Worth A Thousand And One

The background of the photograph was easy to identify. A dark paneled wooden headboard with two iron rings attached in the middle of each panel, complemented by stunningly emerald silken sheets that had been attractively tousled into a sea of dark and light shadows cast by the dim illumination of several candelabras mounted on the wall behind the artist who had rendered such a masterpiece. "Artist? Masterpiece?" "Yes, both." Severus Snape decided after regarding the subject of the photograph for several minutes of completely silent and still contemplation; This rendering was truly remarkable, if not, perhaps, a bit dark. Then again, that was what made the picture so beautiful to Severus. For there can be no true appreciation of Light without the Dark, can there? As for the model of this masterpiece: his pale skin contrasted beautifully with the emerald sheets, his dark hair just as mussed as the bedclothes, large emerald eyes completely opaque as he trembled helplessly, silently. His shaking could be from a number of sources depicted in the photograph: the clearly delineated markings of a riding crop across the creamy thighs, the straining erection captured in the cruelest looking cock ring Severus had ever seen, or perhaps the twin teardrops of ruby blood suspended from the clearly swollen and bitten nipples. Either the greatest of agony or the sweetest of pleasure was causing the tremors and the complete cessation of thought in those beautiful eyes, but then again, one just could never tell one from another with Mr. Potter.