He'd caught the boy out.
This, in itself, was ordinary. The girls he quickly dispatched with points taken or detention; the boys, he delighted to tower over while they stammered their excuses and shook in their unkempt robes, while they said "Please, sir" and "Don't tell my Head of House" and "I'll do anything. Anything!"
It was the last that drew him from the still, close quiet of his rooms, night after night: this shameful hope, this loved-loathed secret lust for anything.
When it was anything, he could force them to confess. He could drag them into an empty classroom, and lock and ward the door. He could coax the boy (the younger, the better) onto his lap, could whisper, "You must tell me everything or the Headmaster will be most severe," could promise the boy his silence in exchange for six over his knee on the boy's bare arse.
He was quite adept at coaxing a strained and broken-voiced "Please, sir, it was only a prank!" into yelping sobs, into pained, whiney and -- eventually, usually -- needful moans.
What made this catch unusual: Potter.
What made this catch extraordinary: the damp, heavy scent of the boy, all sweat and yeasty come; the satisfied haze that distracted him from caution, caused him to shuffle unaware around the corner of the Defence corridor and into his professor.
Snape occasionally caught boys in this state, and sometimes he would catch them in flagrante delicto with their paramours. If the boy were with a girl, it was pinched disappointment and "twenty-five-points-apiece-detention-with-Mr.-Filch-you-will-be-notified-later-of-the-day-and-time-get-back-to-your-common-rooms. NOW!" If the boy were with another boy, he would watch from the shadows as they snuffled into shoulders or kissed, while they tugged on cocks and spurted indiscriminately onto each other's hands and robes.
Then he would pounce, in the first, breathless moments of afterglow when exhaustion pulled their eyelids momentarily down, when they were damp, exposed, unsuspecting. He would swoop upon them silent and glaring, and watch them scramble for decency and a quick escape. He never took points, or issued detentions. It was bad enough that his cheeks flushed plum, that his eyes glittered strangely in the dark corridor. He couldn't risk speaking. He knew his own response, that his voice would quaver with barely-suppressed need, and they would hear it, they would suspect, they would know.
He would feign disinterest with the sound of blood pounding in his ears, and wait for them to leave. If he were lucky, he could get his cock out in time to grip hard before it pulsed in high, graceful arcs. If not, he would press his hand to the front of his robes and shoot long and hard in his smalls, gasping and shaking in the aftermath until the damp soaked through the many layers of his clothing to his hand.
But that was the older boys, sixth and seventh years, and (rarely) a fifth year or two. He'd never caught a third year smelling like a Knockturn Alley whore, one he could rent for a Galleon and fuck against the brick of a back-alley wall until his seed dribbled out the boy's arse and down the backs of his legs.
No, Potter was just thirteen, and he looked still too small to come any way but dry. Yet here he was in front of Snape, his mouth a round little O of indignation, a messily-dressed, smooth-skinned child, all blunt corners and knobbly knees, reeking of sex. The boy bristled with sharp defiance, which irritated Snape; provoked his blood to rise much faster than on pure lust alone.
The boy reminded him far too much of himself at that age.
For the first time in many a hunt, Snape's curiosity trumped his incipient lust; he was keen to hear who Potter had been with, almost desperate to find the boy hadn't merely been out for a wank. Thirteen year old boys wanked in silence behind firmly closed curtains in the dead of night, surrounded by the snores of their peers. They wanked quickly in the corner of the shower so they could take a piss before breakfast. They wanked in the loos between classes when they knew it would be quick, when they would likely come in their pants if they didn't get off now, aroused (secretly, shamefully) by the sound of zips yanked down, knowing there were other hands on cocks right next to them.
"Come with me, Mr. Potter." He grasped the startled boy's shoulder, dragged him to the nearest classroom and sat him down in a chair next to the teacher's desk.
He pulled out another chair in front of Potter and sat down knee to knee, eye to eye.
"Why were you out after curfew?"
Potter gulped, the mound of his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, stirring the shadows in the hollow of his neck.
"Well, Potter?" He leaned forward until his nose was inches from the boy's.
Potter swallowed. "I -- I can't say."
Snape narrowed his eyes. "You can, and you will."
The small lips pressed together. "I can't. Sir. I -- I promised."
"Promised who, Mr. Potter?"
The boy stayed silent.
Snape glared, deliberately widened his nostrils... and sniffed.
Potter leaned away in alarm.
"I won't tell. Sir."
Snape rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. Hmm. Perhaps a more direct tack. He leaned in closer; their noses were practically touching. Potter's breath fell hot and sour on his lips.
"Who were you fucking, Mr. Potter?"
A look of shock on the young face, then mulish determination. "It's none of -- you can't make me."
"You don't need to know. It's none of your business!"
"As a master at this school, it IS my business when two underage children engage in sexual relations."
Relief flashed briefly on Potter's face. "I won't tell on h- her. Sir."
Snape shook his head. "I think not, Mr. Potter. This --" he sniffed deeply again, "is not a girl's scent." And as much as it was richly masculine, it wasn't a boy's scent, either -- judging by Potter's reaction. Suspicion began to take root in Snape's mind.
Potter bit his lip.
"You will be punished most severely, Potter. I could start by taking 100 points." He paused. "Not enough? Well, then. Perhaps detention two nights a week. With me. Until the end of the school year."
Potter's cheeks reddened, and he blinked back angry, unshed tears.
"Perhaps we should tell the Headmaster, then, since you are so unwilling to cooperate with me. However, I can't see that he will be as lenient as I." He curled his lip.
The boy refused to meet his gaze. Time, perhaps, for some judicious misdirection.
"Do you know how sexual misconduct by underage students is usually punished?" The smirk widened. "Expulsion, Potter." He leaned in, and now their breath mingled hot on his mouth. He restrained himself from licking his lips.
"Ministry authorities might be lenient on a boy your age. An adult, however, would go to Azkaban for it." Potter realized the implication immediately, eyes widening in panic. Snape's suspicions were confirmed.
"So. Will you confess your exploits with Professor Lupin, Mr. Potter?" He drew himself to his feet and glared down at the boy. "Or shall we tell your tale to the Headmaster?"
The boy's face stretched with fright, his mouth red and trembling. "No! I -- oh, f-fuck!"
"Language, Mr. Potter!"
The angry tears were falling, now. "I- I'll tell you. Just, p- please!"
Snape looked down at the shocked, teary face turned up to his and held his breath. He could feel his trousers tightening. This was it...
"Please, Professor!" He implored. "Don't tell the headmaster." He wiped his eyes. "Please. I'll do anything you want. Anything!"
"Let me be absolutely clear, Potter." The door to the classroom had been shut and warded, and Snape paced back and forth behind the boy, as well as he could with a raging erection. Potter lay bent without benefit of thick school trousers and pants over the vast, bare expanse of the teacher's desk, face buried in his arms. "Tonight, I will administer the first part of your punishment. Then, you will tell me everything. Everything, Potter. If I am satisfied with your story, I shall refrain from going to the headmaster. If I am not -- he shall punish you, as well."
The boy's breath sounded loud against the wood; he sniffed at intervals.
"As for the remainder of your punishment, you will have already noticed, I think, that I will not be issuing it conventionally. In fact, I think I won't take points at all, Mr. Potter. I will be giving you detention twice a week in my office until the end of the school year. However, you will not immediately begin scrubbing. You will arrive for detention prepared to receive six with the paddle, a whip, my wand, a crop, or, if you're very lucky, my hand. Do you understand what I mean by 'prepared,' Mr. Potter?"
"It means you will arrive as bare under your robes as you are this moment. When you come through my door, you will shut and lock it. You will come around my desk and stand to my right, turn your head to face me, bend over and place your cheek to the wood, pull your robes up to the middle of your back, spread your legs wide, and wait. Silently. Is that clear?"
"As crystal. Sir."
"Impertinence merits three extra blows per incidence."
"Fuck! Um, yes, sir."
"As does bad language, Mr. Potter."
"Fine." A sniff.
"As does disrespect."
"After you are spanked for your most inappropriate behavior, you will rise immediately and set to work for the remainder of the evening."
"You will do what I say when I say it."
"I do not need to tell you what will happen if you fail to appear, do I?"
"No, sir!" The boy curled in on himself a little; his balls shifted between his slim pale legs. Snape shut his eyes and returned, with difficulty, to the thread of his thoughts.
"If you are more than five minutes late on any evening, you will increase the number of blows by the number of minutes late."
A sharp intake of breath. "Yes, sir."
"Do you understand the terms of your punishment?"
"Do you understand the consequences, Mr. Potter, if you fail to complete the full term of your punishment?"
"Y- yes, sir. I understand."
"Do you?" He approached the desk and placed his hands on either side of the boy. "Azkaban is full of dark animals, Potter. Professor Lupin would fit in quite well."
He savored for a moment the sound of Potter's soft, gulping breaths, then reluctantly rose. He looked around the room. A paddle -- what would do... ah.
He transfigured the wooden pointer from below the blackboard into a narrow, whippy paddle. It whistled satisfyingly through the air in his first, experimental swing behind Potter's head.
"Spread your legs wider, Mr. Potter. Now, the standard technique is to have you count out loud each strike of the paddle."
"I am not finished. While I question your intelligence, especially after your foolish encounter this evening, I am reasonably assured of your ability to count. I am, however, not so sanguine about your ability to recognize what you are. Do you know what you are, Mr. Potter?"
"You are a slut, Mr. Potter. A dirty, filthy little slut." He peered circumspectly at the side of Potter's face. No fresh tears. "Are the boys in your House so unsatisfying that you must seek your shameful pleasure with an adult?"
"What - ow!" Snape smacked Potter's buttocks with the flat of his hand and continued pacing.
"Though I suppose the Gryffindor upper forms didn't think it prudent to make a whore of the Boy Who Lived."
"I assure you, Potter, that were you in Slytherin, you would be considered most satisfactory by the older boys."
"Your desires would be quite satisfied, I imagine."
"But you're not in Slytherin, are you, Mr. Potter?"
"I -- no, but --"
"You are in Gryffindor, and none of the boys there will fuck you, will they?"
"No! It's not --"
"You'd open your legs for anyone, wouldn't you, Potter? You have no control, do you?"
"Answer me, Potter! Yes or no?"
"Y- yes, sir. I mean, no, sir!"
"You see? You are confused. I doubt your ability to retain anything I teach you, but I shall do my best to impress upon you that you are -- indeed -- a slut." Snape's erection throbbed hard, trapped against the seam of his trousers. He drew in a deep breath. "Therefore, with each strike of the paddle you will not count. You will either say 'I am a slut' or 'I can't control my cock.' The choice is yours. Do you understand?"
"I - yes, I underst -"
"Then repeat your choices back to me and we will begin." He moved out of Potter's line of sight and adjusted his erection so it pointed straight up in his trousers, the button stays pressing deliciously in a row along the underside vein.
"I am a s-slut." A tear dripped onto the table. The boy's breathing grew ragged and his hoarse voice echoed in the high-ceilinged room. "I c-can't control my cock."
"No, you can't. Can you?" The release of saying it, the delicious thrill of confirming it to the boy made Snape seriously doubt he could control his own, either.
"F-fuck you, Snape."
Snape swooped into the path of Harry's vision and said, "Well, well. Disobedient already. Are you that eager to be spanked? How sophisticated of you, Mr. Potter, to take pleasure in it."
"No, I -- you don't understand --"
"Ah, but I do understand. I shall see you punished regardless, whether or not you desire it, Mr. Potter. And afterward, you will sit in my lap and tell me everything." His hand cupped Potter's chin, squeezed the boy's wet, red mouth. "And I shall add nine strokes to the six for today for insolence, disrespect and your filthy mouth."
The boy locked wet and furious eyes on his and sputtered, but the whistle and smack of the first blow made the boy's eyes fly wide. He cried out. Snape stepped swiftly around the table, and stared at the boy's arse. A hot red stripe coalesced across the middle of those pale cheeks; the welt made a cross with the cleft to quarter the boy's firm, round arse. Snape restrained himself from reaching out to rub the rising welt, from dipping a finger into the nexus of that cross and pushing.
"Well, Potter? Do you need three more to remind you of your lesson?"
"No! No." The boy gave a mighty sniff, swallowed, and said "I- I am a slut." His eyes clenched shut and another tear ran over the side of his nose and splashed on the desk below, as the slender paddle whistled through the air again.
"I!" he yelped. "I can't control m-my cock!" Or his balls; they bounced between his legs with each blow. Snape's erection throbbed hard in response and he was horrified to discover his own balls drawing up. No! Too soon! Snape pushed them down hard and squeezed them between his legs. This boy sorely tested him. He gave him three sharp swats out of irritation.
"I'm a s-slut. I'm - ahh! I'm a slut! I'm a slu-huh-huht!" His voice broke on the last, and he began to weep openly. Snape thought it was rather more than just pain making Potter sob. Perhaps the truth was beginning to hurt. Sure enough, when he set the paddle aside, reached between the boy's legs and pushed his balls aside, his cock was nowhere in evidence. Snape reached up, grasped the hard cock jutting into Potter's belly, and pulled it down perpendicular to the table.
He admired for a moment the thin shaft and angry purple head. He swiped his finger over the tip and caught a bare hint of moisture, then let go. The boy jumped and moaned as his cock slapped back against his belly. "Move forward, Potter." The boy stood upright and shuffled a half-step until his thighs bumped the table. "Spread your legs. A bit more." Snape lifted the boy's balls out of the way. "Spread them a bit more, boy. That's far enough. Now, bend over. Perhaps laying on your cock will help you control it."
Snape straightened and stretched the stiffness out of his back, an unpleasant reminder that he was three times the age of the slender little morsel in front of him. He took up the paddle again and brought it whistling through the air to land on Potter's left buttock.
"I can't control m-my cock."
"No, you can't." And mine is shamefully wayward, as well.
Smack on the right cheek, the blow landing straight up and down.
"I am a slut." The crisscrossing lines on Potter's arse now looked as though they had two little red horns blossoming on them.
He swung the paddle up and around once more and smacked the bottom of the boy's buttocks, scooping them upwards. He let the momentum carry his arm around again for another smack, right on top. The boy, pushed tight against the desk as he was, had no place to go; could only clench his buttocks hard together to relieve the sting.
He hiccoughed another sob and moaned, "I can't control my cock. I'm a slut!"
"Yes, you are a slut, Potter, begging a teacher for a fuck. At least I nev --" no, not that. Don't say that. "-- never doubted it." He glared at the arse in front of him, then back-handed it. "Slut."
He walked around and set the paddle down on the table directly in front of Potter's face. "Open your eyes, boy."
They opened, then widened when they recognized the paddle.
"Don't get any ideas, Potter. You still have six more coming."
He had no intention of delivering them with a paddle, however. Not with that red arse in front of him, tempting him to touch it. But not yet. If he didn't get control of himself, he was going to explode in his pants like a little slut himself, and he wasn't a slut. He wasn't.
He moved away, and drew his wand out of his sleeve. He slid it down the front of his trousers to rest on the base of his cock, and whispered, "Comprima Mentula." A little band shot out of his wand, wrapped itself around the base of his cock, and tightened.
Oh, it ached! But without it, he couldn't possibly manage a confession with his lap full of warm, wriggling boy. Just the thought of Potter's shamefully illicit tryst left him irritable with anticipation. With that kind of temptation, how could he be expected to control himself all on his own? The band wasn't cheating; needing it didn't mean he was a slut. It was simply good sense.
To business, then. One step further around brought him within range. He flattened his left hand as stiff as he could. It landed directly over the hole.
"Snape! I mean, Professor! I -- oh -- that was your hand!" The surprise sounded clear in his voice, and Snape imagined something more there, too; arousal? Well, probably not. He wasn't that deluded. Most likely mild panic, but that was all right, too. Snape knew how to manage panic.
"That observation, while correct, Mr. Potter, is nevertheless not one of the responses allowed --"
"I'm a slut! Professor! I can't control my cock, I can't, I can't, please don't give me any more! Plea-hea-hease!" and the boy was crying once again.
Snape supposed he could be lenient just this once; the boy had humiliated himself more than strictly required. No extras, then. Just the five remaining. He gave two in quick succession.
"I can't control my cock. I can't control my cock."
Then three, very fast, to end it. He wanted that confession.
"I'm a slut. I'm a slut. I'm a slu-ut!" The boy's voice cracked on the last.
"Accio salve, brandy, water."
A wave directed the items to a nearby desk; he widened his chair and added cushions, then opened the jar of salve.
"This will not hurt, Potter, but you may find it stings a moment going on." He wouldn't normally indulge a boy this way; pain was a wonderful motivator of the truth. But special captures made for special circumstances, and he was looking for far more consequential details than usual. He scooped out a generous dollop of salve, put a hand at the top of each cheek, and rubbed in small, firm circles.
The boy quieted down -- then just melted into the table beneath him. Snape continued rubbing, fingers curving around the sides of the boy's arse, thumbs massaging deep circles from the cleft to the center of the cheeks. Potter began to push back into the pressure, clenching his cheeks as best he could between swipes. Snape was not unaware that this caused Potter's cock to rub back and forth on the smooth, worn wood. He listened to Potter's breath against the table, and as his thumbs moved closer to the boy's dusky hole, the breaths turned to groans.
As if more proof were needed that the boy was a slut.
Just to drive home a point Snape considered already proven, he gently wiggled one salve-coated thumb into the hot sheathing of the boy's arse. Really, it was justified. The healing salve would work thoroughly on the little cuts and tears that a good fucking would have given such a small boy. He pushed until the joint of his thumb rested snug behind the tight ring of muscle. Tight. Oh, tight. His cock pulsed and throbbed against the restraining band and the button stays of his trousers.
The groans turned to gasps. "No -- Professor…no!"
Snape held his hand still, but didn't remove it. The boy tried to wrench free, but there was no place to move but back. Snape watched the boy's balls draw up. Hmm. Potter was enjoying it, no matter what he said. Snape pushed further in and down. Ah, there it was.
The boy said "No!" again, but this time with less force and more resignation; his hips began to tilt uncontrollably, his thighs digging hard into the edge of the table. His buttocks clenched around the heel of Snape's hand.
"No-- ohhh!" Potter succumbed to the wracking spasms kicking out from his stomach. His muscles rippled and contracted around Snape's thumb in a steady rhythm. And then the boy was spent; he lay still against the grain of the wood, made slick and smooth by the come under his belly.
"My, my, Potter. You really are a slut who can't control his cock." He wriggled his thumb slowly out of the boy's arse and wiped it on the robe bunched across Potter's back.
The boy lay dazed and still, breathing heavily. He said nothing.
Snape took the opportunity to put a hand to his own barely restrained cock and give the tip a hard dig with the heel of his hand. The pain of it made his stomach twist, but did nothing to lessen the ache. He wanted nothing more in that moment than toFinite the restriction spell and let himself go, let the come sluice out of him and soak his smalls, and the placket and waistband of his trousers. Or better yet, to bury the hot, hard length of his cock in the bright red arse right in front of him. But as dazed and unaware as the boy seemed, he would surely notice the former and never hold still for the latter. And it would give Potter the idea that Snape couldn't control his cock.
He sat down gingerly in the soft chair, and angled his erection as comfortably as possible against his belly. He left his hand there, stroking lightly as he stared at the boy's glistening arse. The salve will stain my trousers, Snape thought, but it was an idle and inconsequential observation. Stains wouldn't matter once the boy began talking. Nothing would matter when Snape discovered (and he was sure, he just knew) that Potter was an even bigger slut than....
The brandy sat on the table next to him. Snape poured out with his free hand. He wasn't like Potter. He wasn't a slut. He had never let his professors touch him. He took a large gulp of brandy, and rubbed up the length of his cock as the liquid burned down his throat. The effects combined to leave a lingering shiver across the surface of his skin.
"Come here, Potter."
The boy stirred, and slowly rose. His robes fell puffed and wrinkled against his slender back.
"Hold your robes up, and turn around." He reached for his wand and cast Scourgify on the gelled and drying remains of Potter's orgasm. The boy shuddered as the mess bubbled out and evaporated from under his foreskin and the sparse, downy hair around his groin.
Snape propped himself straighter in the chair, put down his wand and said, "Sit. Talk."
Potter took a hesitant step forward, and stopped.
Snape pointed at his lap, and Potter reluctantly came over. Snape spread his legs slightly as Potter slid backward onto his lap. The boy winced as the rough wool of his trousers grated against the hot, raised welts. Snape settled him firmly at the crux of his lap, angled enough that those smooth, slender limbs fell to the left of his own legs. Slowly, Potter leant back into the crook of Snape's right arm.
Snape wrapped his left arm low around the boy's waist. "Begin."
The boy gulped. "I...well..."
"From the beginning, Potter. Everything."
Gulp. "Yes, sir." He took a shaky breath.
"It wasn't Professor Lupin's fault. You -- you have to understand that."
"Hrmph. That remains to be seen."
"But he didn't make me, or anything. It was his idea, but I -- I wanted it, too." Potter paused for several moments. "He knew my father. Did you know that?"
"I know more than I ever cared to about your father, Mr. Potter. It certainly didn't escape my notice that he and Professor Lupin were close."
"Yes. Well. I didn't know. Not until he told me. It was --" he stopped. "I'd never had anyone talk to me about my parents before. Not much, anyway."
Snape didn't quite know what to make of that. He had always assumed Albus had told the boy everything he could. And Hagrid. Sentimentalists, both of them.
"We talked -- really talked -- for the first time, in October. That first Hogsmeade weekend. I couldn't -- I'm not allowed to go. My uncle... well, he never signed the form.
"It was good to talk to him. He put his arm around me, afterward. We walked around the lake. It felt so good to be close to someone. I -- I just leaned into him, and we stayed like that for a long time.
"After that, we met on Saturdays regularly to talk. Nothing planned, or anything... we just did. When December came, we talked in his rooms. We would curl up on his couch...." The boy gulped.
"At Christmas, he said he felt like a part of his family had been returned to him. And I felt the same way. I went to say thank you... I swear I just meant to hug him. He leaned down and put his arms around me and kissed me. I think he meant it for my forehead, but I had looked up to say it -- say thank you -- and our lips... just met.
"I was -- we were both surprised. No one had ever kissed me before. Ever, that I remember. I liked it. I didn't want to stop. And Professor Lupin -- he didn't stop right away, either. And when he did, he just ruffled my hair and said he'd see me in class.
"I went to him the next Saturday and again, we talked for a long time. And when I left, I kissed him. On purpose. This time he did pull away. He said we shouldn't -- do that. I asked him why. He said it wasn't right, and if anyone found out he would be sacked and I would be expelled.
"I didn't know what to say. He put his arm around me and said not to worry, that it was obvious I wasn't thinking of the consequences. And he was right. I wasn't. I was thinking -- it excited me. Enough to get... well, hard. Standing there, all I could think about was kissing him. Opening my mouth and kissing him. Unbuttoning his robe and running my hands down his chest..." he sucked in a quick breath.
"I was so hard thinking about it. Too hard..."
"I felt it rising up. I couldn't stop it..."
"I c-came." Harry turned his head away and mumbled at the floor. "I came in my trousers."
Snape could no longer see Potter's face, and he wasn't having any of that. Two fingers under Potter's chin forced the boy to look up again.
"You did what, Potter?"
"I came, Professor."
"Did Professor Lupin know what you were doing as you stood there under his arm?"
"I don't think so -- I don't know. I must have made a little sound -- Professor Lupin said, 'I know. The consequences are dire, aren't they?' I couldn't do more than just nod... 'Well, don't fret about it,' he said, and he walked me to the door. I was light-headed. He said he would see me in class. And when the door shut behind me I sank down on the floor next to it and waited until my legs stopped shaking."
"How long did that take?"
"About five minutes, I s'pose."
"Five minutes? In damp, sticky trousers? Weren't you afraid someone would come along and discover you in that state?"
"Answer me! Weren't you afraid to be caught in the public corridor with your trousers full of come?"
"No! No. I -- I wasn't thinking of that. No one came. I just -- went back to the dorm."
Snape looked down at the boy and sneered. "Slut."
The boy flushed.
"And did you clean yourself up, or did you walk all the way to the dorm with your wayward cock rubbing against the wetness in your underwear?"
Potter shut his eyes. "I tried a drying charm, when I stood up."
"Did it work?"
"Yes. But --" the boy squirmed. "There was a white patch. A stain."
"Ah. And what did you do about it?"
"Nothing. I didn't know how to get it off."
"Useless, aren't you. And what did the rest of your dormitory say about it? Were they embarrassed? How did you explain yourself to them? What lies did you tell, Mr. Potter?"
"I didn't lie! No -- no one said anything. And I didn't, either. I went straight to my dorm and changed."
"But they saw, didn't they? They saw your come-stained trousers?"
"Yes -- no! Maybe."
"Well, which is it?" he barked.
"Why are you making me tell you this?"
"Because, Mr. Potter, you will never learn to control your sluttish behaviour if you are not properly humiliated by it! Now, for the last time. Did they see your shame?"
The boy's lip quivered. "Yes."
Snape's cock twitched violently, and he barely managed to restrain a groan. He shifted a bit against the cushions, and in a much lower voice said, "Continue. With the truth, this time, Mr. Potter. What did they say?"
"S-seamus asked whose cake I was icing, and..."
"And Ron said 'Harry! Who's the girl? How come you didn't tell me, you git?'"
"I -- I got angry. I told them to bugger off, and went to change."
"See, now, Mr. Potter? The truth didn't hurt."
"It didn't hurt you, sir," the boy said, wiggling against Snape's restrained and aching cock.
Snape struck the boy's cheek before he quite knew what he was about. "You will not be so insolent!" he snarled.
The boy squirmed round and looked him full in the face; shock widened his eyes. A hand print slowly resolved on the reddened cheek. Snape reached toward it. The boy flinched. Damn it! He drew in a slow breath and let it out even slower.
"Hold still, Potter." He whispered a spell and ran his hand over the mark. It disappeared. "Now, then. Continue."
"I -- where was..."
"Continue with Professor Lupin. When did you see him next?"
"Oh! Yes. I -- I saw him again -- to talk to, I mean -- well, today."
"Today?" But that would mean today was his first... "Oh." His cock throbbed mercilessly against Potter's hip.
"This evening, I mean. I went to his rooms after supper. He let me in. He always lets me in. He -- he didn't mention what happened. Last time, I mean. We sat on the couch next to each other.
"We talked, but my mind kept wandering. I -- I kept thinking about doing -- things -- with him. I had been thinking about it all week, since last Sunday. I -- I'd got a book out of the library. I didn't know there were so many things men could do with each other. He was telling me a story about the Gryffindor-Slytherin match their sixth year, and all I could think about was -- was what it would be like to -- to kneel down between his legs and take his c-cock in my mouth and suck it."
Snape felt a light touch on his wrist and looked down. He found a newly-erected tent in the boy's lap, with a tiny damp patch at its peak. His cock surged. Try as he might, he couldn't help thrusting just the tiniest bit into the boy's left buttock.
"I imagined what it would be like if he did it to me... if he," Potter took a quick breath, "if he stood over me and took off my robes... he... I imagined him carefully unbuckling my belt, loosening my tie and pulling it over my head. I thought about him slowly unbuttoning my shirt...
"I wasn't even aware at first that he had stopped talking, that he was staring at me. When I looked up... I think he knew. He said 'Harry' and I... I said, 'Please! Please.' and then..." The boy shut his eyes. "Then he was kissing me, we were kissing each other, and... oh!" The boy put his hand over the tent and squeezed.
"Stop!" He removed Potter's hand from his crumpled robes and laid it across the boy's stomach.
Potter stared at it for a moment. "He -- he pulled me onto his lap... I was facing him, kissing him, and I could feel it. I could f-feel his cock under mine. He was hard. He -- he's huge. I rubbed myself against it as we kissed..."
Snape felt Potter's buttocks clenching and releasing on his leg. Each clench pulled the weight of the boy off his agonized cock the slightest bit. Each release pushed the heavy hip back. Snape found himself tipping his pelvis (just barely, so carefully) into those pushes.
"He slid me off his lap and pulled my robe over my head. I -- I reached for his but he said, 'No -- wait,' and he took the rest of my clothes off." Potter smiled briefly. "But he left my tie on. He said my dad used to -- to leave his on... "
Well, that confirmed a much older suspicion. Snape said nothing, but kept up his surreptitious rutting.
"I was confused. He -- my dad, they -- they must have been l-lovers, once? I stood there in front of him in just my shoes and tie and -- and I thought, I get to do something my dad did. I get to share something with my dad. And suddenly, I couldn't wait. I reached up and unbuttoned his robe and shirt, and I slid my hands inside just like I had thought of doing all week, and it was good... it was so good... I felt like I could come from it, from touching his skin, his stomach, his n-nipples...." He trailed off.
"Continue, Potter." His voice sounded hoarse and harsh in his ears.
"He took off his clothes, and dropped them on the couch, and then..." the tented robe jerked, "And then he knelt down in front of me, as I had imagined he would, and -- and he took off my belt and undid my trouser buttons... then he slid my trousers down. He pulled them out a bit -- he said he didn't want them to catch on my c-cock and hurt me -- and then he took my pants down, too, and I almost..."
"He leaned forward..." Potter was panting, now. "He put my -- he sucked my cock!" He groaned, and the tiny damp patch on the tent over the boy's penis grew measurably larger.
"He -- he slid it all the way in his mouth, and th-then he sucked and oh, oh, it was too much."
"I was shaking."
"I could b-barely hold myself up. I grabbed onto his head. I -- I dug my fingers into his hair and tried to pull him off me."
Snape held himself rigidly in control.
"I was going to -- didn't he realize? I was -- but I couldn't pull him off -- there was too much suction -- it was too much..."
It was --
"I felt it come up and I couldn't help it, m-my body wouldn't stop... I pushed myself into his mouth and I let it go, I felt it come, I -- I -- oh, fuck!"
The boy arched up with unexpected strength under Snape's arm and shook himself apart; after a long, delicious minute, his face relaxed from the rictus of pleasure into a sated glow. Snape looked down and found the tent collapsed in sticky, damp ruin.
His cock pounded hard, imploring for release, an echo of his heart, of the pain exploding in little bursts behind his eyes. He tried desperately not to shake. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly between his teeth. And did it again. Control. Control.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter. However, I do hope that is not the end of your confession." He paused for another long breath. "While technically accurate, it is sorely lacking in detail. I suggest you continue."
The boy shut his eyes, but Snape was too distracted now to disallow it. "He -- after -- he said -- he asked, 'will you let me give you something? It's something your dad gave to me.' He said -- he said it might hurt a bit at first but it would feel better than -- than s-sucking me... he said it might even make me c-come again... that -- that m-my dad always made him come again."
Potter squeezed his eyes tighter and a wrinkle appeared in the middle of his forehead. "It hurt."
Severus was mortified to discover his heart lurching in sympathy. He didn't know what to make of it.
"H-he laid me on my side and pulled my knee up to my chest. He cast a spell. His fingers were slick. He was gentle -- but even one finger hurt, at first. But -- he found a spot in me -- it was like -- it made me wake up in the moment. I can't describe it any other way than that, it was like I was suddenly really aware. And wanting. I wanted -- it. More. He kept at it, it felt like a long time. But nice. Really nice. It wasn't hurting anymore. And I wanted even more.
"He gave it to me."
The last came out weak and breathy, and Snape's sympathy quickly transformed into sympathetic lust. He could feel every little push of the boy's hip and buttock against his cock, the tiny pressures of his body moving as he spoke, as he breathed, as he kicked a foot or squirmed with embarrassment.
"He pushed his cock into m-my arse." The boy caught his breath, and yes, that was a tear making its timid way down the flushed cheek. Snape would not lick it.
"It hurt. I -- I didn't know how he could like -- why would he want my dad to hurt him like that?" Potter twisted around and looked at Snape. "But then he hit that spot inside me again. And the hurt... was good. He did it again and again..." Potter buried his face against Snape's chest. "He was right," came out, muffled. "He -- I was so hard again, already."
Snape didn't know if it was the boy's warm breath or his own that hovered around his face. He felt shaky and weak.
"He pushed into me... and I pushed back into him."
He couldn't completely control his shaking. Any moment the boy was sure to notice...
"Then he reached around me... wrapped his fingers around my cock. It didn't take long."
His stomach swooped low, and began to rise...
"He moaned... I realized he was saying 'James'. He - he lost the rhythm. I knew what was happening. He -- oh! He was coming inside me! And I came -- I came again, so hard..."
Damn! The strain was too much for the compression spell -- it gave way in a burst of pain. Snape panicked and held himself rigid as the pain tumbled away in a wave of pleasure so intense he couldn't breathe. His cock throbbed mercilessly as he shot his pent up frustration into his smalls, spurt after mortifying spurt, obscenely aware that he did so against Potter's hip, against his left buttock. Fuck. Oh, fuck, the boy was bound to notice it now, unless...
He took a heaving breath and shoved Potter off his lap, part of him dying a little, even as the boy hit the floor. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I think I've heard enough." He rose from the cushions and hauled the boy up by his collar, fearful that even that much contact would betray the wracking shudders. The boy would not know. He would shift the focus from himself...
"You are a slut!" he shouted, and smacked Potter's bum as he pushed him toward the door. The boy yelped with fright. "I hope you have learned something about yourself. I hope this lesson sinks in at least as far as your professor's cock, Potter. You're a dirty little whore, and you can't control your cock!" He yanked open the door, spun the boy around and grabbed him by the lapels.
"Slut!" He pushed him out, and slammed the door.
He rested his head against the worn wood and took stock of himself. He was damp and sticky, and shaking -- maybe from anger, maybe afterglow. Probably both. He might be lucky -- though the likelihood of that made him snort -- perhaps the boy hadn't noticed. But Snape could no longer lie to himself. He knew what he was.