For the Potions Master\'s Amusement

For the Potions Master’s Amusement

Chapter 3: The Punishment of Miss Hermione Granger


The room shimmered in green light, and as she moved further into it, she could see why. One wall was all of glass, and the late afternoon September sun shone dimly through the water of the lake, providing the room’s only illumination. She had heard that the Slytherin common room was beneath the lake; so, apparently was the professor’s … study? Sitting room? The other three walls were floor-to-ceiling books, save for the space occupied by a large hearth; upon the floor, thick old oriental rugs in shades of green and blue covered the ancient stone. A highly polished table, scattered now with parchment and open books, was situated to one side of the room, while a sofa upholstered in cobalt blue sat before the glass wall, with matching armchairs facing.

The professor swept past her, shedding his robes as he went. He tossed the robes onto one of the blue chairs and began to unfasten the buttons of his severe black coat, his glittering eyes fastened upon her face.

‘You enter this room of your own free will?’ he asked her, his voice low-pitched yet resonant.

‘Yes, sir,’ Hermione answered, the trembling in her limbs made no better by the sight of her Potions master unbuttoning his clothes. What would he do to her? What would he expect of her?

He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair, facing her now in a white linen shirt, tucked into slim black trousers. She had never seen him in so few layers. Avidly, knowing she was staring but past caring, her eyes roamed his body, noting the black leather belt cinched about his trousers. She was almost sorry he had not continued to disrobe.

‘In this room, Hermione, you will never speak unless spoken to,’ he said quietly, and her eyes returned to his face, searching there for some indication of his mood, but there was none. His expression was impassive; only his voice denoted the difference of this situation: It was unsneering, something she had rarely heard from him.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, hoping she would remember.

‘In this room, you will do as you are told without question.’

She swallowed, a faint voice in the back of her mind questioning, not for the first time, the wisdom of this course of action. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘In this room, you will receive the … discipline you so sorely need.’ His voice caressed the word ‘discipline’, and it reverberated in her mind even as his glittering black eyes sharpened. ‘Do you agree to these terms?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, the pool of need seeming to become larger and deeper, lapping at the shores of her good sense, but separated by the banks of need which dictated her actions these days.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured, and she felt a throb of want so acute that she gasped.

He did not comment, although she knew he had heard her. In this room, his attention was centred on her completely, and although she was unsure of his plans for her, she thrilled to be the focus of his thoughts. It some ways, it was far more exciting that any fumbling kiss she had ever endured from the boys she knew.

He turned from her to move to the sofa, where he seated himself in the middle. ‘Come to me, Hermione,’ he said, his burning gaze compelling her to obey.

She walked to stand before him.

‘Bad girls who deliberately create havoc in my classroom deserve to be punished, do they not?’ he inquired softly, his expression stern.

‘Y-y-yes, sir,’ Hermione responded, wishing he would stop looking at her and do something.

‘You will receive a spanking,’ he informed her. ‘Place yourself across my knee.’

‘I—’ she began, but he did not permit her to continue.

‘Now is not the time for talk,’ he snapped. ‘Do as you’re told.’

So Hermione awkwardly draped herself across his lap, one arm and one leg dangling off the sofa. She had never felt so embarrassed in all her life. He was going to spank her? Like a little girl? Why?

He scooped her more completely into his lap with an arm about her torso, then tossed her grey school uniform skirt up, revealing her knickers. Dear Merlin, which ones had she worn? It wasn’t as if she had planned to show her underpants to any of her teachers when she was dressing that morning …

Her train of thought was disrupted when Professor Snape’s fingers hooked into the elastic at the top of her knickers and began to unceremoniously tug them down. Instinctively, Hermione began to struggle, but a stinging slap to her bare thigh made her go still again, and the tugging on her knickers continued until they were pushed almost to her knees. Panicked and simultaneously turned on, she squeezed her legs together, hoping he was unable to see her labia. Oh, this was not at all what she had bargained for!

In the next moment, what parts of her body he could see was the last thing on her mind.

His large, long fingered hand struck her bottom with an impact which rang through the room, and she cried out indignantly. Pinning her to his thighs with his right arm, he took no notice of her cries, but slapped her arse again, the force of the blow wringing another exclamation of pain from her—and oddly, making the ache in her core more acute, still. Hermione struggled against his iron grip, flailing her legs for additional momentum, and he directed two punishing slaps to the legs, until they were still. Then he went back to spanking her arse cheeks, alternating his blows from side to side, but unrelenting in the frequency and force of them. She was shocked and pained first to silence, then to tears. This wasn’t sexual, and oh yes, she had wanted something sexual from him. She had hoped for a demand of a shag to punish her, not for her bare bum to be spanked, as if she were a recalcitrant three-year-old.

‘Stop!’ she sobbed, mortified as much by her arousal as by her naked bottom and his painful blows to her naked flesh.

She felt him shift, his torso leaning over hers, although the rhythm of his hand never ceased. ‘You don’t want me to stop,’ he rumbled in her ear. ‘You want this—you need this.’

Now the power behind his slaps increased; he was hitting her even harder and with increased frequency, until it felt like her entire backside was on fire … as did her molten quim. Would it never end?

‘Girls who deliberately create trouble in my classroom deserve to be punished, don’t they, Hermione?’ he asked, sounding very slightly winded by his exertions.

She sobbed louder, the actual pain of the spanking breaking down her inhibitions until she cried outright, somehow releasing all of her anger, her frustration, and the destructive energy which had been furling in her. The tears falling from her face onto the sofa cushions carried with them her resistance and her pride, leaving her empty of emotion, a being subsisting only on sensation.

At last the merciless rain of blows upon her bottom ceased, and there was only the sound of her soft sobbing and his breathing. She felt his hand at her knee, as if he were moving her knickers again, and his voice, warm and vibrant, filled her consciousness.

‘Your knickers are damp, Hermione,’ he said, his tone reproving. ‘I smelled you when I pulled them down, but I dismissed it; after all, you might have been carrying on with some boy in the hallway when no one was watching—were you?’

‘N-no,’ Hermione choked out, her sobbing beginning to calm in the absence of pain.

As if she had not answered, he continued, ‘Because the smell increased as I punished you … I can smell your arousal, Hermione.’

The hand which had lately delivered punishment to her bum now began to stroke the burning flesh of her bottom, and she clenched her eyes shut, mortified at his words—mostly because she knew it was true.

He leant over her again, his voice close to her ear. ‘What kind of girl becomes aroused when her teacher disciplines her, Hermione?’ he murmured. ‘Answer me.’

‘I d-don’t kn-know,’ she stuttered, squirming inside with shame.

‘I’ll tell you,’ he continued, the hand caressing her bum now stroking down the curve of her buttocks to her upper thighs, deliberately avoiding the damp, aching spot between them. ‘A girl who becomes aroused when her teacher spanks her bare bottom is a slut.’

Torn between disgrace at this designation, which she felt to be completely true, and the pleasure of his stroking hand, she simply took a sobbing breath.

‘Say it, Hermione,’ he encouraged, the tips of his fingers moving ever closer to the aching slickness of her quim. ‘Say it, and I will reward you.’

‘Slut,’ she whispered, trying to move beneath his fingers, to get the fingers to the spot that so longed to be touched—but he held her immobile with the arm pinning her to his lap.

‘That’s right,’ he encouraged, his teasing fingers dancing now between her upper thighs, encountering the dampness from her needful centre. ‘Say what you are, Hermione,’ he commanded.

He flattened his fingers against her quim, and she pushed against his hand, blurting, ‘I’m a slut!’

He rewarded her by dipping his finger between her slick folds, and she moaned loudly. ‘What do you want, Hermione?’ he whispered.

‘Please,’ she said, needing his ministrations desperately.

‘Please what?’ he crooned, keeping the fingers in her quim completely still.

‘Please touch me!’ she cried, bereft of all dignity.

‘If you insist,’ he murmured, and he shifted his position again, no longer leaning over her. Unerringly, his fingertips found her clitoris, and he stroked her there. ‘Like this?’ he asked, the arm which had held her trapped now moving, that hand stroking her abused buttocks.

‘Yes!’ she cried, able now to move, and she writhed on his fingers, trying for more sensation, more, more, more …

‘These are in the way,’ he said, and although he did not speak an incantation, her knickers Vanished, and she immediately spread her legs farther apart, granting him more access to her nether parts, desperately hoping he would stop teasing and make it stop aching so badly.

‘Good girl,’ he approved, and she whimpered in response as the hand upon her bottom slid farther down, to slip two fingers inside her body, and the hand already between her folds began to rub very satisfying circles upon her clitoris. She moved with the fingers, unashamedly taking her pleasure from his clever hands, the simultaneous clitoris stroking and finger fucking bringing her swiftly to a sight-dimming, shouting climax.

The tremors wracking violently through her body continued for longer than any orgasm she had ever before experienced, until she was no longer entirely present, but drifting muzzily in a warm, safe, happy place.

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When she came back to herself, she was wrapped in an emerald green blanket and held securely in her professor’s arms, her cheek upon his shoulder. She was upright and seated in his lap, being held. Dear Merlin, how she loved the sensation. Would he do it to her again if she asked? Could they skip the spanking and move straight to the fingering?

When he noticed her open eyes, he looked impassively down into her face. ‘Are you all right?’ he inquired evenly.

‘Yes,’ she responded. ‘Thank you,’ she added inanely. How many people would thank someone for spanking their arse?

He inclined his head slightly, accepting his due. ‘You needed it,’ he said.

Hermione felt her face flush a burning red. He was right, of course. She had need it—needed all of it. Decent girls didn’t need to be spanked and humiliated, did they? What was wrong with her?

‘Can I … can I do something for you?’ she offered. He had got her off quite nicely, but she hadn’t laid a finger on him. Perhaps she could put her hand down his trousers and return the favour—or he could fuck her, if he wanted; it wasn’t as if it would be her first time.

He did not answer her. ‘You need to be punished; I provide the discipline. Do not confuse the interactions with … something else.’

Hermione bit her lip and stared down at the blanket swaddling her. He didn’t want her, except to slap her bum.

‘It’s dinner time,’ he announced, and she realised the shimmering green light was gone, replaced by candlelight. It had grown dark whilst she had been in his study. ‘Can you stand?’

Hermione nodded, and Professor Snape assisted her to her feet, standing and removing the blanket as if he were a gentleman removing a lady’s wrap at a formal ball. She stood beside him clothed except for her Vanished knickers. He stepped back from her, putting distance between them.

‘If you are again in need, you may inform me by coming to this room and standing, without speaking, with your skirt raised up so I can see your naked cunt. You are never again to wear knickers into my presence in this room. Do you understand me?’

Hermione looked at him, standing just out of arm’s reach, his expression harsh, his words strict and unyielding. His oily black hair hung in curtains on either side of his thin, sallow face, and he did not look at all as if he had whispered filthy words to her and plucked at her clitoris until she came, screaming, across his lap. He looked, in fact, exactly like her austere Potions master.

‘Yes, sir; I understand you,’ she said obediently.

He looked at her for another minute, the seconds creeping by as he studied her. At last he turned away, breaking the spell which had held her still and quiet as he looked her over. Hermione began to tuck her shirt back into her skirt, looking up only when he stopped across the room and spoke to her again.

‘You will find a jar of oil on the table,’ he said, and following his gaze, she did indeed see a brown glass container on the edge of the table. ‘You will put the entire contents of the jar into your bath to alleviate current and prevent tomorrow’s discomfort.’

She crossed the room and took the jar.

‘Do you have any questions about how to use the oil?’ he asked her curtly.

Hermione mutely shook her head, easing one step further away from him, towards the door.

‘Then you are dismissed,’ he said, and he turned to the bookshelf directly behind him, taking down a green leather volume and beginning to peruse it, effectively shutting her out even before she closed the door behind her retreat.