After Party

LICK

Natalie shoved open her classroom door, waving her wand at the wall sconces which obediently sprang to life. Dawn had not yet happened upon Hogwarts Castle and the room was cold, bleak, and forlorn. Her eyes were instantly drawn to a plain brown package on her desk, out of place, not belonging.

Warily, wand out, she approached, scanning the room vigilantly as she did. Casting a revealing spell, she waited while the blue light settled into the package, then dissipated.

“Hmmm,” she pondered. “I wonder who sent this.”

Still exercising a fairly high degree of caution, the auburn haired woman untied the coarse string, unfolding the paper to reveal two, rather three, odd items: an extremely high pair of red leather heels; the kind with satin ribbons to tie around a woman’s ankles like ballet slippers, and a tube of lipstick of in a matching red. A devious smile crossed her face, heart pumping just a wee bit faster in the chill of the morning air.

“Props, eh?” She sniggered. “I can work with these.” A gleeful light played behind her blue eyes.

Lunch in the Great Hall was a noisy affair as always, made noisier this year by the presence of excess students. Natalie and Ana put their heads together to talk quietly, and not be overheard.

“Tomorrow night, ‘den. I weell cover your deetention.”

“I owe you one, Ana.” The taller woman hugged the petite blonde.

“An’ I weel collect,” Ana promised.

“I know you will.”

“Let me see ‘dose shoes again?” Ana peeked under the table to the package Natalie held out of sight.

“Goodness, surely you don’ eentend to walk in ‘dose?” Ana gasped, fingering the long stiletto heel with fascination.

“Definitely not,” Natalie replied, one eyebrow arched coyly.

Professor Snape billowed by the two women, sneering down at them as only he could do. When Natalie was sure she had his eye, she delicately licked her upper lip with a quick darting tongue, and the poor man nearly stumbled, recovering enough to glare menacingly in her direction.

“Natalie, ‘ee ees awful,”Ana whined.

“So am I.” Natalie sniggered into her hand, knowing full well that the Potions Master was far from being awful.

The tension built through the evening for the Potions Master. ‘Surely she got the hint?’ he groused silently, ‘Where is she?’

The next day dawned with a more surly than ever Severus Snape sprawled inelegantly across his couch, having fallen asleep waiting for the Beaxbatons’ witch who had never arrived.  Grumblng, he assembled himself, quite stiffly, for the tasks of the day ahead.

Billowing into breakfast in the Great Hall, with his scowl darker than normal, Snape flowed past the woman serenely eating her oatmeal, nose buried in a book, apparently oblivious to his entrance. She pointedly ignored him all through the day, souring his mood, his countenance growing darker each time she passed him, unknowingly, in the hall, with her nose still buried in that damn book.

As she passed him on her final jaunt through the hallway to dinner, his keen eyes honed in on an extravagant sight: her nails, longer, and red; the same red as his gifts. The vision jolted a shock down his spine.

‘Was that a hint, a promise or coincidence?’ He thought instantly of those vibrant talons stroking smooth scarlet trails over his white-skinned abdomen.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she strolled by him, again seemingly oblivious. Just before she turned the corner out of his line of sight, she halted dead in her tracks, lowering the offending book. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she cocked her head over her shoulder to smile at the Professor; her lips painted with his ruby red gift. She blew him a little kiss, then buried her nose in the book once again, disappearing around the corner. He groaned softly, eyes rolling back into his head, visions of those ruby red lips closing around his erect member. The sounds of an ordinary student scuffle dragged him from his pleasant reverie, and once more into the fray.

The beleaguered students of Hogwarts scattered like rats from a sinking ship as Snape glided through the cold hallways just before curfew, sending any and all back to their dormitories with fervent dispatch; chattering about his abnormally foul mood.

He approached the doors to his own quarters, and swore he heard music, loud music, pulsing rhythm, coming from inside his own rooms. Senses on full alert, he eased his own door open cautiously, peering into his sitting room to spy nothing amiss, but, the music louder. Carefully, he stalked his own bedchamber, the apparent source of the music, and heard a low voice singing along, “and even when you’re not around me, the tinglin’ just don’t go away … don’t make my body wait no longer because this pussycat is ready to play.”

The revelation afforded his eyes took his very breath away, and all the blood rushed from his head to his head, forcefully, causing his knees to almost buckle. There, in his chambers, was the witch, clad in a black suede mini-skirt, one of his white shirts, buttoned only by one button between her freely mobile breasts, sleeves hanging loosely over one hand, those red-enameled fingers peeping from beneath the cuff.

On her legs, laced to her upper calves, were his shoes, his delectable red shoes. The long enamel nailed fingers of one hand clasped his bed post. Her body shimmied with the pulse of the song, her hips undulating in the most provocative manner; side to side, and around in a circle, nearly making love to the bed post.

“You’ve got lock and key, every part of me, know what makes me tick. I love it when you …lick. … I’ll put my heels on for you, baby, the ones that wrap all around my legs, your every touch excites me, and damnit I ain’t to proud to beg.”

She turned slightly to the side, and his eyes focused sharply on her red, red lips, pursed, moistened by her tongue. Her hair hung free from the normal ornate clip she used to secure it, floating over her back, swaying like an auburn curtain in a breeze. She glowered at him with a smoldering stare, and proceeded to lick her own lips again, slowly, tongue a very pale pink in contrast to the ruby red of her lips. He sagged against his door frame, speechless, dumbstruck, and vastly ignored by the American offering him a private pole dance.

“Great Hecate be praised,” he exhorted, fingers searching for his buttons. Pivoting to face him, the witch allowed a slow, sly smile to cross her face. Still undulating with the music, she danced her way to him, reaching for his hand. Dragging him into his own room, she shoved him onto his own bed, straddling his legs while still swaying, and began to unbutton his coat herself.

“Is this what you expected, my lord?” she whispered huskily into his ear, licking the edge of the cartilage as she leaned forward so that her breasts rested against his cheek.

“Much better.” He moaned, turning his head to lick at her nipple through the soft cotton of his own shirt. Scraping her red lacquered nails against his nipples, Natalie pushed his shirt and coat off his corded shoulders, dragging her nails down his arms as she went.

“So much better.” He fell backwards onto his mattress while she began to leave red lip prints in a trail from his neck down the path his sparse hairs made to a silver belt buckle, a teasing little nip, a soothing swath of her tongue, then soft marking with her lips. Using her teeth and fingers, she freed his throbbing erection. He lifted his hips to allow her to drag her nails down his legs along with his lower body’s garments. Licking her way back up his inner legs, she left more red lip prints in very evenly spaced intervals along his alabaster skin, courtesy of “Madame Noreen’s Never Fade Lip Rouge™” until she reached his leaden weight testicles, where she nestled her face, licking with the lightest of teasing tongue tips until he moaned out loud and bucked his body away from her touch.

“Please, let me see those lips on my cock?” he begged breathlessly, scarcely able to believe his own good fortune.

That same slow sly smile crossed her face as she teasingly took just the tip of his penis between her lips, massaging it with the flat of her tongue as she did. His head and shoulders shot off the mattress, his hands fisted in her hair.

“Fuck!” he swore ecstatically.

“I certainly hope so.” She murmured sarcastically, red lips still pressed to the red tip of his erection. “I certainly hope so.” She bent to lick from between his twin sacs all the way up over his wide flanged head.

The song lyrics belong to Joi:  Lick.