Craving

Warning (Author\'s Notes at the bottom this time.): While this fic does indeed deal with BDSM, please, please, do not try and learn anything about that subject from it. This is a fantasy, and therefore incomplete when it comes to safety aspects.

For one thing, I have mentioned nothing about safe words, and even the most inexperienced player will know YOU NEVER NEVER EVER PLAY WITHOUT A SAFE WORD. To do so is foolhardy in the extreme, and if you do it, you are asking for trouble. If you are lucky, it will not be the emotionally scarring, or fatal kind, but don\'t bank on it.

For another thing, being tied up isn\'t as simple as it may seem. for one thing you never leave anyone tied up for a long period of time, particuarly with their hands above their heads, it will damage the joints, often permanently. You also never leave anyone who is restained unsupervised, even for thrity seconds, even if you are using handsuffs with the safety-quick release. You never know when that person might panick, or have an accident, or simply need to get out right now and can\'t reach the catch, or is without a clear enough head to feel for it.

So please, while feeling free to enjoy all the BDSM stories out there, DO NOT try to learn from, or, heaven forbid, emulate them. While they are fun, they are often anatomically incorrect, and very rarely describe the proper safety measures that need to be taken. For more (reliable) info, try http://www.informedconsent.co.uk or the book \'Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns\'

***
She deserved it really, she thought, as the stiff towel made its way over her sore nipples and down her flat stomach. But then again, it was also probably a set up – since when did he leave his clothing on the floor anyway?

The activity in the bedroom had been predictable, all of it, and at the same time all of it was excruciatingly tempting. She’d abandoned the notion of being a ‘good girl’ after the second coupling – he’d obviously taken a Stamina Solution, the bastard – had left her feeling just as unfulfilled and desperate as she had been in the classroom earlier. And thus she’d stopped ignoring any avenues to finding her own fulfilment, no matter the disobedience involved, and actively started looking for them.

He must have known, the sadistic git, because there were none. And she was feeling rather a bit miffed at him. He’d teased her before, but never to this extent, and it was raising the know-it-all she’d once been to the surface of her persona.

Finally, after five jolly trips around the mulberry-bush (for him at least) that left her gasping, desperate and squirming on the bed in a most undignified manner, he’d escorted her to the bathroom for her toilet, and a quick wash.

Then he’d chained her to the bed.

The steel collar that went around her neck was the central point. At the front was engraved simply the word ‘Pet’, and on the back ‘Property of Severus Snape’. Normally wearing it pushed her to feeling submissive in the extreme, but after seven hours of constant sensation but no climax, her loyalty to that particular emotion was waning. Now she merely felt annoyed.

’Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ she thought, grimly, ’but only because whichever idiot male came up with that never met one in my particular situation.’

From the collar were two short chains with manacles at the end, which currently encircled her wrists. The length of the chains were precise too – she could just about manage to sleep properly, and if she was at the end of her tether and feeling flexible about the wrists, manipulate her breasts, but no way in hell was she going to be able to give herself her own orgasm.

And she was that desperate, she would have done, even with her lover in the shower next door. Had she been free to move around the bed, she may have even stooped so low as to rub herself against one of the four floor-to-ceiling posts to get herself off. She suspected he knew that too, which was why there was an additional length of chain running from her collar to the headboard. It was long enough that she could lie down in comfort, and if pulled taunt it would allow her to sit on the edge of the bed and put her feet on the floor, but no more.

And then – of all the ironies, and he probably thought it amusing – he dressed her in a virginal, white, knee length nightgown before retreating to take his shower. A long one. And so she was left, feeling frustrated beyond belief, with nothing to do but contemplate the hopelessness of the situation. A random, rebellious thought had popped by, suggesting that she spit in his boots.

She’d dismissed it, but it hadn’t stopped her from sitting up to check their location, just in case, and that’s when she saw it.

A key.

A small, brushed-steel key, just peeking out from the pocket of his carelessly dropped trousers at the edge of the bed. And it looked as if it might just be in reach.

She knew both her manacles and collar had muggle locking devices, not the seamless moulding ones the wizarding equivalent did – he’d once explained to her he liked the finality that could be heard in the ‘click’ made as the pins came together. But she’d never seen him lock or unlock them with anything but a wand – it had never occurred to her, therefore, that there might be a key.

She sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, and reached out a foot. Nearly. She lay back and shimmied forward a bit, craning her neck so she could see what she was doing – the edge of her big toe brushed it - Yes!

Very carefully, she dragged it back towards herself. Then, the water shopped in the shower. She froze. She heard him get out and open one of the cupboards, then close it and return and the flow started again. She breathed a sigh of relief, her heart pounding as if it were trying to get out of hr chest. Faster Granger-girl, faster!

She drew towards her until she could sit upright with her feet on it, then carefully clenched her toes around it and flipped it onto the bed. She shuffled a bit until she was in a position to pick it up, then examined it. It matched the locks on her manacles but not her collar, or the ring on the headboard.

Well, it wasn’t as if she wanted to escape precisely, so that didn’t matter. By her estimations, she should just about be able to open the bindings, get herself off, then lock herself back in them and replace the key before he got out of the shower, if she was careful. And the water stopping would alert her if she needed to abort her plan.

She unshackled herself.

The feel of her own fingers on her clit was an immediate blissful relief, the fingers of her left hand entering her a pleasure almost enough to make her sob. It didn’t take her long to find her rhythm, and feel the heat coiled in her abdomen begin to spread – well, she’d hardly been starting from a standstill, she thought, as she bit her lip to keep from moaning. She could feel the edge approaching, could almost see it in front of her eyes as she got closer, and colours began to spiral across her vision-

“SLUT!” Her hands were ripped away, and she found herself staring up into a pair of furious black eyes, her wrists clasped in his fists and quailed under his gaze even as she couldn’t help but groan her desperate indignation. He was dripping wet from the shower, and the water was still running, she knew she hadn’t made a sound – how had he known, damn it, how??

She didn’t have time to think further as he jabbed at her collar to open it, then dragged her off the bed, across the room and into the bathroom.

“Well pet,” he was smirking now, a sadistic smirk that didn’t bode well for her at all, “If you are having such problems coping with your,” another, wider smirk, blast it, “lack, I suppose I shall have to assist you.”

He prodded the taps with his wand and then shoved her in the shower.

It was ice cold.

She screamed and struggled to get out, but he held her in the flow of water firmly, giving her no leeway. She’d tried to cover her breasts, as her nipples, still sore from the pegs earlier, tightened until they were painfully hard but he slapped her hands away.

He made no move, however, to stop her from rubbing in effectually at the goose-pimpling flesh on her arms, which she did, as she stood in the stream of liquid ice, until her teeth chattered, and her knees shook. Only when her lips started to turn blue did he slowly begin to raise the temperature again, until she was back at a level when hypothermia was not an immediate worry.

Her nipples still hurt like hell though.

He turned off the water and pulled her out again, but was not done with her. Instead he retrieved the nail scissors from the cupboard and then pinned her against the wall near the door, slowly cutting away her night dress methodically.

“So, slut,” his voice was almost conversational, casual, but for the underlying tension – she’d pissed him off royally, apparently. “How many do you think this deserves?”

She did a mental tally in her head as he stripped the wet fabric off her, rendering her naked. Disobeyed him indirectly regarding the bed, stole the key, let myself out of restraints, attempted climax against his express instructions, and caught trying to cover the whole thing up. No way in heaven or hell was he going to let her go with less than a hundred with anything softer than the birch. But she’d start low anyway, the worst he could do was raise it.

“Twenty, Master?” she ventured. He looked at her sharply, something akin to shock entering his eyes.

’Why is he...Oh no. No. I didn’t mean it like that, I wasn’t being disrespectful, but he thinks - Oh shit!

“Really, pet?” That sadistic edge was back, much closer to the surface this time. She shivered and fought the urge to beg – it’d only make it worse now. “Close, but not quite, I think twenty five should do nicely, with a multitude of instruments. But first-“

He pulled out his wand and waved it, and she found herself physically unable to move from the wall with the arms above her head. He pulled back and looked her over, half-smiling.

“Needs something…” he muttered, and then his eyes brightened. “Accio ice cubes!”

A tray of the small cold squares flew into his hand – doubtless the origin was his drinks cool-box – and he removed two, and secured them to her nipples with a temporary binding charm. She gasped and squirmed, and tried to beg but he put his finger across her lips before she’d even gotten the first word out, his way of telling her he wanted no input from her. Moans, groans and wordless screams would be acceptable. Any kind of recognisable speech would not be. She shut up, biting her lip and tried to breath through the pain. He smiled and disappeared into the bedroom, where she could hear him rummaging.

He returned less than five minutes later, in the dressing gown she’d bought him last Christmas, and holding the paddle and the birch in one hand. He removed the ice immediately, for which she was infinitely grateful, but more suspicious. It turned out she was right to be.

He looked her over critically, giving her left nipple a tweak, which was so painful she was nearly reduced to tears. He smiled viciously.

“Perfect.” There was real satisfaction in his voice. He dropped both ‘toys’ on the side.

“Five to each on with my hand to start with, I think.” He barely gave her time to register what he said before he slapped her right breast, right across the hard pointed tip which was hurting her so.

The air rushed from her lungs so fast she felt dizzy as the pain spiked across her chest, and she whimpered pitifully, not having the breath to scream. Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall until the second blow came across her left tit, at which point she’d regained enough air to cry out, loudly.

They came in quick succession, and the pain muddled her head so much she lost count after three, dropped into a universe where pain held her down and prevented her from moving. Eventually, after a short eternity, they stopped, and she came back to herself to find her eyes and cheeks wet, and her breasts pink, tingling and feeling tender. He was holding the paddle in one hand now, and looking at her with a grim approval.

“Five more on each with the paddle.” He’d said unnecessarily. She closed her eyes and felt more tears come before he’d even touched her, but gritted her teeth. She had earned this, after all, she supposed.

They were almost softer this time, or she could have been imagining it, but they certainly didn’t come in contact with her aching nipples as much. Nevertheless, she was still breathless, whimpering and crying when the ten were done.

She opened her eyes again. He was holding the birch, swinging it loosely, and watching her with a speculative expression. “Five.” he said, softly, moving to stand in the open doorway so he could swing at both breasts at the same time.

She nodded, but made herself keep her eyes open. He held her gaze, and those eyes she could see respect blooming. Slowly to be sure, but it was there. She could have sobbed in relief. He isn’t hopelessly disappointed in me, she thought, guilelessly, I can fix it.

“One.” He said, quietly. He swung the cane.

It struck about an inch under her nipples, and made her scream for the first time. She could feel a welt raising itself, blood rushing to the injured area, the tightening of the skin. Mercifully, he didn’t give her much time to savour the pain of the first before he struck with the second, an inch above her nipples, and her scream ended abruptly as she ran out of breath. She was hit with the third just below the first as she was trying to draw air into her spasm-ridden lungs. While the red-hot agony lanced through her, she realised she now had a choice between screaming or breathing, but managed to land somewhere between the two, expressing her pain in a loud noise all the while drawing air into her lungs, for all she sounded like an angry cat. She could have sworn she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he swung the fourth, which made her resume screaming properly.

He paused minimally before the fifth, and as she met his eyes, she knew where it was about to land. She deliberately breathed out so she wouldn’t scream – somehow being breathless made it easier because you weren’t focusing solely on the pain – as he swung one final time and the cane landed directly on both her nipples.

He released her immediately once he’d struck, letting the cane fall from his hand as he leapt forward to catch her as her lags gave way, and she hunched forward cradling her hurt breasts.

Yes, she thought later, after he had applied a healing salve and softly dried her off, tucked her into bed with excessive gentleness and cradled her in his arms as she drifted into sleep (but he did also put the collar and manacles back on) – she did deserve it.

***


Author\'s Notes: Well, once again the plot bunnies are taking no notice of the fact I have an exam tomorrow (Electricity and Magnetism this time) so here we go. And longer than usual this time. Many thinks to all the reviews, they really help with the motivation, although I\'m not sure that\'s a good thing...:)

That being said, I would like to commment on Hermione\'s behaviour in this chapter. No, this fic is not finished. I\'ll give you a hint - if Hermione comes, then I\'m done. No, honestly.

Most of you will notice our favorite know-it-all has become a bit more defiant this time. This is not inconsistancy on my part, believe it or not. Subs, once they settle into a long term BDSM relationship, will very quickly find their confort zone, and stick to it, for all they will push it occasionally. But, there are those (and I was one, so I\'ve been through this hellish process myself) who, finding themselves comfortable and more confident, want to push things a little further. And they then split into two categories - the sensible ones, who recognise this on a conscious level, talk to their dom, and begin to push through it together, or the, erm, other ones, (a la moi) who only realise it on a subconscious level, so have no idea why they\'re acting up and sneering at something that would have satisfied them in the past, and pushing their dom to punish them more often, more severely. This si often the make or break point for a relationship - often the dom will get freaked out by the sudden \'personality change\' of their sub ,and back off, or think there\'s a fundamental problem, that the sub no longer respects them and so they\'ll leave. Or, the sub will get freaked out by what\'s happening, and why they can\'t control it, and will back off and break it off, rather than investigate why.

However,

happily, our Snape actually recognises what the incident with the key was (not letting you know if it was deliberate or not :)), and is responding in what he thinks is appropriate. He does know, however, that if he doesn\'t rise to the challenge, Hermione will either loose respect for him as a dom, or will get bored. Either way, she\'ll be off. So he\'s not being an out-of-character sadistic git really. He\'s taking her where she wants to go, and very willingly too - not in the least because he knows if he doesn\'t, he\'ll loose her, and that terrifieshim.

Uh, ok, said my piece, gonna go revise. Remember, read and review, my apologies for the copious warnings/notes.