A Brave New World

and finally, the chapter we\'ve all been waiting for. okay, the chapter i\'ve been waiting for. seeing as i don\'t know what will happen, as the bunnies are keeping it a secret even from me, we\'ll have to wait and see what happens together. i would really like to lay claim to the characters that will be used within the confines of this ficlet, but i can\'t. not because my high moral upstanding won\'t let me, but because i don\'t want to lose my shirt for making false claims. we all know, at any rate, that j.k. rowling owns them all anyway. its her fabulous idea and she makes the money to prove it. i\'m just a poor white woman trying to put a little spice in her life.

as i\'m not sure where this particular chapter will go, i will simply state here and now that there may or may not be things here that will be terribly nasty and disagreeable to one and all. use caution when venturing into the deepest, darkest, foulest recesses of my brain. take a compass, a road map and a guide. and a flashlight. and some blankets, too. it gets pretty cold and lonely in there. anyhow, i know there will be some slash in here... but that\'s about it for the moment. just know you\'ve been warned.

as always, if you find that you like how sick and twisted i am, please feel free to let me know. reviews are always appreciated, though not required.

A Brave New World
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus

I sit before the fire, a snifter of brandy cradled loosely in one hand. I am lost in thought. The feel of a younger man\'s lips wrapped around my stiff erection has not disturbed me from my ruminations. Yet. Soon enough, the sounds of his mouth sucking hungrily at my pulsating length will permeate my subconscious and drive me from the recesses of my mind. Much has been troubling me of late and even the promise of a night spent holding my lover and fucking him senseless cannot aleviate some of the mindless worry that has been plaguing me.

The head in my lap moves faster, the soft sound of slurping reaching my ears. As always, this draws me from my thoughts so that I am focused on the attention being paid to my cock. Torture always puts me in need of a pair of sensual lips that I know can offer me relief. I stare down upon him as he works with great zest and zeal at bringing me off. He knows as well as I that it takes more than his lips working furiously at my shaft to garner some reaction. But he is ever hopeful and must always attempt to bring about my climax through a vigorous application of his mouth and tongue.

I reach down with one hand and absently tap the top of his skull to let him know that it is time to release his prize and allow me to finish off our liason buried deeply within his firm, delectable, young arse. His head, covered in an unruly mass of sloppy black hair lifts to allow him to stare up at me and I am, as always, caught in the snare of those beautiful, emerald jewels that pass for eyes.

Harry Potter is mine. He has been since his fifth year. Since that very first time I used Occlumency on him. I not only saw what he thought, but how he felt. I saw the darkness within him, that filled his young soul, and I gladly exploited that. I felt his anger and the desire that boiled inside of him to be.... something. Feared or loved, it mattered not to him. He only wished to be and I knew I could make that happen. I knew that, by bringing him to the Dark Side, Potter could have each and every little thing his black heart desired. I shared Harry\'s feelings with the Dark Lord. Together, we coaxed \'The Boy Who Lived\' to the side of the Dark and plotted Dumbledore\'s downfall. I have turned Harry into the very thing he despised. And he loves me for it.

He is Harry now. Once the boy gave himself to me; body, mind and soul, he ceased being Potter. It is the very lowest of men who call their lover and partner in all things by his last name. Or worse, by a pet name. When he came to me, begged me to take him roughly like a dog, he was still Potter. But the moment he gave himself into my care and pleaded with me to show him the ways of the Dark, he became Harry. He was, simply, him.

Oh, I know what you are all thinking. Potter is dead. He died at my hand. Lucius and Dumbledore were there to see the Golden Gryffindor fall. This is only partially true. I did hurl a killing curse at Potter. But not the killing curse. This was all part of the plan derived by, and you are going to love this, Dumbledore and myself. Yes, I know. You are thoroughly confused now. Allow me to explain and enlighten you on how all of this came about.

As I stated before, Harry came to me out of need and desperation. He needed free of Dumbledore. The old man was driving him mad with all of his expectations. Contrary to popular belief, which was only encouraged by the old bastard, Albus was not the most powerful Wizard in the world. He wasn\'t even second. Surprisingly, it was not Voldemort, either. It really was Harry. Because Harry\'s capacity for emotion is what fueled his magical ability. It is what still fuels it. This is one of those things that I discovered while digging about in the boy\'s brain. He really is rather intelligent. He simply appears not to be because of his annoying habit of jumping up and charging headlong into a situation rather than analyzing it.

One of the other needs that brought Harry begging at my doorstep was his need for me. At first, I was loathe to believe that such a beautiful and brilliant child could want anyone as old and unattractive as myself. I have no illusions about my appearance. I am neither handsome nor appealing. But neither am I completely ugly and without charm. I have other, more desirable traits that make up for any lacking social graces or physical marks of perfection. At present, Harry is running his tongue up and down the length of one of my more desirable attributes.

It was then, when the boy begged me to bugger his arse, that I started to plot and plan the Light\'s end. I took my ideas to the Dark Lord. I have ever been a faithful servant of the Dark and never has he questioned me my intentions. Dumbledore was a blind fool to simply think I would give up so much glorious power to become a lowly puppet in his never ending war. I have ever been self-serving and I grabbed hold of the opportunity the moment it presented itself to me.

As I slowly steered Harry into the waiting arm of his nemesis, while I was whispering to him of all the ways Dumbledore would use him before throwing him aside, I brought reports to Lord Voldemort. I whispered in his ear of Harry\'s growing willingness to throw in with the forces of Dark. I planted ideas and bits of information with both Voldemort and Dumbledore that brought about the very thing I craved most. Dumbledore\'s ruin and Voldemort\'s full return.

I made the Headmaster believe that Harry could prove helpful if he pretended to go to the Dark. The old man did not want to hear it at first, but the bug, once planted, was hard to shake off. So it was Dumbledore who decided we would flush out Voldemort with a ruse. With the death of the great Harry Potter. Once plans were established, Harry and Voldemort were informed and the second half of the complicated plot was brought together. Little did Dumbledore know that, while he was plotting Voldemort\'s end, the Dark Lord and I plotted his demise.

To my knowledge, Lucius is still under the impression that Harry is dead. This suits me, as I do not wish to explain to that sex-addled platinum blonde bimbo exactly what it was that he missed that day. Harry is content to stay in my lavish apartments, awaiting my needs and learning new ways to use his vast amounts of magic. He really is an adept student. I have never seen anyone quite so keen to devour the contents of my books on the Dark Arts since Granger was in my Potions class. The Headmaster\'s offices are now located in the dungeons far below Hogwarts. I have developed a particular fondness for the dank, dark corners of the castle.

\"It is time to punish him,\" I tell Harry as I get to my feet. Even as I am attempting to return my erection to my trousers, his greedy little hands are seeking that one last feel. I see now why he was such an excellent Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. When I glare down at him in mock severity, he only gives me that cheeky grin of his and goes up on tip toes to press his lips to mine. \"Enough,\" I warn him. If he continues this, I will not make it past the nearest table. And he knows how I do love to torture my playthings.

Harry nods and steps back from me, following me as I move over to a table in the corner where a cauldron is slowly bubbling. There is a small glass tube with a cork stopper laying on the flat surface, a glass and a ladle next to it. Harry knows the routine, but he waits for me to pour him a measure of the bilious looking potion. I ladle some into the glass, then pull the cork stopper from the tube and dump the single hair it contains into the glass. I step back so that Harry can drink it and will have room to go through the transformation without my being in his way.

I always admire my potions at work and this time is no different. His skin bubbles and changes, conforming to his body to make him look gaunt and underfed. His eyes go from that glorious green to a muddy blue shade that I swear hold a world of madness in them. He sets his glasses on the table while he rides out the end of the transformation. His messy black mop becomes an unkempt length of dark, limp hair littered with gray streaks. The green robe falls to the floor and I am, as ever, astounded that the potion works so well. Even with the hairs of someone long dead.

If I were not standing here and watching the transformation, I would not believe that Harry Potter stands before me in the guise of someone else. I would have to believe that I am looking at his godfather and former compatriot to James Potter and Remus Lupin, Sirius Black. He stands naked before me, his cock standing at full attention. The head is weeping, a single drop of pre-cum glistening in the light of the candles. I smile. This will prove almost as gratifying as fucking Harry before our audience.

\"Come along, boy. Time to do this,\" I say as I turn and head for the door on the opposite wall. Harry, in his guise as Sirius, nods silently and follows me. We stop at the door and I perform a few small charms to make this look as realistic as possible. Suddenly, his hands are bound behind his back and there is a thick collar around his throat. A few bruises cover the thin form, as if he has been battered and abused. I take the leash that is attached to the collar in hand and drag \'Sirius\' into the room beyond.

\"No!\" comes the hoarse whisper. A few chains rattle to let me know our guest does not like what is about to happen. I stop and anchor the end of the lead to a hook implanted on a table top. The position of the hook in relation to the edge of the table sees \'Sirius\' bent over the table so that his arse is out to me. The table is positioned in such a manner that each hard pelvic thrust and penetrating stroke can be seen by the man bound to the wall. \"Sirius? Let him go, you bastard!\"

I turn to glare at my captive. It has been days since Draco\'s mindless bodyguards from his school days, Crabbe and Goyle, brought me my post prized possession. Remus J. Lupin is presently chained to my wall. He is weak from lack of food and water, his clothes torn and hanging loosely about his thin frame. He was obviously caught after the full moon. By law, he should have been dead upon sight. There are rules enacted about the werewolves and what should be done with them. The law states that known shifters must be put to death, as they are too volatile and unstable to mix with polite society. But Lucius knows of my soft spot for the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, so he was brought to me instead of being killed immediately. He is going to wish they had when I am finished with him.

\"Now, now, Remus,\" I chide him softly, running my hand over the curve of back and bottom exposed to view. My sweet Harry reacts accordingly, his body shivering and jerking spasmically beneath my touch. Black hated me with such passion and Remus had been one of his closest friends. To watch me violate and defile his friend will, I hope, send Remus over the edge into madness. Already, he has seen me take James Potter. He has watched me torture and fuck Harry\'s friends from school, those children he had nurtured and taught not all that long ago. If seeing my hands upon his school chum in a manner other than abusive does not do it, I have one last card I can play. \"If you cannot remain silent, you will ruin my enjoyment of the event.\"

\"Haven\'t you done enough to him already?\" Lupin sobs. He slumps in his chains, hanging heavily as he pours out his bitter sorrow in soft wails of agony. His mind is already on the verge of snapping. Black has been dead since Harry\'s fifth year. I know it has not been easy for many since Voldemort took control of the Wizarding World, but it has been especially hard for known werewolves. Lupin is one of the most infamous of those, and has been persecuted upon sight by one and all for fear of incurring the Dark Lord\'s wrath. His capture and subsequent imprisonment with me has only served to worsen his dementia.

\"I have not even begun to properly thank him for his tricks,\" I snarl, my wand pointed at Lupin. A muttered spell and he is bound to the wall with his head held up so that he has to watch what is to come. Yes, I still hold that particular grudge. I do not forget, nor forgive, easily. \"You will watch and you will see what happens to those who think they can play with me as a cat with a ball of string.\"

Lupin\'s gaze is locked to me as I approached my \'prisoner\'. My hands were already working at slipping every one of the buttons on my trousers from their holes so that I can take out the aggression I feel on the polyjuice version of Sirius. Harry understands my moods perhaps better than I do and he is always willing to accomodate my needs. Today demands that I am forceful and aggressive with him. I know that he will act and react accordingly.

It is this relationship that has seen more than one of my \'toys\' sent to St. Mungo\'s with little left of their mind. It is this course of action that sent Ginevra Weasley to that esteemed hospital. Somehow, she could stomach the idea of my violating her mudblood friend, Granger. But when it came to her brothers and that imbicile, Longbottom, she simply crumbled. It was mind-boggling. Of course, I had been willing to make her think I had her parents in my clutches, as well. I would have let her watch me take and torture them. Fortunately for me, I did not have to press on that far. The idea of taking Molly and Arthur Weasley in a sexual manner is disturbing and grotesque. Even for me.

I make sure that Lupin has an excellent view of my turgid erection, of the weeping head and the angry purple-red color, before I step behind the body bound to the table. I set the head of my cock against the puckered rim, then my hands grasp both white arse cheeks and pry them apart. With a hard shove and an audible grunt, I slide into the ever tight channel before me. The loud cry that falls from my partner\'s lips is not entirely forced.

\"I always knew you were sick, Snape. I didn\'t think you would resort to this,\" Lupin\'s words were hardly distinguishable through his tears, his voice thick with sadness and disgust. I manage to look at him, to sneer in his face while my hips pull back then plunge forward once more. Another loud cry fills the air, telling me that the young man beneath me will be sore for some time to come. There are advantages to being a Potions Master. \"He doesn\'t deserve that. No one does.\"

\"I beg to differ, Lupin. He deserves to be punished,\" I bark at the man bound to my wall. I know that, for a moment, my eyes flash with some emotion I usually keep well hidden. Then the spark dies and I am once more calm and cool, a placid expression on my face. To prove my point, I thrust into the tight channel hugging my erection with intense vigor. I can feel the flesh tearing and I can feel the warmth of blood as it slowly trickles out to lubricate the dry passage.

Oh, I know what you must be thinking. I am accustomed to punishing with sex and the lash. You would be right. To a degree. I do use sex and pain as methods of punishment. But I do not wish to damage the body, as others of my acquaintance are wont to do. I wish to find ways to break the mind and turn my toys into so much putty in my hands. I do not want to possess them. I wish to destroy them, to show them that, in the end, there is nothing quite so real as pain and betrayal. I am likely to be the most vindictive bastard you will ever meet.

I turn my attention back to the matter at hand. That would be the mental rape of Remus Lupin. It is nothing to do with plundering the backside of a man long dead. It is to do with the control of one man who made my life a living hell. I want to break him like I have done with no other. I will make him pay for even looking upon me. I have been told that I hold a grudge long after I should have given it up.

I am distracted from my musings by the gentle squeeze given to my cock by the ass that holds it. I know this means that Harry has noticed that I have seemingly lost some of my enthusiasm. It is time to pick up the pace. My hips once more thrust with great vigor, eliciting loud moans and guttaral cries from the man beneath me. Each time I drive into him, I envision the horror of my youth and how little these men did to make it better. I know that this is not the real Sirius Black beneath me, but the image is of him and I will take what satisfaction I can in abusing an imposter. Besides, it is Lupin that I wish to punish here.

With the help of Harry\'s studious lips, it is not long before I sense my impending explosion. The tension is thick, my balls drawn tight in anticipation of impending release. I know that it will take more than one session to shatter Lupin\'s grasp on reality. And I have a trump card to play if watching me bugger Black does not do what I wish it to. I know that Lupin will go howling mad when he sees me fucking his precious little Harry Potter. Howling, barking, frothing mad.

My thoughts are broken when a loud cry announces that I have fully seated myself in the finely crafted arse before me. My balls burst, their burden working toward the surface with boiling intensity. My orgasm explodes, bringing a loud groan from my lips. My hips are pressed tightly to the backside in front of me, my cock buried so deeply that I know I\'ve hurt Harry with my inattentiveness. My seed pulses into his bottom, filling him past capacity. It will follow my retreating shaft out when I withdraw.

Finally, I am spent and I pull out of him. The sound of liquid splattering on the ground follows and I can see that Lupin is looking at the floor between our spread feet. I do not have to look down to know that my seed, tinged pink by blood, is now coating the floor. Sadly, my play time is over for a while. Even with a healing potion and an ungent to help mend the rectal tears, Harry will need to mend before he will be up for another round of such physical exhertion. I unhook the leash and allow him, still looking every inch like Sirius Black, to stand. Giving him a baleful glare that is every inch the bastard Slytherin that I am, I jerk roughly on the lead and exit the room, pulling my captive behind me. Not that this is of any consequence. Lupin needs time to think on what he\'s seen.

After seeing to Harry\'s comfort, both soothing the cool, creamy balm up into his torn rectum and convincing him to swallow down the potion that will send him off to sleep and allow him to heal, I drift into my private chambers. I am restless and bored, almost always the usual happening after such an engaging round of punishment. While it thrills me at the moment, the after effects are sadly tainted with a feeling of unwelcome, restive feelings. My preconceived little scenarios of payback and torture are no longer satisfying for me.

Settled in the large, leather covered wing back chair behind my desk, I stare off into space and try to figure out what has happened to make my life so intolerable. When I am not running the school and making sure that the dunderheads sent to me for their education are not going to burn the castle down, I am in my labs, working my precious potions. I read, the tomes in the library so ancient that there is knowledge in them that even I am unaware of. I play with Harry, though he is by no means my only partner. I have so many sexual proclivities that he cannot fill all of my needs.I would, for lack of better terminology, fuck him to death if he were the only one I relied on for gratification.

A smile tugs the corners of my lips up. I have not been with a woman in some time. And, while I have willing Witches throwing themselves at my feet now, Hogwarts is a difficult school to gain entrance to, there is something about a willing partner that actually gives me little pleasure. In point of fact, it turns my stomach. My days as a Death Eater had instilled in me an unhealthy enjoyment of forced sexual encounters with women. Not that I do not engage in a consensual joining from time to time. But there is something about the thrill of power that comes from sheer terror. It excites me like no other aphrodisiac I know. There is a reason as to the stalking, scowling, snarling persona I wear every day. The fear that flows from my students gives me a rush of both sexual and non-sexual excitement. I thrive on that fear.

A pleasant afternoon spent terrorizing an unwilling woman sounds like a wonderful diversion. Its been a very long time since I have indulged in such actions and the mere idea of doing so is enough to send a deep, throbbing need pulsing through my veins to pool in my loins. Even now, so soon after my time punishing \'Sirius\', I am already growing hard with the thought of giving into that base need and plundering both the mind and body of a young, frightened Witch.

I stand and move to what looks like a tapestry hung on the wall to cover the blank stone. With a few words and a tap of the tip of my dark wand, the tapestry pulls to the side to expose a heavy oak door. It is bound with heavy iron bars, a large magical lock on the handle to prevent anyone from sneaking in and finding my hidden delights. Using my wand once more, I whisper the words of the incantation that act as the key to my wards. I feel the magic simply slip away and the lock clatters open loudly. Smiling, I open the door and step into the darkened space just beyond.

The moment the door shuts behind me, a series of torches flare to life to light up the landing that tops a long corridor of narrow, winding steps that run down into the deep places beneath the castle. Casually, I glide down the stairs like a wraith until I am at the bottom. I step off of the last step and into a large room. Whimpering reaches my ears, having only just started when I walked into the cavernous space.

Several females, ranging in just past their sixteenth year to somewhere before their fortieth, are all chained at intervals to the wall. They are clean and well-fed and one could think that they were on holiday, if not for the large, ugly iron chain that binds them to the slimy, damp stone walls. I allow my gaze to rove over them. Each and every female there hides her eyes from me, looking at the floor or her lap. All but one. An unholy smile curls my lips up. This will be my entertainment for the night.

I move over to the angry woman, my wand out and ready for any situation. She continues to glare up at me, fire and promises of retirbution shining in her eyes. Such fire and spirit. I do so like that in my victims. Oh yes, she will do nicely. A flick of my wand undoes the chains holding her and she springs to her feet, already intent on seeing personally to my demise. Her hands reach for my throat. A collective gasp fills the room a moment before I lift my arm and backhand her across the mouth. She staggers, dropping to her knees with the blow, but lifts her eyes to glare daggers at me. The blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth only serves to entice me.

\"You\'re a pig, Professor Snape. An unmitigated bastard and I hate you with intense passion,\" she snarls at me, though she remains wisely on her knees before me.

\"Sweet words will get you everything you want, Miss Bones,\" I mock, though I am hard pressed not to simply throw her to the floor and fuck her here and now. My cock is so tight from her simple verbal lashing that my trousers have suddenly become far too tight for my liking. One hand reaches out and draws her to her feet by curling into her hair. Susan Bones has grown into quite an attractive young woman. And her inability to keep her mouth shut and her eyes down has earned her some time spent with me.

I reach for her, my hand curling into her hair to drag her to her feet. Her hands reach up, curling around my wrist in an attempt to both break my tight grip on her tender scalp and to keep my from ripping the clump of hair I hold from her head. When I start forward, she holds back a minute. I believe she has finally come to understand the dangerous and precarious situation she finds herself in now. I tug none too gently and she finally follows after me. I know that the others are sending her looks of itense pity as she is forced from the room.

Up the stairs we go, our footsteps echoing loudly in the silence of the narrow flight of steps. I can taste the apprehension and fear that roll off the young woman and it only furthers my growing desire. The need to force myself into her is making me impatient. I increase my speed, forcing her to hurry or find her hair ripped from her head. At the top of the stairs, I take a moment to reapply the wards and put the tapestry back in place. There\'s no need to leave it open, as Miss Bones will not be returning to the dungeon chamber.

I force her across the floor and into my private rooms. The bed is heavy, made of dark wood, and it dominates the entire room. Dark green bedding covers the thick mattress, the pillows piled high for my sleeping comfort. But I do not take her there. No one shares my bed with me. Not even my sweet, diligent lover Harry. Never is he allowed to approach me while I am sleeping or relaxing in my bed. No, I take Miss Bones with me into a small room that remains empty much of the time.

The candles flare to life with a soft pop, illuminating the stark whiteness of the room. There is a white table in the center and nothing else. The floors and walls are as plain and white as the rest. Except for dark, muddy brown smears that mar the perfection of the pure color. They are all the same shade of brown, though each one is in a different place on the walls and floor. A different shape. A different life. This room is a painting and a tribute to death. Each smear and stain represents a innocence that I have stolen. This is my masterpiece of pain and degredation and it is here that Susan Bones will cease to be anything but a pleasant afternoon\'s memory for me.

I throw her into the table. It is magicked to the floor. When her body slams against it, the table does not move. The woman cries out in sharp pain, her body crumpling to the floor from the contact. I smile, a look of pure evil that I know scares one and all. This is where I can be my best. Where I can be who I was meant to be. This is where the Death Eater comes to life with vengence.

She staggers to her feet as I shut and ward the door behind me, the locks clicking into place with sudden finality. When she looks up at me, she understands and is suddenly swimming in fear. The room fills with the emotion and makes me giddy, dizzy with need. She is feeding me so well that I feel a moment\'s bother that she will only feed me this once. Seeing the intent in my eyes, she shakes her head. Tears roll down her cheeks. I take a step forward.

She runs, darting past me to the door. I turn to her, watching as she claws ineffectually at the knob. When I near her, she darts away from me once more. I follow her, chasing her with slow, sure steps around the table. The chase will serve to whet my appetite and make the taking of her that much sweeter. Already, I feel as if I will burst the moment I slam myself inside of her. I think a moment about this and realize that I wish to relish this moment for as long as I am able. I take a moment to mutter a darker spell, one that will benefit me greatly.

Our game of cat and mouse continues for a while longer, serving only to make me want her that much more. To dominate her and make her mine. Finally, I grow weary of chasing her and finally catch her as she makes another attempt at prying the door open. My arms come around her waist and draw her back against me tightly so that she can feel what she is doing to me. She hangs limply in my embrace for a few moments, then begins fighting like a little hellion. Oh, the sweet bliss that this will bring me. She is the wildest I have picked yet and her actions serve only to make me want to lose myself inside of her all the more.

I toss her away from me and catch both of her hands in one of my own much larger ones when she attempts to scratch my eyes out with them. The other hand connects sharply with her cheek and snaps her head back. She slumps in my grasp and I take the opportunity it presents. I loose her hands and reach for the thin robes she wears. It tears easily in my grasp, rather like tissue paper on an unexpected gift. The tattered remains slip to the floor to give me an unobstructed view of her body with exception of her cotton bra and panties.

I rip those away, too.

Miss Bones stands before me, naked and shaking with tears snaking down her cheeks like twin snakes wending their way through tall grass. My body pulses at the sight of her. With slow, deliberately careful motions, my hands ease me out of my black clothing. She watches, her eyes locked to my fingers despite her apprehension. If she thinks I will be anything but harsh with her, she is sadly mistaken.

When I stand naked before her, she simply stares at me as if she\'s never seen a man before. Her eyes are riveted to my turgid erection, jutting out at her accusingly. It is her fault that it is this red and angry. That it is weeping with the need to drive into her body. I glance about the room, searching the walls for the perfect spot. I find it in the corner, where there is a place that has no discolored splatters on it. I bend and retrieve my wand from my shed clothing, then point it at her.

With a few words, the young woman\'s body is slammed into place in the joint of the room, where the two walls meet. Her hand are jerked roughly above her, bound by invisible ropes to the wall. I debate on whether I should bind her legs, too. But there is the prospect of her fight that decides me against it. She is in a spot that is just at the level I need her body to be so that I can enter her unhindered. She watches as I stroke myself, simply staring at her.

She is afraid. The cold air in the room is making her nipples stand out in tight peaks. They are attached to breasts that are full and pert, perfectly shaped twin mounds that beg me to inflict pain upon them. My wand swings once more and I produce a pair of small needles. Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head, watching me with fear in her expression. I stride forward and pluck at one nipple until I can stretch it away from her body easily. Her muscles contract, her body writhing in pain as I slide one needle through the tight flesh. I repeat the process with the other nipple and watch as they go red. Drops of blood well up on both ends and slowly drip down onto her quivering abdomen to stain her skin red.

I have found, in my countless experiments, that this type of piercing does not actually hurt. It is the fear the person feels tht makes them think they are in agony. I play off that fear, making sure that I stroke the flames of that emotion high. It always works to my advantage. When I reach for her thighs, the silly chit remembers that her legs are free and she kicks out at me. The movement jars her breasts and makes her nipples throb angrily. She moans, but does not stop trying to kick me.

I allow her to fight a few moments before I catch her legs in my hands and press them back until they are touching the wall on either side of her torso. This position spreads her wide to my gaze. Her lips are normal, telling me she does not react to fear as some women are known to. She is dry, her cunt closed to me. As if that will stop me. For me, this is the perfect scenario. Fear and loathing. Pleasure and pain. Such powerful aphrodisiacs to me. My cock throbs, reminding me that it has places it wishes to be.

\"No,\" she sobs as I move into her. \"Please, no!\"

\"Why ever not, Miss Bones? Are you not enjoying our play time?\" I ask her. The head of my cock brushes over the slit between legs.

\"Oh Merlin! Please don\'t! Please don\'t do this, Professor!\" she begs, her voice sobbing and shaking as her brain slowly absorbs what is to happen here. I ignore her pleas, her sobbing, her tears. I ignore it all, even while it works to entice me further. Her fear, her deathly fear, is making me so fucking horny. There is only one way this meeting will be concluded.

I shove my hips forward. She is tight and dry and only the head of my erection slides into her.Already, she is screaming and I have yet to fully enter her. I draw back, once more thrusting my hips toward her body. The scream reverberates off the walls when I push past the tightness, the dryness. Past the thin barrier of her virginity until I am fully seated within her desert dry twat. A low moan rumbles up my throat and I withdraw. I love the sounds of virgin\'s blood as it spatters the ground.

She is sobbing now, thinking that the worst is over. It is yet to come. I draw a breath when I look down and see that my length is coated bright red with her shed blood. She has bled so much already and will only continue to do so. I hear the gasp and know that her gaze has moved to the same place as my own. Leaning into her to keep her legs spread with my torso, I reach for her breasts and twist them. She cries out again and spasms with the pain.

I pull away from her so that I can shove myself back into her tight cunt. My hips find their own rhythm, slow and steady, my cock grating against the tender flesh of her channel. She cries and sobs, her body quivering in my grasp as I force myself in and out of her body. I would have already lost control and given her my seed had it not been for the spell I cat upon myself before starting. The invisible strap binds my cock and balls together at the base much like a Muggle cock ring. It only takes a word to break the bond and release myself. I much prefer this to the feeling of cold steel or soft leather. It is far more predictable and easier to control. There is also less possibility of permanent damage.

She is begging me to stop, repeating the word \'no\' over and over again. She remains dry. delighting me as I continue to rape not only her body but her mind. The feeling is exquisite, her body so tight around mine. But a part of me decides that it isn\'t enough. I pull out, bringing a sigh of relief to her lips. She gives me a wan smile, thinking I will accede to her wishes. Instead, I simply draw her legs up higher so that I can position the head of my cock at her rear entrance.

More screams fill the room as I force my large girth into the small, unlubricated hole. The sounds are music to my ears as I take up a slow, steady pace. I stroke in and out of her bottom lazily, enjoying the tightness as much as I had in her untried pussy. Her sobs are music to my ears and I decide to quicken the pace.

It is a kind of perverse heaven for me. There is something so erotic about rape for me. It pushes me past my normal level of bastardness and into a new realm that makes leaving difficult. I thrive on the fear and pain that my victims always succumb to. It is nearly the ultimate aphrodisiac to me. There is one other action that will bring me to a truly mind-shattering orgasm. My body spasms and I know that it is time.

I pull from her now well buggered arse and say the word that will release the magic holding my orgasm back. The feeling of being bound falls away and my body tenses with what it knows is to come. I push my length back into her cunt, ravaging the tight passage and tearing it so that there is more blood to paint my masterpiece of pain with. The screams have fallen away to sobs and occasional cries. While I am mildly disappointed, it is of no matter any longer. I reach up to tweak her pierced nipples, drawing a shuddering breath that sees her body quivering about mine. It is a wonderful feeling, giving me a moment to pause and wonder at what I am about to do. Then my cock jerks, reminding me that it is time to find my pleasure.

My hands lift to her throat. When I press against her windpipe, her eyes bulge and she gives a small shake of her head. Fear rides her, swirling around me so intensely that I know a moment of mindless terror. I can feel what she feels and it makes my prick, buried deeply within her, pulse. I draw back and stab deeper, tearing tender flesh while my hands press down more firmly.

She is making soft gagging noises in the back of her throat, her hands jerking at the bonds that hold them above her head. I press ever deeper, ever forward until I am so far inside of her that it feels, for one moment, that she and I have become one. Her face is changing shades as she loses oxygen. I apply more pressure as I draw back for that one last thrust. My hips arch forward so sharply that my cock spears into her body, the head forcing its way through the tightness of her cervix. Could she scream, she would have.

There is a wet sound as the last of her air gurgles up out of her throat. At the same moment that she goes limp against me, I feel the tight knot at the base of my spine shatter violently, My body shudders as I ejaculate, my seed flooding up into her abused and broken body. My moan is long and loud in the silence of the room as I continue to rock my hips and pump my seed into her. When the orgasm, so blinding that I feel as if I have lost consciousness for a few moments, subsides, I drop my hands from her throat. There is a bruise forming where my fingers rested.

I pull free and step back, watching as her body drops like a rag doll. She is limp and lifeless, her head falling forward. If it were not for the invisible bonds about her wrists, she would have already dropped the to floor in a near boneless pile. Her blood and my seed leak out to stain the floor and leave a new pattern on my never ending painting. I gather my clothes and move to leave. A shower is in order and much needed. The House Elves will deal with the body later. They always do.

When I finally step from the shower, sated and actually quite sleepy, it is to find Harry standing by my favored chair with a snifter in his hands. He is smiling at me, clad only in his green silk robe. When I draw near, he hands me the snifter of warmed brandy. He leans in, giving me a gentle kiss on the lips by way of greeting. When I settle into the chair, he curls up at my feet and lays his head on my knees. Absently, I reach down to run my fingers through the soft silk of his hair. He sighs, utterly content with the situation, and drops gentle kisses on the inside of my knee.

The scene is one of domesticity at its finest, but I do not mind. He is my Harry and he is the only one who understands who and what I am. \"I sent the House Elves into the play room. I believe I heard some muttering from within. Honestly, Sev. You need to learn to take better care of your toys,\" he tells me, humor in his voice. He knows me all too well.

\"She dared to look me in the eye,\" I reply haughtily. I sound the epitome of upper class snobbery. \"I was forced to teach her her place.\"

\"What will you do when you run out of toys?\" he asks idly. He already knows the answer, but has to ask anyway.

\"Then we will find new ones, you and I,\" I tell him, meaning every word of it.

\"You shouldn\'t say such things,\" he warns softly. \"What if you get caught?\"

\"I have you here, do I not?\" I say, a gentleness to my voice that I allow no one else to hear. To do so would mean their instant death. I am a hard and selfish bastard, uncaring and as cold as the polar ice caps. Only Harry knows there is a slightly softer side to me. A side that is dedicated to his happiness. I feel him grin as he rests against my knee. He is my one failsafe. He does not know it, but he will ensure that I have a very long life.

\"Yes, you do,\" he replies in a whisper. I know what is coming and wish he would not say it. But he is a Gryffindor still in so many ways. \"I love you, Sev.\"

\"I know you do, Harry,\" I reply. I cannot answer in kind.

I do not love Harry Potter. I claim to know nothing of the emotion he speaks of. I know he is mine. To own and do with what I wish. I have some kind of tender feelings for him. But not for the reasons one might think. Harry Potter is the most powerful Wizard since Merlin\'s day. There are none on the planet who can best him. I have ensured that it remains this way since the day the annoying little sod set foot in my classroom. I have secretly taught him how to harness his magic, to focus it, though he does not know this. He actually knows very little in regard to his abilities other than he has been able to sneak his way out of tight situations with more finesse than a cat.

Voldemort has always feared the boy. He has every reason to. Harry does not know it, does not think it possible, but he can defeat the Dark Lord with little more than a wayward thought. That is my attraction to the little git. That and he has a wonderfully wicked pair of lips that can evoke such feelings in me. \"You do know that we will be forced to perform for Lupin again, do you not?\" I ask him.

He nods, silent for the moment. Then he turns those large emerald eyes up to me and there is silent entreaty in them. \"Tomorrow? I\'d like to spend the night with you. Showing you just how much I love you,\" his fingers crept up the length of my inner thigh, toward a part of me that even now, after two vigorous bouts of fornication, is answering the call of his unspoken desires.

\"Very well, Harry. Tomorrow. And, this time, I think as yourself,\" I tell him softly. Before my shower, I had checked on Lupin and found him babbling on about Black being dead, that I had not been fucking Black in the arse before him. There is still some firmness to his mind. I believe that an appearance of Harry with myself will be the last straw. The young man, curled like a cat at my feet, looks up at me and smiles wickedly.

I suck in a breath as his long, calloused fingers find my lengthening shaft beneath the towel I wear slung about my hips. There is magic in those fingers that I have found in no one else. Licking his lips, he parts the towel to expose my now fully erect cock to his gaze. He really is a hungry little cocksucker. My hand, still sunk into the softness of his hair, urges his head forward. He licks up the underside of my shaft before swallowing all of me down and I cannot help that my hips arch up into his mouth.

As his head bobs up and down on my once more stiffened cock, I am struck by a sense of déjà vu. This is where we were earlier today, his mouth hot on my shaft and his lips smacking and slurping their way to my testicles and back up. This is the most erotic picture I have ever seen. Harry Potter is the most powerful Wizard in the world and he is paying homage to my cock.

To me, power is the most potent aphrodisiac. I am addicted to the feel of it. This is what turns me on like nothing else. I have the most powerful weilder of magic the world has ever seen, on his knees before me, paying me lip service.

Perhaps some day, I will use Harry to take down the Dark Lord. Perhaps. A thrill runs through me at the thought and I think that, maybe, tonight will be the night that Harry forces my orgasm from me without intercourse. There is always a first time for everything.

fin Severus
~~~~~~~~~~

whoa! i was not expecting that. the bunnies were just evil to me. i hadn\'t planned on doing that. um.... yeah. anyhow... i am my own beta, so please don\'t shoot me if there are mistakes. or if you don\'t like this. i only did what the voices in my head told me to. and i want to extend my eternal thanks to everyone who constantly tells me i can do it. you guys mean the world to me. i would never get anything done without you.

finally, a few more thanks.

to Xamphira: thank you for the glowing words. i was rather surprised at the use of the word cerebral and i even looked it up to make sure it was what you meant. i hadn\'t intended for this to go on as it has and i wasn\'t intending to make it so deep. i was only putting down what the bunnies told me to. i hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations. i\'m not sure what brought this particular bunny on.

to Michael: even though the review you sent wasn\'t on here, i wanted to acknowledge it here. your words mean so much to me. just so much and i can never tell you how much they mean. you helped inspire the bunnies for some of this chapter, so i hope you especially like this one. blessings to you, love. and many warm huggles and cuddles.

oh... by the way... does anyone have a suggestion for the next pairing? please feel free to make them to me.