Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching by Quillusion Chapter 2   I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm actually hiding in Professor Snape's wardrobe, peering through the fine crack between the not-quite-closed doors, and watching him read an erotic book. And I wouldn't leave, even if I discovered that I knew how to Apparate and could do it on Hogwarts grounds.   I can't lie to myself. I'm hooked. There's something about a man indulging in his own sexuality that is hypnotizing, something so innately, physically male that it pulls on the corresponding female part of me. And it's powerful to see it this man in particular- this brilliant, harsh, wickedly sharp man- relenting and relaxing his control, letting out his...   Well, softer side isn't the right word at the moment. If it's ever been- this man's tongue has a razor's edge, like his wit, and his eyes are no more yielding than the obsidian they resemble. He's the toughest teacher I've ever had, the most demanding scholar I can imagine, and at the moment the rest of him is living up to his reputation as the hardest professor at Hogwarts.   I never thought I'd be staring at Professor Snape's rather impressive erection as it strained against the front of his robes. But there it is... and here I am. Staring, unable to stop myself from wishing he'd get rid of the robes.   He reads a little further, and I'm startled to hear a soft whimper. I panic for a moment, thinking that I made the noise and now he will come looking for me. But he stays seated, and I realize with a delicious shock of arousal that he made the noise. That soft, wanting sound came from this intimidating man. This side of Snape was becoming a very pleasant discovery.   I watch in fascination as Snape's free hand slides up his chest to begin deftly unfastening the buttons. He moves slowly, his attention not really on the small fastenings of his clothes, and pauses a moment to turn the page. His breathing is deep now, his lips parted, and I am riveted to the sight of him. His head is tilted at a slight angle as he reads, and the ends of his hair touch his cheek in a soft caress that I suddenly find myself wanting to bestow personally. I have to remind myself not to get out of the wardrobe- what a disaster that would be. Not only would I be in trouble...   ...but the show would be over.   Snape has his robes undone now, and they're pushed out of the way as his hand slides down to his trousers. That one graceful free hand moves to the enticing bulge in the black fabric, fingers tracing patterns over the head through the material. He moans again, louder this time, but his eyes do not leave the book. His body is stiffening, tensing up to heighten the sensations he's feeling.   "Oh, God," he says suddenly, his voice hoarse with arousal, and the sound shoots from my ears to my brain and straight down into my knickers. He shifts position, staring intently at the words on the page before him, and this time his hands are not leisurely as they work the fastenings of his clothing.   It is only a moment before he has his cock out of his trousers and boxers, his breathing ragged again as he turns another page.   "Merlin's codpiece," he groans softly to himself. "Who would have thought that anyone could see me this way?"   For a second I'm afraid I've been caught, but it seems the only thing caught is Snape's attention- by whatever's in that book. I'm dying to read it myself now, but I've stolen enough things from Snape for one day- and that book, I think, would surely be missed. I turn my eyes back to my professor.   His shirt has been unbuttoned too, now; he had grown frustrated with one-handed undressing, and cast a small charm to unbutton the rest of his trousers magically. It seems to have undone all the buttons in sight. He doesn't seem to mind; his free hand has pushed the cloth away and is now gently, sensuously sliding over his chest and belly, teasing himself before sliding dto gto grasp that beautiful cock in his skilled hand.   I let my eyes roam slowly across the tableau before me. He's a good-looking man, which takes me by surprise. I've always known that Snape is still quite young for a wizard, although the horror his life has been has aged his face prematurely. He can't be past 39 or 40. He's definitely got the body of a man in his prime, though I can see more than a few scars on the pale skin usually hidden by great folds of black robe. And the best secret hidden within those black professor's robes is beautiful, perfectly proportioned, and throbbing slightly with each rapid beat of his heart. The head of his cock is flushed with blood and glistening with need, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of him.   By now, I'm well aware of my own arousal, and honest enough with myself to admit that it's all because of Professor Snape. Before tonight, the very idea of this would have squicked me beyond all endurance, but now that I'm here, it seems natural. There is a puddle forming in my knickers, running down my thighs in a warm slick, and it would be a very unpleasant sensation if the primal part of me were not running things. But I'm not in control any longer, she is, and she's unabashedly contemplating Severus Snape as a potential mate. It does not surprise me to find that she's decided he's more than acceptable, he's worth going after fulrottrottle.   I don't want to contemplate what that will mean tomorrow, even though I know it's already too late to return to the way I used to see him. There's too much to watch now, to waste time thinking.   Severus- I can't think of him as Snape, any more- is moving in his chair now, sinuously arching and twisting as he reads. The stimulation of the fabric of his robes across his skin is carrying him higher, and his soft moans and cries are slightly louder now, and much more frequent. Each one raises my own lust a notch, and I begin to fear that I won't be able to keep quiet much longer. My lips are swollen from my tactic of biting them to stop the moans from escaping.   I can smell my own desire in the close confines of the wardrobe, and I start to pray that Severus is too wrapped up in his own arousal to catch the scent of mine with his sensitive, highly-trained nose. I don't know for certain that he'd know what it was if he did notice it; for all I know, he's still a virgin who's never smelled a lust-crazy woman before. But it's obvious that there's more to this man than I assumed in the past. I clench my thighs together, just in case it might help. The stimulation that causes to my swollen clitoris is something I had forgotten to anticipate, and I bite my lip again to stifle my own cry of pleasure. I turn my eyes back to Snape.   His cock is leaking copiously now, and he reaches up every few strokes to spread that lovely shiny stuff all along his shaft. I suppose that the quick appearance of his natural lubrication means he hasn't had any in a while; I'd pity him for it, except that I haven't had any in a long time either, and this man is far from an object of pity. Far, far from it. Severus looks to be nearly done with the story, and sure enough, a moment later he sets the book aside with a half-careful gesture that tells me volumes about his mental state. Books are as sacred to this man as they are to me; he can't quite make himself throw it aside, but he's too far gone with arousal to put it away with the usual degree of caution. This time I can't quite stifle my moan of sexual frustration, but thankfully he's too intent on self-pleasure to notice.   Both hands now free, he slides down a bit further in the chair and tips his head back, breathing deeply as his hand moves on his erection. His other hand is now sliding across his belly, toying with his nipples, lightly touching his face. It slips down to caress his scrotum, and his entire body settles into the natural rhythm of sex. I find myself desperately wanting those gorgeous hands on my body, wanting that instinctive dance for myself, and before I realize it, I have started to rock back and forth slightly in time with his stroking motions.   His own hips have started moving, thrusting as they might do if I were straddling him in that chair, my wet body clasphis his in intimate ecstasy. I know I want that, and I know I can't have it, and the tension is winding me tighter and tighter. I know I won't be able to walk normally until I've come, and so my own hand reaches down to raise my skirt and slide into my knickers. I feel myself, wet and hot, and though I know it makes the scent of me more noticeable, I spread it around a little and start to touch myself. I wish that Severus could feel this; just watching him is enough to tell me that he would appreciate it appropriately.   My professor is moaning aloud again, in time with his movements. His face and neck are flushed, and I know he's getting close. I wonder if he will slow down to draw the experience out. His body is shining with the faintest sheen of sweat, his muscles standing out under the sex-reddened skin. They flex enticingly, and I feel sharp sorrow mix with my need. I wish I could touch him. My own hand increases its pace, matching his, and I can feel my climax building.   Severus does not slow down. He's had as much stimulation as he can stand, and he wants to come; I can see it in the soft glazed look in his eyes, darker than ever with arousal.   His hips snap up urgently, his hand clenched tightly around his erection, and I see him arch suddenly. My own climax catches me by surprise at the erotic picture he makes, and I muffle my soft cry in the sleeve of one of the black robes hanging beside me. His scent wafts up from the cloth, and my spasms tighten into a second orgasm before I've even finished the first. My knees are weak, but I can't let myself look away before he comes.   Severus presses his head back into the chair, and suddenly I hear his voice- silk roughened to velvet with his need- torn from him in the violence of orgasm.   "Oh, God!" he cries, and I feel my womb contract again at the sound of his voice. Words give way to rhythmic, inarticulate cries of pleasure, until several orgasmic contractions have passed and he finds his voice again.   "Oh, Hermione," he murmurs, as if he is stunned by the very idea.   But not nearly as stunned as I.