Remorse

Chapter 5 ~ And Continues

Both Harry and Hermione watched as Snape removed his robes. Beneath it he wore a faded pair of black boxers, socks and boots. His body was so pale it seemed to be made of alabaster. He was lean, but strongly built, his musculature well defined, with a ribbed abdomen. What was visible of his body was almost hairless, except for a line of black hair that began under his navel and ran down under the elastic of his boxers. There was a smattering of dark hair on his thighs. Raised scars marked his chest, belly and legs, but they both knew it was the wizard’s back that bore the true horror of his tortures.

Snape sat down on the bed and removed his boots then his socks, then looked up at them.

“As you can see, I am not unmarked. I am badly scarred from my service and because of you two . . . ”

Snape stood up and turned so they could see the criss-crossed patterns of stripes on top of stripes

“I had a bit more ‘decoration’ added,” he said, turning back around, his eyes hard.

Hermione dropped her head and Harry simply stared. They knew what he went through in front of the Ministry. They had hissed and jeered along with the rest of the audience as the lash bit him again and again, Harry wishing he would scream. But Snape never did. His head simply fell forward after each lash, then snapped up again, his eyes full of pain and hatred. But he never said a word . . . only strained against his bonds as he bled.

Snape turned back around, his eyes glittering as he looked at both of them, his lank hair curtaining his face.

“Move your chairs closer together. Side by side,” the wizard hissed, his faded boxers beginning to tent. He pushed his hair back as Harry and Hermione both scooted their chairs together.

Snape walked up to them and looked from one to the other thoughtfully. Then he stepped in front of Hermione and yanked his boxers down around his thighs, revealing the longest, thickest pale organ Hermione had ever seen. It wasn’t even fully erect yet, veins encircling it, the head purple, fat and fluted. Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses . . . the wizard’s tool lived up to that nose all right.

Snape eased back the foreskin. Hermione could smell his maleness. Suddenly his hand shot out, grabbing her hair tightly and Hermione let out a shriek of pain. Harry half rose.

“Hey!” he shouted at Snape. “You’re hurting her.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mr. Potter,” Snape snarled. “You didn’t expect me to be gentle did you? Now sit back down and watch.”

He wrenched Hermione’s head around as he said this, his black eyes daring Harry to do anything. Then they shifted to Hermione as he tilted her head back roughly. He studied her. Hermione’s eyes were half-lidded and her lips slightly parted as she looked up at him.

Snape smirked and looked at Harry again.

“Besides, she likes it Mr. Potter. Look at her. She wants me to gag her,” the wizard purred, slapping his hardness against Hermione’s cheek. She let out a little whimper and shifted in the chair.

Harry looked at Hermione, who at least had the grace to redden, but the look of desire on her face was clear, and it disturbed Harry. Slowly he sat back down, looking at Hermione as if she had betrayed him.

Snape smiled slightly as he looked at the disappointment on Harry’s face. He rubbed the head over Hermione’s lips, spreading his pre-cum on them like lip gloss, looking at Harry victoriously.

“You don’t like this aspect of Hermione Granger, do you Mr. Potter? This weakness for abuse,” Snape said to the wizard as he continued pressing the tip over Hermione’s lips, then once again slapped her cheek with his shaft, the witch’s cheek turning a little pink.

Harry didn’t answer him as he watched the wizard humiliate Hermione, talking about her as if she didn’t understand a word he said. Harry wanted her to pull back, to at least try to fight . . . but her chest was rising and falling with excitement as Snape looked down at her.

“You want to suck me, don’t you Miss Granger? You feel that I will get satisfaction from shoving my tool between your lips and having you suck and slurp all over it. You want to submit to me because deep inside, you honestly feel you deserve such treatment from me, for causing me so much pain and suffering for so little reason,” he said to her in a low, hypnotic voice. “I can smell your arousal witch. This is not a chore for you. It excites you.”

Hermione looked up at the wizard. He was right, about everything . . . everything.

Suddenly Snape yanked back from her, releasing her hair, his face contorting.

“You are not here for your pleasure, you bitch!” he shouted at her, the witch jumping, drawing back and looking at him startled and frightened. “You are here to atone for what you’ve done to me!”

Snape quickly moved in front of Harry, gripping the base of his organ, his face contorted. He thrust out his hips and forced his length against Harry’s lips.

“Suck me now!” he demanded, forcing the thick head into Harry’s mouth, gripping the back of the wizard’s head tightly with both pale hands and starting to thrust hard.

Harry nearly choked as Snape hit the back of his throat, a death grip on his head. Harry’s hands rose to the Potions Master’s thighs to try and control the depth of his thrusts. His mouth was stretched wide as the wizard’s huge tool filled it.

“Suck! Suck!” the Potions Master hissed, pumping exaggeratedly, looking down at Hermione. “You wanted to be the first . . . didn’t you witch? Well, fuck you.”

Snape flung his head back and drew Harry over him hungrily, his organ glistening and covered with mucus as he dipped.

“Use your hands. Act like you know how to suck, Mr. Potter,” Snape groaned, twisting Harry’s head around.

Despite himself, Harry was becoming turned on. He was a bottom and a sub. Snape’s domination was affecting him, despite how much he loathed himself for it. He gripped the wizard and began fisting him. Snape stopped pumping.

“Now, you do the work. Show Miss Granger how to work a wizard’s tool,” Snape hissed.

Hermione watched, her eyes glistening as Harry threw himself into sucking Snape. Now it was her turn to feel disappointment as her friend, licked, kissed and caressed Snape’s tool, running his lips over it and tonguing the wizard’s balls as the Potions Master grunted and egged him on.

“Yes . . . yes you arrogant bastard. Do it! Swallow me down . . . atone!” the wizard hissed, slapping Harry’s face.

Even as she felt disgust at Harry’s enjoyment, the sight of Snape’s huge glistening member being sucked had her on the edge of her seat. Gods, he was so big . . . and so angry. That combination was a masochist’s dream.

“Is that envy I see on your face, Miss Granger?” Snape panted down at her. She had been staring at Harry as if mesmerized. “Join him then. Lick me too. The both of you.”

Snape removed one of his hands from the back of Harry’s head and gripped Hermione’s, pulling her forward, pressing her face into his length.

“Lick!” he hissed at them.

Together Harry and Hermione ran their tongues over Snape’s organ, bathing it in saliva.

“You on top, Mr. Potter! Miss Granger, you on bottom,” the wizard ordered, groaning as they did as he asked, his hands on both their heads, his face tilted back toward the ceiling.

After a minute or two, Snape’s head snapped back forward and he stared down at the pair, kissing licking and sucking him with abandon now.

“Yes, the dynamic duo is truly dynamic. Sick and dynamic. You are both getting off on this. That wasn’t my intention,” he growled, pulling back from both of them.

Hermione and Harry were panting, looking up at him as if they wanted to continue.

Snape looked at them with disdain.

“And the wizarding world thinks you two something special. You are both doormats. Twisted little doormats who want to be abused and humiliated. It sickens me,” he said in a near whisper, his eyes angry. “But I need this . . . this closure. So we continue. Into the bed, both of you. Now.”

The wizard removed his boxers as Harry and Hermione both climbed into the bed and lay down on their backs. The middle of the mattress sagged terribly, and the sheets smelled as if they could use a good washing. Snape grabbed one of the chairs and drew it up close to the bed, sitting down on it, still hard and glistening.

“Time to be a man, Mr. Potter. You still have your erection, though I am sure after our last little encounter, you don’t need the potion I gave you. You would have had wood for me regardless,” the Potions Master purred. “however, I am not the one you need wood for. Get on top of Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. And spread your legs, Miss Granger . . . there is shagging afoot.”

Harry stared at Snape. Shag Hermione? Oh gods. Yes, he could do it . . . he was hard but he didn’t want to.

“Is that hesitation I see Mr. Potter? You must not want to leave here,” Snape said to him with a nasty smirk. “But you will shag Miss Granger . . . you have no choice but to. So mount up!”

Harry looked at Hermione, who shifted and spread her legs resignedly.

“Go ahead Harry,” she said softly. “just do it. We have to get out of here.”

Hermione knew Harry had no chance of actually stimulating her to orgasm. He was simply too small. Hermione needed a big tool, like Snape’s to get her off. She knew this because she’d had sex with enough average-sized wizards. They rarely ever brought her to orgasm through intercourse, though most were good with their mouths.

Harry rolled on top of her.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he breathed, adjusting himself. Hermione didn’t say anything as Harry lifted up on his arms, looking down at her core to see where her entrance was. He reached between them and placed the swollen head into her depression. It was warm and wet, but the scent did nothing for him. Harry knew Snape had caused her wetness . . . not him.

“Thrust hard, Mr. Potter. Make her feel it,” Snape breathed.

Harry took a deep breath and thrust forward, burying himself inside Hermione, who made a weak sound at being penetrated . . . but it wasn’t a gasp of pleasure. Harry had neither hit her hard enough or deep enough to elicit that response. He didn’t fill her the way she needed either.

Harry felt Hermione surround him. She was so wet inside. He didn’t like it and knew if he had an erection under his own power, he’d be deflating right now. But Snape made sure he wouldn’t deflate.

“Start shagging, Mr. Potter. In, out, in out,” Snape said.

Harry started shagging Hermione, who lay there like a lump of flesh as Harry pumped in and out of her slowly, her wetness sliding around him. There was no passion between them, only misery and shame as Harry flexed into his friend.

Snape scowled.

“This has to be the saddest display of intercourse I’ve ever witnessed,” he sneered. “Put some effort into it! Work your fucking hips witch! Shag him back, damn it!”

Hermione looked over at the pale wizard, hatred in her eyes. This gratified Snape immensely as Hermione began to pump her hips. It didn’t help any however. Harry’s penetration was nothing more than an unwanted intrusion in her body.

“Yesss, I can see it, Miss Granger. The detachment. The sense of being invaded. The “not wanting” what is happening to you. I went through that. Yes. Only there was more pain . . . much more pain. You barely feel Mr. Potter whereas I felt pain beyond pain when those Azkaban guards were ripping into me,” he said darkly, hatred dripping from his silky voice. “Put your legs over his shoulders . . . it might help.”

Harry looked over at Snape, then down at Hermione before withdrawing and slipping Hermione’s legs over his shoulders. He entered her again.

Snape watched Harry’s tool slide in and out of the witch. It wasn’t impressive as the young wizard pumped. He barely got a gasp out of the witch.

“Shag her harder, Mr. Potter. Pretend it’s a rectum! That ought to help. I want to see some sweat! Harder and faster, Mr. Potter or you will never get out of here!” Snape said to him. “Make her come!”

Hermione looked at Snape, her eyes round. Harry couldn’t make her come . . . she wasn’t even aroused. Harry sped up and hit her as hard as he could, slapping between her thighs, Hermione doing little more than bouncing.

“Help me, Hermione,” Harry hissed in a voice he hoped Snape couldn’t hear. “Fake it. He won’t know.”

Hermione didn’t believe in faking orgasms for wizards. Either they did it for her or they didn’t. She refused to make men believe they could shag when they couldn’t . . . the hell with their egos. But this was a special case.

Suddenly Hermione let out a yowl on Harry’s downstroke, jerking her own body dramatically. She began to let out little cries of “yes, Harry . . . you’ve got it now! Yes! Yes!”

She rocked her body exaggeratedly and clutched at Harry’s back, pulling him into her and writhing. Harry still felt squicked at all the wetness around him. Now his pelvis was wet too, and the smell was not something he found pleasure in. He wished Hermione would pretend to come already.

Snape watched the performance, stroking his chin with his hand, Hermione groaning, arching and rolling around under the boy-who-couldn’t-shag.

“I’m coming . . . I’m coming Harry!” Hermione cried out

The witch held her breath so she could turn really red, moaning to cover what she was doing . . . then suddenly stiffened and let out a shriek.

“Oh yes! Yes!” she cried, falling still and rolling her pelvis about. Harry stopped shagging her and withdrew, looking at Snape.

“She came,” Harry said shortly, wishing he had a washcloth. He stunk of woman.

Snape looked at the witch, who was still gyrating slightly, her eyes tightly closed as she licked her lips. The wizard sat forward in the chair, staring at Harry.

“Do you really think I can’t tell when a witch is faking an orgasm, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked him quietly. “You two tried to cheat me. Isn’t a Gryffindor cheating punishable by death or something similar?”

Hermione opened her eyes.

“I didn’t fake it,” she lied. “Harry made me orgasm, like you wanted.”

Snape studied her for a moment.

“So, that is what you are like when you orgasm, Miss Granger? The exaggerated shrieks and wild gyrations?” he asked her silkily.

“Yes, that is how I am,” she replied.

Snape fell silent, his eyes narrowing. Harry looked at Hermione nervously as she met the wizard’s gaze steadily. He couldn’t prove that wasn’t how she reacted to orgasming.

“Get out of the bed, Mr. Potter,” Snape said suddenly, his voice containing a dangerous note. Harry climbed over Hermione and stood up on the side of the bed. Snape stood up and approached the bed, looking down on Hermione. Then he looked at Harry.

“Go sit down,” Snape said.

Harry walked over to the chair Snape had just absented and sat down . . . still smelling Hermione’s juices on himself. It was almost enough to make the wizard ill. But he knew Snape wouldn’t scourgify him. And because of the oath, he couldn’t get his wand . . . he’d be too tempted to use it on the Potions Master, and the oath wouldn’t allow that.

Suddenly, Snape thrust his palm at him, and Harry couldn’t move. He was invisibly bound to the chair.

Harry struggled desperately as Snape looked down at Hermione again. The witch still met his gaze but she looked a bit afraid now as the wizard’s black eyes washed over her.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, writhing to no effect.

”I am simply making sure you do not interfere with my engagement with Miss Granger,” the wizard purred. “I want to see for myself how she orgasms.”