Ensnared

It was late, very late, when I got back to the Slytherin Common Room.

Draco was still there, draped over a chair in front of the fire, with Blaise on one side and Sally-Anne on the other. Blaise at least had the decency to look embarrassed when she saw me. Sally-Anne, on the other hand, looked just smugly satisfied, though Draco was quite obviously furious.

“Where the hell did you get to?”

“Why do you care? You obviously kept yourself amused, didn’t you?” I gave him my best, Malfoy-like sneer, and strode off up the stairs.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before he came running after me. Blaise might have been competition if she could have been bothered about anyone other than herself; Draco had once said she must be the only person who called out her own name as she was coming. Sally-Anne, on the other hand, had a face like a pug-dog and a personality that was markedly less attractive than her appearance.

So I set the wards on my door, and locked it with a key for good measure, as I ran the bath, emptying the last of my box of Herbs into the swirling water. As I lowered myself into the fragrant steam, there came a hammering on my door which seemed fit to break it down. I ignored it.

“Pansy! Pansy! Bloody well let me in!”

If you’d paid any attention in Charms whatsoever, you’d be able to open the door, I thought. But I knew he hadn’t. Why open doors yourself when your house elves can do it for you?

I needed some time to think. More importantly, I needed time to get rid of the bruises – delicious bruises, even as they faded, I was pressing my fingers into them and remembering how I’d got them – and Draco needed time to think that I might not be jumping straight back into his bed, so that his relief would overcome his curiosity about where I’d been all day.

He was kicking the door now, as though he really was trying to break it down. I could hear the banging echoing down the corridor. Any minute now, someone was going to come and start asking questions. Including the one about where I’d been all afternoon.

“Stop it, Draco!” I sent a whisper of my voice out to the corridor. “I’m having a bath, so I’m all nice and clean for you. I’ll come to your room in a minute.”

That ought to buy me a little more time. I sank back in the warm, soothing water, and tried to organise my thoughts.

***

Draco was waiting. Already in his bed, and looking like he wanted to celebrate some more. “Come on, baby,” he said, “I’ve been waiting ages for you.” He peeled back the blankets to let me in, and I caught a glimpse of his cock, swollen dark against his pale body.

“Um. Draco, maybe I’ll sleep in my own room tonight. Suppose S-snape comes in again?”

“Yeah. Randy old bastard. Just coming in for a look at you. Or me. Don’t s’pose he’s had any for a very long time.” He was pushing me back on the bed now, kneeling between my legs, fumbling at my breast with one hand and stroking himself with the other. Momentarily, at the thought of Snape, I felt a flash of arousal. But I could smell the alcohol on Draco’s breath, and whatever it was doing for him, his prodding was doing nothing for me. As he entered me, I shut my eyes and imagined I was back in the dungeon.

Not for long. Mr Ego needed a commentary.

“Does that feel good for you, baby, do you like it? Oh yeah, I’m gonna fuck you good tonight babe. Does that feel good to you, yeah, does it?”

“Oh yeah, that’s amazing, oh Draco, fuck me, fuck me,” I squealed, thrusting my hips back at him, hoping this could be over with quickly.

It was. He moaned, loudly, and I felt him twitch as he came inside me. Then he fell asleep.

***

I slept badly. Dreams of Snape, Draco, rage, disgust and betrayal haunted me, though I could not have explained how the hot, tangled limbs and rollercoaster emotions I felt in the darkness corresponded with the confusion I’d felt during the day. With the – no, I wasn’t going to think about it.

I knew Draco was my future. It was all planned.

Not by me, whined a little voice inside me. No one asked me what I wanted.

I wanted to be beautiful, which I was already. And rich, which I would be the day after I married Draco. And powerful, which I already was, through him, through his father.

Third-hand power? asked the little voice. Not much.

A big pile of gold could compensate a lot.

The rest of your life? Was any pile of gold big enough for that?

I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t have time to think about it right now. The click of the door catch sounded loud in the early-morning silence of the Castle. And I knew just what I was going to hear after it.

“Oh dear.” His voiced dripped with honeyed sarcasm. “Really, I had thought better of you. Do you think, perhaps, that I am quite stupid? Or that school rules simply do not apply to you any more?”

Draco murmured, and turned over with his back to Snape.

“Get up, you silly girl!” he hissed. “Get dressed and get down to my office. Now!”

I stumbled through the castle, confused. I’d thought, over the last day, that I’d learned to tell the difference between Snape’s real anger and the show of sarcasm he put on for his own amusement. But now, I wasn’t sure.

We reached his dungeon. As he made the signs to undo the wards on the door to his office, he took hold of my upper arm, and half-lifting, half-dragging me, threw me inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at me. “Doesn’t ‘don’t sleep with Malfoy’ mean anything to you? Have you any idea what might have happened if I’d been caught anywhere near your room this morning?”

“In my room?” I replied, weakly. “But… I thought you meant, don’t let me catch you in Malfoy’s room or I’ll have to punish you. Like you wanted to.”

He made a noise in his throat that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl, a noise that, even though I was petrified, seemed quite incredibly arousing.

With an air of resignation, he said, “Miss Parkinson. I would have thought that after seven years in my classroom, you would appreciate one thing about me. I mean exactly what I say.”

“You mean, you didn’t want me to sleep with Draco last night?”

He closed his eyes. “No, Miss Parkinson. I did not. Do tell me, why I might have the slightest interest in you sleeping with Malfoy?”

“I thought,” I said, drawing myself up; if he was going to send me away for misunderstanding him, it would be with every bit of pride I had on show; “you meant so that you could punish me again.”

He stared at me. For a long time. The fury in his eyes melted into something else. Curiosity. “Forgive me,” he said. “You are a source of amazement to me. I had not thought that anyone would ever… match my… passion.”

There was nothing to say to that. The uncomplicated need on his face was eloquence enough, and sent me spiralling down a black hole of desire. Then it was cut off, as suddenly as a guillotine dropping. The black-eyed Potions Master was back. He turned away, dissolving the wall into his sitting room again and pulling me through.

“However. It occurs to me that I have been doing all of the work up until now. Get down on your knees.” In case I needed encouragement, he twisted his fingers into my hair and forced me, irresistibly, downwards.

I’d seen a few cocks, I told myself. This wasn’t going to surprise me. Strictly speaking, that was embroidery of the truth. Draco’s, of course, I was familiar with and that was the standard, in its varying states of wakefulness, by which I judged the rest. Crabbe’s and Goyle’s, during the last Yule Ball, when they’d taken a piss behind the same bush Draco and I were snogging in. It had been an exceptionally cold night. Several more, in a magazine that Blaise had stolen from her brother, except that the photographer always seemed more interested in the women, and the men were usually nothing more than a blurry appendage cut off by the edge of the picture.

He parted his robes, and aimed his cock at my lips. My mouth went dry. How was I going to get all that in anywhere? I had a sudden crazy image of Mister Ollivander saying nine inches, hard wood… and then he slapped it, hard, against the side of my face. “Open up, girl,” he growled, “I need to fuck your throat.”

I opened my mouth, and tentatively took the shining head between my lips, running my tongue over him and tasting a salty drop of precum that was lying there, working a little lower down, my mouth stretched wide open…

“Come on! You’ll be all day about this.” He grabbed my hair again, bunching it up in his fist, painfully, and bucked his hips, sending his cock slamming to the back of my throat. Which rebelled. “Don’t gag. Swallow. Breathe through your nose.”

He might have been barking out instructions, but he wasn’t giving me time to get used to it, just fucking my mouth hard and fast. I tried to swallow him, but he was too big.

“Of course, if you want to choke…” He held my head closer to him, my nose was pressed up tight against his pubic hair and his cockhead pummelled the back of my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to suffocate, to die here, on the dungeon floor, with Snape’s cock in my mouth.

“Alright, that’ll do. For now,” he growled, and lifted me, again by my hair, back to my feet. “Turn around. We’ll make a cocksucker of you yet, I think. But there are other things to do this morning.”

He was walking me slowly forward, towards the corner of the room where his huge desk stood. I noticed that it was strangely free of papers today. My knees hit the edge of the table, but he kept pushing me, until the upper half of my body was flat against the warm leather which covered the top. His hands, efficiently parting my thighs, settling my legs either side of his own, and sharply thrusting two fingers up inside me. I moaned.

“Ah. I do like a student who enjoys her work.”

He was running his cock through between my legs and back again, coating it in my wetness. I wriggled back, trying to impale myself on it, to fill me with his hardness and take me like I so desperately needed.

Oh please, oh please, oh please…

Then I felt him move back a step, and begin to press the head of his hard rod against the tight ring of my arse.

No, no, no, no! Not there, please not there. It’s going to hurt.

His thumbs were pressing at the edges of the tiny hole, trying to tear me open and let him inside. I gritted my teeth, trying not to scream, trying to relax for him…

“It will hurt,” said the voice in my ear, “it’s meant to hurt.” Gripping my hips and bending me forwards, I felt him drive himself into me, the agony of being split open like this, and the unbearable ecstasy of him possessing me. His fingers took a new and harder grasp of my thighs as he began to withdraw – oh, yes yes yes – and then rammed back in again, harder and deeper than ever before. I screamed.

I wanted to scream at him to stop, but that was one option I did not have.

So I screamed at him to fuck me, to hurt me, to use my arse and fuck me, harder and deeper, to hold me down and take me and rape me, and he did, he did, climbing on top of me with one leather-clad foot on the table so that all of his weight was on me and all of his cock was in me right up to the hilt, rammed inside over and again, and I could no longer scream with words but just with the beautiful music of agony that he had promised me. I felt him come inside me, and the thought, the thought of that happening there, the thought of what a bad, bad girl I’d been and what a dirty little slut I must look like from where he stood made me thrust myself against my own fingers the two, three times it took until I came myself, shuddering coldly as I felt him move away from me, and collapsing against the polished oak.

“Here. Drink this.” He held a very small glass of something that made my eyes water to my lips, and then, as I opened my mouth, poured the golden liquid down my throat. It made me gasp, and then as it hit my stomach, seemed to spread out tendrils of fire through my body.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded. He handed me his huge, black velvet cloak, and watched as I wrapped its welcome warmth around myself.

“Sit by the fire,” he growled, but softer than usual.

There was a timid knock on the door, and a house-elf came in, staggering under the weight of a huge tray.

“On the desk. That is all,” snarled Snape, with his most terrifying Potions Master voice. Exhausted though I was, it still sent the old stab of fear running back through me.

“Sit up,” he said, waving a hand disgustedly at how I was curled in the chair. “You need to eat. People seem to have this ridiculous idea that a wizard’s body may be nourished by magical means. I assure you, Miss Parkinson, that this is not the case. You are simply hungry. When did you last eat?”

This last was snapped at me, as I turned away from the food, my stomach doing a slow roll. When had I last eaten?

“Um. Yesterday. Before the Quidditch match. I w-wasn’t hungry, afterwards.”

“Lovesick, Miss Parkinson?” he asked, one sardonic eyebrow raised to its fullest.

Rather than answer the question, which was emphatically not what I wanted to think about, I ate the piece of food which he was holding towards my lips.

“Wow!” I gasped, forgetting all pretence at sophistication. “That’s amazing. What is it?”

“Aoyagi,” he said, “Japanese red clam. Not the usual slop served up in the Great Hall. Now eat this.”

He placed a sliver of something pink and crispy on my tongue. “Ginger? But not…”

“Very good. Pickled ginger. Gari, in Japanese. This freshens the palate. Now try this one. Tekka-maki. Pickled rice and raw tuna, wrapped in seaweed.”

I let him place the dainty morsel on my tongue. Trying to ignore the powerfully erotic image of Snape feeding me by hand, I said, “This is delicious! Why don’t we get fed this upstairs?”

“I hardly think that the majority of your classmates would appreciate such delicacies.” For a second, he looked as if he were genuinely sad that he could never serve up a plate of raw clams as a mid-Potions snack. “I fear, the subtlety would be lost on them. They would run screaming from raw fish.”

I giggled. He was quite right. Their loss, though; it was heavenly. He fed me a dozen pieces, different and beautiful arrangements of fish, rice and vegetables, each time with a sliver of pickled ginger or cucumber between mouthfuls.

“Mm. Lovely. But enough,” I said, revived enough to risk giving his fingers a lascivious lick.

He growled, deep in his throat. “You are feeling restored now.”

I moaned assent as his hand cupped my face and turned it up towards his.

“On the bed.” His arm circled my waist, and he half-carried me, half-dragged me onto the huge four-poster, curtained in green, that I’d glimpsed before through the door. “Ligo!” From each of the four posts of the bed, silvery ropes sprang out and cinched themselves tight around my limbs, spreading me across the sumptuous velvet.

Lying flat on my back meant that Snape could do nothing other than loom over me even more than ever. He ran an appraising hand down from my neck, between my breasts and over my belly.

“Almost a shame to mark such skin,” he murmured, sounding, for a second, genuinely sorry.

He only had to touch me and I was a writhing mass of need. The trail of his sensuous fingers over my skin was more than I could bear. Especially when I couldn’t move to ensure that he stayed touching me. His eyes gleamed as he watched my hips try to buck to bring his hand down lower where I so needed him.

“All in good time, Miss Parkinson. All in good time.”

He turned away; I tried to lift my head to see what he was doing, to gain some idea of just what was coming next, but all I could see was the darkness of the back of his robes.

“Be still,” he said, without even turning to look at me. I lay back on the bed, eyes closed, waiting for whatever he had next for me.

The heat, the pain, spattered across my chest, once, twice, again. My eyes snapped open, to see the long, fat white candle in his hands. He rolled it between his slim fingers, turning the flame against the edges of the wax, and then dipped it again towards me. I couldn’t tell whether it felt hot or cold, only that it sent exquisite shocks across the surface of my skin, shocks that made my nipples grow harder and harder, shocks that ended up throbbing between my legs.

He reached forward and took one erect nipple between two cool fingers. “How very interesting.” He twisted my flesh suddenly. I gasped. “You really do appear to relish pain, don’t you?” He ran the candle flame itself over my breasts then, instantly melting some of the wax that had landed there earlier and turning it to molten agony against my skin. I screamed.

“I have told you before, Miss Parkinson. You may not scream. It seems I will have to teach you another lesson about keeping silent.”

He made a complicated gesture with his left hand, and the ropes that had bound my wrists vanished. Was he letting me go?

Then I felt tugging on my ankles. Those ropes were rising up the posts at the foot of the bed, lifting my legs, my hips, my lower back. When I was standing on my shoulders, legs tied flat to the bed posts, he said, “enough”.

Hanging in mid-air, my legs spread. This was humiliation. It was going to get worse.

His fist, between my legs. “Well, well. And we even like this, do we?” I willed myself not to respond to him, not to betray myself, not to get any wetter. But the relentless pressure, teasing me, was hard to resist.

“Miss Parkinson, open your eyes please.”

He was penetrating me with the base of the lit candle. No no no no! It was going to hurt, it was going to burn me…

“If you are still, and do as you are told, it will not hurt you.”

It will, it will, it will! I started to hyperventilate. He slapped my arse, hard, which caused some of the wax to splatter onto my thighs.

“Breathe, silly girl.” He pinched my nostrils shut, and I took a great gasp of air in through my mouth. “Better. And now you’ve got your mouth open, you can finish what you started this morning.”

He knelt on the bed above my head, and rested the head of his cock on my upside down mouth. How the hell was I going to do this? If I moved my body, at all, I was going to be splattered with molten wax. If he fucked my face as roughly as he had this morning, the same thing was going to happen. I had to…

“Better,” he growled, as I gently sucked the length of his cock as far as I could to the back of my throat. Running my tongue over him, tasting the salt sweat on his skin, swallowing him deep into my throat and milking him with my lips. Is this right? Is this what you want? Rewarded with a deep moan as my throat opened up to his full length, the whole of his rigid shaft now in my soft mouth, his swollen head filling my throat.

And then, of course, he did fuck my face anyway, his cock slamming down my throat as far as it would go as he held my head to him and the wax splattered all over my thighs and belly. I would have screamed, if my mouth hadn’t been filled with his cum.

He lifted me, one hand around my legs, the other under my back, and the ropes around my ankles vanished. He laid me flat on the bed. I thought I was going to pass out. I think I fell asleep. But I think too, as I did, a low voice beside me whispered, “incredible”.