had paid no heed to the visiting professor’s odd request. What type of concern could a trifling woman cause him, after all?
The small brass clock chimed softly, signaling the end of office hours. The woman gently and carefully blotted the ink on the scroll she had been working on, laying down her quill, and capping the inkwell. Smoothing out the other scrolls, she set her desk to rights, glanced around the room, and made her way to the door. With a quick flick of her wand, and a sharply commanded, “Nox,” the flames in all the torches extinguished and she locked the door with her personal signature. She smiled in satisfaction. All had been put to rights in her section of the dungeon damp and dark.
Quickly, but not eagerly, maintaining her normal dignified poise, she turned down the corridor towards the Potions classroom, not towards the stairs that would lead her to the Great Hall and her evening meal but taking the path that would lead her only deeper into the dungeon damp and dark.
She found his office door without incident. No students milled about down in the dungeon damp and dark, not even his own precious Slytherins or the dark-loving Durmstrang boys. Rapping sharply with her knuckles, she announced her presence, the sound echoing throughout the dungeon damp and dark.
“Enter,” Snape called from within.
She pulled the door open and entered, her head held high.
“Professor Snape,” she offered in lieu of a greeting.
“Your business?” he growled, eager to dispense with this minor annoyance of a woman as quickly as possible and get to his meal and the following well-deserved tumbler full of Firewhiskey waiting in his personal quarters.
“I request a favor, sir,” she stated calmly, her eyes locked on his.
“Sit,” he commanded, waving at the hard, straight-backed wooden chair opposite his desk, sighing as he sat back down in his chair. She did not accept his offer, but stepped close enough to rest her hands on his desk. They merely studied each other over the desktop for quite a few minutes before Snape’s curiosity rose to the forefront. He offered, “A potion?”
“No,” she answered softly, shaking her head.
“Indeed?” he asked incredulously.
“Indeed, I would ask a more personal favor,” she only added with a small smile.
“My person is not available for favors, today or ever,” he rebuked her sharply, rising to his feet and pointing towards the door.
“Even if I offer to do all the work?” she continued coyly, casting her eyes up at him, gauging his nearly indiscernible reactions.
“Work?” he asked again as his curiosity could not be curbed.
“Yes, Professor,” she sighed, pausing to lick her lips. “I fear I must be brazen in my request.”
“Brazen?”
“I have an overwhelming desire for …” She broke off her request to ease to his side as she worried the corner of her lip between her small, neatly formed white teeth. Snape backed away from her advance, alarmed by the strange woman’s closeness. “A cock, Professor,” she started boldly. “I want to taste a man, to run my lips over his pulsing vein, to rub my cheek against a blood-filled shaft, to suck on a fluted, swollen head, and tongue a dripping hole.”
Snape forgot to breathe as she whispered her request to him, the chill air of the in the dungeon damp and dark doing nothing to quell the heat rising to his face. He could not stop the shiver that ran down his spine as she proceeded to lay out her terms, apparently encouraged by his normal taciturn nature, taking his silence for encouragement .
“I want to bury my nose in your balls, and inhale, drawing the cool air over your sacs before exhaling all warm air over you again. I want to smell you, to use my tongue to play along the crevice underneath your head I want to feel your length weigh heavy on my tongue, and your head push against the back of my throat.”
“Madam!” he attempted to protest vocally while physically his body rejoiced.
“Would your person be unavailable for such a request?” she solicited in a lust-laden voice.
“Me?” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Yes, Professor Snape, you,” she affirmed. “I want to taste you, bring you pleasure, give you head.“ In desperation, she continued more vulgarly, “A blow job, fellatio, suck you off.”
“Why?” He could not fathom any sane reason for her decidedly crass though intriguingly odd behavior.
“I am a very oral person,” she supplied. “You would be doing me a favor, truly,” vowed the woman. “I find the male anatomy very pleasing.”
She licked her lips once more, then retreated, folding her arms and waiting for him to make the next move. She had laid out her opening gambit, baring her secret desires for him to mock and let die in the exposure to the air in the dungeon damp and dark.
He studied her closely, considering Legilimency as a means of ascertaining her honesty, then quickly discarded that possibility. He remembered overhearing some of the tittering little French girls complaining about her abilities with a wand.
“I will not wait forever, Severus.” She added his name deliberately, drawing out each syllable in a low purr.
He didn’t answer, simply dropped both hands to his silver belt buckle, and slid the tongue of the black leather free. A grin of triumph spread over her face.
“Allow me?” she offered, stepping forward to drop to her knees in front of the not-so-dour-looking Professor, guiding him to sit again.
Victoriously, she buried her face in his crotch and moaned as she rubbed her cheek against his rigid cock -- hard, pulsing and hot while hiding in his dungeon damp and dark.