Love Lies Bleeding 4 of 5

I must have prowled the castle for hours, lost in my thoughts.

“Miss Bones,” purred a voice from behind me, and I turned to find Professor Snape behind me. Looking around, I was surprised to find myself in the dungeons. Must have automatically gone to find Malfoy, I thought, amused. I really am quite the ho. “May I ask what you are doing so far from any place you ought to be at this moment?”

My glance flicked over him, over the surprisingly broad shoulders under the flowing robes, over the cruelly sensual mouth and brilliant black eyes that hinted of mysteries, of enigmas to be explored… A man so tightly contained must be positively seething with frustrated passions, I thought, and felt an unexpected pang of kinship. Hadn’t I dealt with that box of repressed emotions most of my life?

“Professor Snape,” I answered in the same silky tones, “I was just coming to see you.”

“Were you indeed?” His eyebrow shot toward his hairline; his skepticism was palpable. “To what do I owe that honour? Isn’t Miss Chang expecting you elsewhere?”

I smirked; he was a cool one. “Not anymore,” I replied, watching the slight narrowing of his eyes as he processed that information. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked, and his voice was a fraction deeper just then, wasn’t it? It was velvety-rough, like a cat’s tongue, and made me shiver a little. Although that could have been the rather dank dungeon walls, too.

“I was having a particular problem, you see, Professor,” I began, following as he walked toward his classroom. “One that I’m convinced only you, with your experience and expertise, will be able to solve for me.”

He shut the door behind me, and a wave of his wand and a spoken word locked it. “Is that so?” His face, so homely, so calm, watched me carefully. I understood this was a fine line he was treading; one wrong move on his part, one mistaken assumption, and he could be fired, prosecuted, jailed.

I decided to make it easier on him. “It is so,” I told him, and reached my hand out to rub the front of his trousers. There, I thought. Let’s eliminate any possibility of confusion.

The corner of his mouth quirked, just the faintest, quickest motion, and then he covered my hand with his own, pressing it harder against him. Instantly, his cock hardened, thrusting insistently against the restraining fabric. I blinked to realize its not inconsiderable size. I have chosen well, I thought, and lifted my face for his kiss.

His mouth was as brutal on mine as Draco’s had been, but without any of the clumsiness or youthful eagerness. This was an unhurried, almost casual rape of my mouth, and I loved it. He took my mouth, took my lips and tongue and teeth, and made them his. I pulled away, gasping for breath, my hand touching my bruised lips, my eyes wide in shock.

“Too much for you, girl?” he asked, smirking, superior. He was quite surprised when I launched myself at him, arms around his shoulders, legs around his hips, my tongue thrusting into his mouth, fucking it. “Apparently not too much,” he said, gasping a little himself, and slid his hand under my skirt and panties to push his thumb into me.

“Just right,” I whispered against his mouth, and ground my pelvis on his hand.

It happened quickly after that. He made me come once, then set me down and stripped me. “Leave them on,” he instructed when I went to remove my stockings and shoes, then set me on the high table used for preparing potions. Gliding his hands over my silk-covered legs, he pressed my knees open.

“I must say, I never thought I’d travel the same road that Mr. Malfoy and Miss Chang have done,” he said, breathing deeply of my musky aroma. Knowing he was smelling me, scenting me like a primitive male, made something tighten in me, and I was positively shaking with lust as he slowly disrobed.

As I’d suspected, his body was fine, with long slender legs, narrow hips, wide shoulders, strong arms. All boasted firmly defined muscles and golden-olive skin dusted with crisp black hair. “Mmmmm,” I couldn’t help moaning as he stepped between my legs, and rubbed myself against him, adoring the feel of him against my own hairless body. Malfoy, and Cho of course, had both been so pale and smooth. Snape was like another world, another universe…

He lifted his heavy penis and aimed it at my drenched pussy, just rubbing the head against me. “When was the last time you were penetrated?” he asked. He was asking if I would be comfortable taking his size, but also—I could tell from the gleam in his eyes—he just wanted to know. Kinky bastard.

“October,” I muttered against his throat and jaw, feeling the rasp of his stubble against my lips. It was shockingly delightful to me.

“Was it Malfoy?” he wanted to know, and slipped the head of his penis into me.

“Ye-esss,” I said, the word catching in my throat at the feel of him just at the edge of my entrance like that, the promise of what was to come.

“Malfoy’s cock has been here,” he said, and pushed in a bit more.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“And Miss Chang’s tongue,” he added. Another inch.

“Yes.” Gasped.

“And her fingers.” Another inch.


“And now me.” And he pushed (slammed) the rest of himself into me. My eyes crossed and my fingers scrabbled on his shoulders to keep from lurching backwards, from collapsing in shock and ecstasy at the sensation of having a cock—a club—that size in me.

“Yes,” I keened. “Now you.”

“Now me.” He was pounding me, shoving that monster of his in and out, and it hurt and it stung and it felt so bloody good I wanted to die because nothing could be better than this, nothing. Digging my fingernails into his ass, I gripped him even closer, even deeper, and came like a nuclear explosion and screamed like a banshee.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to the sight of Severus Snape watching me calmly, that faint twitch of his lips indicating he was amused. His cock was still very hard, and very hot, and very deep inside me. “Now me,” he repeated, and began to work himself inside my pussy.

He was doing all the things that felt good to him (alternated deep strokes with shallow, rotated his hips in little circles, stirring his cock in me like a spoon) and—oh happy coincidence!—they felt good to me, too. I gave up trying to sit upright as he fucked me, the head of his cock battering my cervix, and just lay limply back and let him use me, take me, however he wanted. I gave myself up to him utterly, and was richly rewarded with his clever, slim fingers on my nipples, dancing over my navel, digging into the soft flesh of my hips and belly as he gripped me harder.

Watching him come was fascinating. First his rhythm quickened, and he held me tighter; then his eyelids fluttered closed, and he gained an expression of intense concentration. The muscles of his face seemed to slacken even as his jaw clenched, and I felt my own orgasm begin to swell and crash over me as his lips curled back and he snarled—snarled!—before thrusting one last, searing time.

Throwing his head back, the tendons standing out harshly, he made a choked sound, like he was drowning, and his semen flooded me. As for me, I was beyond making noise, or even moving—secondary orgasms are always much stronger for me, and I was frozen, arms and legs motionless, neck arched almost painfully, eyes rolled back.

“Aaaah,” he groaned finally, his voice rough, and collapsed forward over me. I had relaxed and now lay there spasming like a landed trout, a kaleidoscope of colours dancing in my vision. He kissed me then, just as lustfully as when we’d started, and I felt his softened cock begin to twitch back to life in me.

Snape glanced at me, gauging my ability go another round, and apparently decided I wouldn’t survive, because he slowly withdrew. I felt a gush of fluid between my legs. He found a handkerchief in his robes and wiped me carefully, then lowered his face and carefully licked me clean. It wasn’t passionate as much as it was thoughtful, in a strange way, and it felt soothing and lovely against my well-used flesh.

When he was satisfied, he helped me stand and dress. I returned the favour, cleaning him with my mouth and helping with little details like the odd button here, picking a spot of lint there, until we were both properly attired once more.

“Was I able to solve your dilemma, Miss Bones?” Snape asked politely, as if we’d spent the time researching a particularly difficult potions experiment.

“Temporarily,” I replied. “It seems clear that more investigation will be required, on an ongoing basis.”

“I see.” Another almost-smile, and then: “I agree. The results would indicate that a thorough analysis of the issue is needed.”

On wobbly legs I left, managing to get back to my dormitory and taking the world’s fastest shower before collapsing, still mostly wet and entirely nude, into bed. I overslept the next morning, but as luck would have it, first class was Potions.

I lurched into the room twenty minutes late and apologized profusely, and to no one’s surprise Snape gave that happy grin he only wears when assigning punishment to a student: “Miss Bones, so nice of you to grace us with your presence. Ten points from Hufflepuff, and three day’s detention.”

My eyes widened. Surely that was too extreme, just for being late to class? I stared at him, and saw what he was doing. “But, sir,” I protested, “that’s not fair!” I wrung a little extra drama out of it; why not give the class a decent show?

“Miss Bones,” he purred. “Six days’ detention.”

“You can’t!” I declared, my voice ringing off the stone walls.

“Susan!” Hannah hissed. “The more you fight, the more he’ll give you!”

“Quite so, Miss Abbott,” Snape agreed pleasantly. “For your interference, a week’s detention.” She blanched, going quite unattractively splotchy, and seemed to deflate into her chair like a pricked bladder. “Served by Miss Bones, as she is the catalyst to this entire situation.”

I now had a staggering fourteen days’ detention, and had to bite my lip to keep from grinning. I hoped the others would think I was trying not to cry. “Sir,” I entreated, my voice trembling, “May I please serve my detentions with Hagrid?” Everyone knew Hagrid’s version of detention consisted of chatting over tea and rock cakes and treacle fudge.

“Certainly not,” Snape replied, his eyes liquid as he stared at me. It was all I could do to keep from wrenching his trousers open. “They will be with me.”

Yippee! I thought. “Oh,” is what I said, with what I hoped was suitable dejection. “Can’t I at least help Filch?”

“Certainly not,” he repeated. “And that’s earned you another detention. Please be kind enough to take your seat, you’ve wasted enough of the class’ time as it is.”

I had to walk past his desk to get to my place, and dared a glance at him as I passed within a foot of him. He gave me that almost-imperceptible, almost-smile and I beamed at him before schooling my face into a more appropriate expression of woe.

Of course, it took no time at all for word to spread about the unprecedented fifteen days’ detention Snape had given me that day, and Hermione cornered me at dinner that evening.

“I heard what happened with Snape,” she whispered, her breath delicately perfumed with eau de Chang. She shoved Justin over to make room and plopped down next to me, touching my shoulder briefly in support. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you fight it!”

I fought back a smile. “That isn’t necessary, Hermione,” I said.

Her face fell. “If this is about Cho and I…” she began, her voice pitched even lower, but I interrupted.

“No, it’s not. I’m very glad you two have hooked up,” I told her. “But you don’t have to defend me against the horror that is Snape. I’m fine with it.”

“But how can you be!” she wailed, all need for discretion forgotten in her fervour. “Fifteen days’ detention, for being late to class? It’s unreasonable! Unpardonable! Unforgivable!”

“Hermione!” I snapped. “The man didn’t Crucio me, for Merlin’s sake! Just gave me a load of detentions. Get a grip over yourself”

She looked abashed, and studied her hands in her lap whilst biting her lip. “Cho certainly is a brilliant kisser, isn’t she?” Hermione asked at last, apparently deciding a change of subject was in order.

I could only laugh. Hermione was a trip. “Yeah, she is.”

When it became clear that Cho was ‘with’ Hermione instead of myself (made blatantly obvious by her attendance at the Valentine’s Ball with the Gryffindor instead of me) Draco accosted me in the hallway.

“Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me you’d left her?” he demanded, eyes flashing.

“Because I didn’t leave her,” I replied, continuing to walk.

“She left you?” He seemed incredulous that such a thing was possible, and I felt an unexpected little burst of affection for the boy.

“That she did.”


“She prefers Granger.” They had much more in common, after all—both seriously brainy, both more dedicated to the girls-only vibe. After eight days of fucking Snape, I could honestly say that there was no way in heaven, earth, hell, and all dimensions in between that I’d ever permanently forsake the cock.

Draco sputtered for a minute before the sputters morphed into stammers, and those into baffled vowel-laded exclamations. “Geeeaa? Buuuh… Muuuuh!” I think (but cannot be sure) that this was his attempt at saying, “Granger? But she’s a Mudblood!”

I shrugged. “Who knows? Love makes you do the wacky.”

“Love?” He puzzled over that curious phenomenon. “What does that have to do with anything?”

I shrugged again. “Beats me. Listen.” I had to meet Snape in just a little while, and being late was simply unacceptable. “I have to go. We can chat tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes,” Draco replied. “Snape’s detentions.” He cocked his head to one side, looking rather like an inquisitive Afghan hound (silky hair aside, his face was just the slightest bit on the pointy side). “And what will you be doing to replenish them once the fifteen days run out?”

The boy was sharp. “I’ll think of something, I always do,” I told him with a grin, then glanced at my watch. Only two minutes until I was late. “Must dash!”

And dash I did, but it was hard to fight my way through the crowd of students just leaving the Great Hall. Panting, I made it to Snape’s classroom three minutes after the appointed time.

“Miss Bones,” came the thrilling voice. “You have a truly distressing penchant for tardy arrivals.”

I locked the door. “I am very sorry,” I replied with complete honesty. “Malfoy detained me.”

“Oh?” He arched a black brow, looking slightly less disinterested than before. “And how did he do that?”

I smiled. “Nothing thrilling, I fear. Just wanted to know more about the great Chang-and-Bones breakup.”

“She has since moved on to Miss Granger, I understand?”

I nodded.

“Hm,” was all he said, and I could tell he, too was wondering about the estimable Miss Chang’s sanity. Men are lovely, lovely creatures, I thought merrily, and took off my knickers. He plucked them from my hand, running the damp cotton of the crotch under his prodigious nose, then tossing them aside before reaching for me.

And so we continued for the remainder of the school year. I couldn’t keep getting detention—not even the people of Hogwarts were that oblivious, eventually someone would figure out what was happening—so Snape presented me with a never-ending pot of Floo powder, and I became very proficient in the art of incendio-ing a tiny fire in the Hufflepuff common room hearth in the dead of night and whispering “Severus Snape’s chambers” in a barely audible voice.

That year’s Leaving Feast and Ball was notable for the lack of snoggers zapped out of the rosebushes by Professor Snape—no one could seem to find him anywhere. That was, of course, because we had snuck down to his classroom and were shagging each other absolutely rotten. I laughed at the idea of all those students with their sweaty hands and lusty sighs, keeping one eye out for him while they had it off, and meanwhile he was occupied with the same goal.

During our six months together, we did everything. I mean it—everything. We tied each other up, beat each other up, peed on each other (thank Merlin for Snape’s private shower and Mrs. Skower’s All-Perversions Strawberry-Flavoured Body Wash). Used dildos, candles, knives, whipped cream. On one memorable occasion I Polyjuiced myself into a boy and Snape buggered me but good (not terribly satisfying for either of us—I’m not a great fan of anal sex, and he is quite resolutely straight). We even once indulged in erotic asphyxiation (which, incidentally, is even less fun than it sounds). By the time the school term was over for the summer, I was exhausted.

My Potions grades, needless to say, were outstanding.

Back at home with my aunt and uncle, however, I began to feel slight twinges of reluctance when it was time to toss the Floo powder into the fire and make my nightly excursion to Snape-land. The euphoria of sheer physical pleasure, and the rush I’d initially gotten from being with a man so thoroughly, cauterizingly sexy to me, had waned in the face of what we were actually doing to each other.

I found myself remembering Cho more and more, not out of any Sapphic longings of my own, but simply thinking with fondness of the gentleness, the affection we’d shown, even as we’d used each other. There’d been a recognition of the other’s humanity when I’d been with Cho, something missing from my relationships with Draco and Snape.

Twinges grew into pangs over the course of the summer, pangs expanded into spasms, and spasms erupted into a paroxysm one night. I was bent over a table, and Snape was sinuously pumping into me whilst one hand manipulated my clit and the other tugged on the nipple clamps. I gripped the edge of the table, staring across the room in the dim candlelight. The usual haze of lust was almost completely absent. My body was aroused, of course, but my mind—that had the perfect clarity of crystal.

“Stop,” I whispered. He didn’t hear me, or didn’t understand me, or didn’t believe me, and kept thrusting. “Stop,” I repeated, louder. His movements faltered, slowed.



Snape pulled away, helped me to remove the clamps, and watched me with puzzlement for a moment. Then, “This is the end, then?”

I met his black eyes, and nodded. He nodded back, and helped me into my clothing.

“You lasted longer than most,” he said conversationally.

I stared at him stupidly. “Most?”

“Most of the young women who come to me as you have.” He conjured a pot of tea and motioned for me to be seated. Feeling most queer—in the past six months we’d done almost everything possible to each other, besides having a civil, fully-clothed discussion—I sat and accepted the steaming cup he offered, then nearly slapped my forehead in the universal expression of ‘duh!’. Of course others had preceded me to Snape’s dungeon lair—had I really believed I was the first? To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought. It hadn’t seemed to matter, really, where he’d been and whom he’d done before me.

“Have there been many?” I asked, curious.

He almost-smiled. “Enough.” We sipped the tea—Darjeeling—in silence for a few minutes. And then he shocked me when he said, “I envy you.”

“You do? Whyever for?” I thought he’d answer, your youth, your looks, something obvious. Should have known better—this man was subtle, complex, enigmatic. There was nothing as crude or gauche as ‘obvious’ about him.

“There can be more for you than this,” was his reply. “For me, this is all there is.” He didn’t seem unduly disturbed, merely a little wistful. The years of pain, rage, guilt—mostly guilt—had bleached him of the ability to harbour any gentler emotions. For Severus Snape, the only things he could feel were jagged, grueling, brutal—or else, nothing at all.

Part of me wanted to pity him, but I ruthlessly repressed it, and fit it carefully into the box in my mind. All wars had casualties. Not all of them have to do with death of the body. I would not dishonour his sacrifice with my pity—he had willingly surrendered it for the cause.

I placed my empty cup on the little table at my elbow, and stood. “Thank you,” I told him. “You’ve been lovely to me.”

His almost-smile was a fraction of an inch wider than usual. “Likewise, Miss Bones.”