Professor Snape Is A Dirty, Old Man

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“ENTER!” Professor Snape snarled, the erratic pound against his door snapping him out of his reminiscently meditative musings.

Snape was continually amazed at the diverse extents the female students entered his office. Some practically kicked his door in. Some would open it an inch, close it quickly, then open it again with slow reluctance. Others, like the student entering at the moment, would push his door open in forced casualness.

“What do you want, Miss Weasley?” Snape asked brusquely without glancing away from his grading.

Ginerva jumped twice. Once at the sound of Snape’s voice, and once more as the heavy door unexpectedly slammed shut behind her. “About my essay… sir,” she said quietly.

“What essay?” Snape ridiculed.

“The essay I-I forgot to turn in…”

“As I said… what essay?”

It had been a few years since Penelope, and yet, Snape wasn’t aware of the habits he had acquired during such meetings. He found it necessary to act with constant vigilance as to what he said and did. He never truly knew if he was merely being questioned by a dimwitted student or if the student was proposing to improve their grade by…

No matter how many different girls--young women—he had… interacted… with, Snape still couldn’t face who he was now and call these experiences anything other than interactions.

Like this one. Snape couldn’t imagine Ginevra Weasley being privy to the goings on here.

Then again, after Penelope, Snape was unable to fathom how he had been approached a second time by an entirely different student. Over and over again they came, to improve or erase failing essays and potions. They came distraught, sniveling, hysterical even, but Snape was quick to remind himself that they came.

They approached him. No… this could never be considered rape.

After the first few, Snape had finally accepted the reality of rumors, however big or small, circulating within the female population of students.

They couldn’t be that horrific, or else he would have been approached by Minerva or Albus by now. Like many of the cruel gossip created by the students about the dreaded Potions master of the dungeons--none of the staff dared to believe the tales. It was always the students--in this case the desperate females--that came prepared for the worst.

When Miss Weasley still didn’t speak, Snape finally drawled. “You know I will not allow you to make it up.”

“Yes,” she gulped. “I know.”

“You know,” he repeated mockingly, laying down his quill.

“I…”

“If you know that, then there was no point in coming down here, now was there? You are dismissed.”

Snape forced himself to sound stern. He really did… or at least, that was what he told himself.

Feigning indifference, he slyly watched her through the lank hair covering both sides of his face. She started shaking slightly, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the movement.

“I know… that I cannot make-up the essay. But I was hoping to still receive… a passing grade, sir?

“Now, how on earth could you possibly do that?”

If Snape was really ‘Dumbledore’s Man,’ he would have kicked her out by now. Her and all the others. No matter how many times he told himself--how many times he blamed the students for coming to him, he fervently enjoyed the careful word play just as much as the--interactions.

His cock was already straining to be released.

“What-whatever you want… sir,” Ginevra squeaked, turning her face to the floor.

Snape rose from his seat, taking a few steps around his desk to lean back against it.

Face perfectly expressionless, he said quietly, “Prove it.”

Ginevra started, evidently lost as to a proper reaction. Swallowing, she hesitantly approached one of the student’s chairs in front of him.

“Are you choosing to be here… to continue to stay here?” His tone was very serious, gazing at her with a penetrating expression.

Ginevra struggled to divert her eyes away. “Yes,” she breathed, finally sitting down.

“Unbutton your blouse.”

The girl physically flinched, as if she’d been struck.

Snape snorted. Honestly—what did she think he was going to do to her? What was the worst that could happen? The chit would leave his office as intact as when she had entered. Satisfaction swelled within him. Severus was very proud of the fact that he never had intercourse with his students. That very idea was absurd.

Miss Weasley was far too tense and nervous. He couldn’t imagine her being able to adequately please him with either her hand or her mouth. It was the hysterical ones, like Miss Clearwater, who bestowed him such pleasures.

The quiet, reserved ones merely undressed to varying degrees while Snape wanked and issued on their faces.

He sighed. He’d have to settle for that with her.

Pansy Parkinson had been a bit of a disappointment last year as well. He had expected her to be as equally gifted as Miss Clearwater, if not more so.

Yet, she did have a nice arse. Which Snape had made use of when he had commanded Miss Parkinson to remove her knickers and bend over his desk, legs wide, so he could pleasure himself whilst he remained seated behind her.

Miss Weasley didn’t have much to work with there, but it was no secret that she was well endowed above the waist.

As she undid the last button, Ginevra exhaled shakily and pulled her blouse wide open, revealing freckled cleavage straining beneath a frilly blue bra. No doubt, after a few pregnancies she would be as plump as her mother. But luckily for Snape, her body was still fresh.

Snape slowly leaned forward. He could feel her deep, hot breath beat against his face. Tracing a finger around the curve of the fabric, Snape slid his hand under her blouse and behind her back to unfasten her bra.

He nearly groaned when she gasped. Glazing silently down at her naked chest, Snape rubbed his hand over his hard cock through his trousers, before struggling with his zipper.

Sometimes the young women clenched their eyes shut the entire time Snape was exposed in front of them. Other times, they watched with various expressions of disbelief, amazement, horror, and fright. And each one of these expressions had aroused Snape in completely different ways.

It was no surprise to him that Miss Weasley gazed at his manhood, held tightly in his hand, with rapt attention. Her chest heaved with each thrust.

Typical, curious Gryffindor.

Sitting before him as she was, Professor Snape was sorely tempted to shove his cock between her lips, and come to the sweet sound of her gagging from his size.

Teeth gritted, he roughly grabbed her breast instead.

She squealed, high pitched and frightened, probably under the presumption that her Professor would never lay his hands on her.

And the assumption had been accurate, of course. Severus had always been diligent in not touching the hesitant ones.

But Miss Weasley’s ample bosom had been far too tempting. It would have been a waste.

She cringed at his brutal clumsiness, slouching in a effort to pull her flesh out of his touch.

“Keep still!” He squeezed harder to reinforce her demand.

She was fully crying now.

Snape leaned his head back, unwilling to remove his hands from her person as his orgasm swelled to full intensity. Groaning long and deep, Severus finally let go of Miss Weasley’s breast to grab hold of her hair, forcing the chit to remain in her seat as his hot fluids drenched her neck and chest.

“Fine… fine,” Snape muttered, acknowledging that she’d been begging to leave long before this, “get out.”

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TBC...

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