The Passion According to H. G.

Surely, professor Snape wasn’t going to spank her, like a disobedient toddler? Though it seemed oddly fitting that he would sport such a Victorian approach to discipline… Except that it seemed a bit too hands-on for the reserved professor to have to touch his loathed students intimately. Then again, he frequently slapped Ron and Harry and a few of the other boys over the head. Perhaps he wasn’t alien to touch as long as it hurt.
The situation left little doubt as to his intentions. He had after all asked Hermione to kneel down next to his chair. If “asked” was the right word for it. She waited incredulously, the stone floor cold and hard against her naked knees above the stockings that were part of her school uniform.
Snape’s next command chased any remaining doubts from her mind: “Pull up your skirt and bend over my knee.”
She did as she was told, overwhelmed by a mixture of fear, shame, anticipation and a hundred other feelings she couldn’t name that was almost ecstatic. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be a nun and succumb to the strictest of regulations? The joy of giving up everything and surrendering to God. Although in her case it wasn’t God but a deity of questionable virtue. A demon, perhaps. No matter! She could do nothing but obey.
Snape brusquely pulled her skirt a bit higher, exposing her bottom completely.
“Ah!” she cried out as his wand lashed down across it.
His wand! Somehow it made her overflow with joy that he found her buttocks worthy of it, of being imprinted with its mark. His wand that had undoubtedly performed great deeds, both good and evil.
It lashed down again and this time she merely panted between clenched teeth. The pain increased with each hit, as her bottom became more and more sore. What also increased was the moistness between her legs. Yes, it turned her on. She wouldn’t have known. She hadn’t consciously dreamt of such a thing. But it fulfilled her needs perfectly. All of her desperate need to impress the professor spanked out of her. And all of his attention completely, wonderfully, focused upon her at last.
After half a dozen hits, maybe more, the beating stopped. She immediately missed it, but then she felt the stinging ache in her buttocks full force and considered that she might not be able to take any more. Snape put away his wand and slipped his hand between her thighs. She realised then what had made him do it: she had made a wet stain on his trousers.
She was so slippery wet and oh so sensitive when he forced his hand between her cunt and his leg it felt as if there were no knickers in between. His fingers were pushed hard against her clit, pressed between it and his leg. She moaned and couldn’t help rubbing herself against them, trying to do it discreetly.
When he withdrew his hand, she thought it was punishment for her having enjoyed it too much. But it was only to push her knickers aside and feel her without the offending fabric. She knit her brow and sighed as she felt his fingers caress her swollen folds directly. His thumb slid inside her, much thicker than the fingers she had let slide inside herself, yet not by far thick enough to hurt her virgin cunt in the tumescent state she was in. Not quite thick enough to pleasure her, in fact.
She shifted to give him a better reach, and could feel how hard he was against her side. So hard, and yet he remained collected, methodically examining her cunt, breathing a little hard from the spanking perhaps. She gasped, overwhelmed by an ache to feel that hard cock inside of her. And yet she could scarcely imagine it. Could scarcely imagine him panting and straining, undressed. The thought of it was frightening. It would make her a woman and him a man, when she would much rather remain a naughty schoolgirl succumbing to her hard teacher. Yes, she blushed to think it but it was true. She wasn’t ready for the responsibility of an affair. Most of all, she didn’t want to see him vulnerable, troubled, human even.
Like this, without words and without any pretence to mutuality, it was bittersweet. It was like an extension of her feverish nights in the dormitory - as one-sided as masturbation, as involuntary as a fantasy… Only more. She squirmed on his lap, which made him grab her by the collar with his left hand and hold her down. A few strands of her hair got caught in his grip. Oh the sweet pain of feeling the pull at their roots! She squirmed some more only to have him pull harder at her hair.
All the while his thumb was exploring the insides of her cunt. It found a spot that made her gasp. It pressed harder and made her gasp again. She rode his fingers against his thigh. She came so hard she’d never experienced anything like it before, crying out her pleasure helplessly. He put his left hand over her mouth, not unkindly, just to stop her from screaming and attracting attention. She was so grateful to him at that moment. His mercy the mercy of a god. He didn’t stop stroking her cunt, making her come again and again in decreasing waves, until she lay utterly spent over his knees. He even gave her some time to rest, a few precious minutes.
Then he took her again by the collar and raised her from his lap until she was standing on her knees by his chair. She knew what was expected of her. She did her best rising steadily to her feet and adjusting her skirt. He was once again professor Snape, showing no signs of what had occurred. She didn’t dare to look at his lap, that would be inappropriate.
“I trust you won’t repeat your mistake, Miss Granger?”
Was he saying this would not happen again? She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Whether the thought of involving herself in something that might get out of hand was worse than the thought of having to sustain herself on dreams and memories from now on. Or was it a question, was he leaving it up to her? If she said she couldn’t promise such a thing, would he take it to mean she wished to be punished again?
“No, sir.” She didn’t dare say anything else.
“Very well. Since you have learned your lesson, your test will be marked with a pass. This time.”
He looked her straight in the eyes, his black gaze not disclosing the hidden meaning of his words, if indeed there was one. Perhaps he had completely reassumed his usual teacher role.
“Thank you, sir.” she mouthed.
She was assured he knew she didn’t just thank him for letting her pass the test, although that was still important to her, too. An impulse made her bend her trembling knees in a clumsy curtsey, a gesture he didn’t seem to approve of, before she hurried to pick up her bag and leave.