A Rock and a Hard Place

Late the next day after the dinner hour, Snape stole into Hogsmeade, entered the Hog’s Head and made his way upstairs. He paused before the door of Trudy’s room. Etiquette required him to knock rather than make his way in unannounced, but impatience made him fume in the corridor. Would she hate him? Desire him? Both possible reactions repulsed him. What kind of woman was she? His fist quivered indecisively in the air before he rapped soundly on the door. When he heard no answer from inside the room, he rapped on the door more sharply.

The huge oaken door creaked open slightly. Trudy’s eye, glittering strangely, appeared, and then just as quickly disappeared, leaving the door ajar. Nonplussed, Snape pushed it open and shut it behind him.

At once Trudy stepped in front of him, and he was forcibly reminded of how small she was. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were narrowed to glimmering slits, and her entire frame seemed to radiate heat.

“Turn round,” he said roughly.

Without a word, she straddled a chair with her back to him, and Snape paused to admire the view. Her long legs in transparent black tights were stretched out on either side of the chair, her high heels making her feet look like a cat’s. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder. And her pussy was fully, lusciously, shamelessly open and exposed. Snape drew a breath as he felt himself harden. He stepped forward and firmly opened the lips of her quim, the strings of the object hanging down. He heard Trudy draw in a breath, and time seemed to stop. At last, after what felt like a long moment but must only have been a few seconds, he took hold of the strings and slowly but inexorably began pulling. He saw Trudy’s vagina stretch open around one silver ball, thick as his cock. He licked his dry lips. The other ball emerged, again dilating her engorged quim. He put the toy to one side and began unfastening his lower clothes with impatient efficiency, his eyes never leaving Trudy’s enflamed and glistening sex.

He pulled out his cock, already leaking a few drops of fluid. He could just…stick it in. It was what he had done to the handful of haughty Slytherins who had deigned to visit his bedroom in the years after Lily’s death. But something about Trudy’s posture, her very vulnerability, made him pause. Clumsily, his hand shaking, he probed her slick opening with his middle finger. At once she arched her back, making a high, desperate sound. He made his finger flutter inside her and was rewarded by the sensation of her sheath pulsing around his fingers. “Please…!” she gasped. “Please...!”

Wordlessly, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the broad head of his cock, which he nudged slowly past her throbbing inner muscles. When at last the length of his shaft was inside her, he rode her mercilessly and thoroughly, forcing her to orgasm then fingering her clit, ignoring her protests, and bringing her to another sharp orgasm before shooting everything he had inside her.

He hung over her, dripping sweat, breathing hard. Under him, Trudy seemed to be beyond caring about anything. Each time his cock twitched inside her, still pulsing from the ball-draining satisfaction, Trudy purred softly with pleasure.

At last, his cock stopped moving, and Trudy seemed to slip into a doze. Snape withdrew his cock and began rearranging his clothing.

“Now,” he said resolutely, pulling his wand from his robes, “we can begin lessons.”

Trudy yawned. “I didn’t sleep last night,” she murmured.

“Lessons,” Snape repeated briskly.

“I’m tired,” she said drowsily. “I wore that damn thing since yesterday. Haven’t slept.” She opened one eye. This time, instead of glittering, it held languorous warmth. “You don’t look as if you’ve slept well for years. Let’s sleep.”

“No,” he ground out.

She didn’t say anything. Snape hovered on the edge of indecision: To speak or remain quiet? To let her in, or hold her out? She was weak and a Muggle, he reminded himself. And yet…she was the only one listening to him, a fact both flattering and frightening.

“I can’t sleep,” he said. “There is too much to be done.”

“What is it you do?”

Just the right question. But Snape turned away from offering an answer. It sounded ridiculous: “I spy.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. And what if someone should be listening? He let his gaze fall on Trudy. She was resting her head in her arms over the back of the chair. Her eyes were puffy and faintly bloodshot. “At the moment, I am trying to train you to help me get your daughter away from the Dark Lord. Get up.” Fear was making him harsh.

Trudy hesitated, then rose from the chair. She looked down at her clothing, or lack of it, and its disarray, complete with his seed running down one leg. She turned away. “Evanesco,” he snapped. She hardly acknowledged the sudden disappearance of the come. Her back still to him, she pulled off the high heels and tights (Snape found himself grinding his teeth at the sight) and pulled on instead jeans, trainers, a bra and a light jersey. Then, after the briefest of pauses, she pulled her wand from the bedside table drawer and turned back to face him.

Snape raised his wand, but before he could speak, he saw that Trudy already had an arm up, as if to ward off a blow. “Put your arm down,” he snapped. “I haven’t even begun. I will try to cast a spell, and you will say ‘Expelliarmus’ and try to deflect it. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but her obvious fear made Snape sigh in exasperation. If only Potter were here, he thought with bitter humor. It was the one spell the incompetent was good at.

“Stupefy!” he cried, directing the spell at Trudy with no real force.

She toppled to the ground, just as he’d known she would. Snape’s lips tightened.