After Party

DRINK

Backing up slightly, Natalie began to dance solo, performing for Snape and Snape alone. She lifted her heavy hair of her neck with one hand as the other snaked across her abdomen. Eyes closed, she twisted and swayed as if making love to an invisible man. Snape reclined against a stack of pillows, content to watch his private recital, practically raping the witch with his eyes.

His oversized shirt on her body allowed him sensual glimpses of her breasts as she moved. Her hands traveled down her torso, lifting the already short skirt higher on her thighs.

“Do I please you?” She asked coyly, head bobbing like a metronome.

“Indeed.” He rumbled, rising to reach for her.

“No.” She commanded, pushing him back down into his lordly recline. With an incredibly sensual roll of her wrist, she summoned a large glass of blood red wine from his bedside table. On her knees, she held the glass to his sallow, thin lips.

“Drink, my lord?”

He tilted his head to drink her offering, eyes glued to her lips as she then brought the rim of the glass to her own mouth to drink, leaving a red print behind. Leaning over him to replace the glass, her cotton covered breasts brushed against his lips. He captured one globe in each hand, cradling them firmly, breathing in her scent, lips seeking more contact.

“Drink?” She again offered. He buried his head under his shirt, latching on to one nipple as a newborn babe. She threw her head back, eyes closed in bliss, straddling his waist, her skirt pushed high enough to reveal the very edge of her labia. “Yes, drink.” She moaned in her joy. Slowly, he released her, licking the underside of her breast as he did. She backed away to change positions once more.

Kicking one insanely clad foot in the air in time with the sensual throbbing of the song, Natalie rested it on his mattress, while bearing her full weight on her knee. With her fingers closed around the base of his shaft, red nails just barely overlapping, she proceeded to worship his pulsating phallus with her tongue, clearly enjoying her self nearly as much as he was enjoying her display.

Lipping him gently with her ruby lips, she held his full attention, his obsidian eyes riveted on her mouth; the contrast of the blood red lips against his shaft, the red nails against the porcelain of her fingers, the criss-cross of crimson satin across her calf, the high heel forcing her leg into an erotically charged feast for his intensely attuned senses. She somehow managed to continue to rock her hips with the rhythm. Snape rapidly advanced on his point of no return. Shoving his pelvis higher, his penis bouncing against her china doll skinned chin, he demanded of the taunting witch, “Drink!”

“With pleasure, my lord.” She kow-towed, engulfing his seeping head, slowly, allowing him an unobstructed view of her scarlet tinted lips seeking the base of his shaft, her eyes holding his gaze, her tongue applying succulent pressure as she vacuumed every drop of his essence, drinking at the fountain, swallowing with gratification his offering. He rose off the mattress in a nearly impossible bridged position, keening with a guttural cry.