The Burning Pen

"What Was I Thinking" Series
"#1 ~ What Was I Thinking? ~ Part 1"
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 3

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 3 ~ She’s Definitely a Must-Have

Severus sat brooding before the fire, considering how to approach the delectable Miss Granger. He tossed down the rest of his firewhiskey and sat back against the comfortable armchair, enjoying the warm liquor-inspired glow creeping up his body. He relaxed a bit, and this allowed his mind to drift to the darker, less pleasant realities his personal life was littered with.

Severus had long been aware he had a very active libido, and since he wasn’t in the position to form any kind of lasting relationship with a woman of his choosing, he availed himself of the overused wares of the variety of prostitutes that frequented the street corners and bars of Hogsmeade. Of course, this wasn’t his only recourse for female company, but he preferred it to the disturbing alternative provided by the Dark Lord. The twisted revels thrown by Voldemort for his faithful followers supplied ample female offerings for all kinds of perversions, usually women stunned and kidnapped from muggle neighborhoods. But Severus found no pleasure in raping the doomed women who were usually beaten, battered and bloodied beyond recognition before the fourth or fifth ravishment. There was no way could he find such horror, such brutality, such cruelty arousing. His usual act in the revels was to mercifully cast the killing curse on the shuddering, torn mounds of flesh that used to be recognizable as women. By the time he got to them, they were begging for the release of death and oblivion. Because of his willingness to kill, Lord Voldemort believed that Severus was a twisted soul who could only get gratification by killing. This met with great approval. Severus did nothing to show him otherwise. Killing was the only kindness he could offer those unfortunate creatures without incurring the suspicion and wrath of his lord. The wives of other Death Eaters surreptiously issued invitations, either through whispers or the occasional intimate and decidedly improper squeeze/caress. He wanted none of them, beautiful though they were. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Narcissa Malfoy’s long legs wrapped mechanically around his waist, her passionless, mannequin-like features frozen into permanent disdain as he sweated over her.

But he was still a man, a man with physical needs who thoroughly believed in the power of the galleon and selfish, selfish sex. He did not make love. He fucked, bucked and consumed his partners like a man possessed, using them to momentarily shove away the madness that was his existence with every brutal thrust, getting every inch of his money’s worth and beyond, if possible. For Severus, the act of copulation was not an act of pleasure, but a necessary, if temporary release of his demons. The gods had graced him with a battering ram of a cock, and every woman he purchased was a city under siege, and his sole mission in life (at that moment) was to viciously assault her resisting walls. He claimed pussies like new territories, and every hoarse gasp and scream and plea that issued from a woman’s throat was the reflected voice of his own pain ringing in his ears. And although he focused on the single-minded fulfillment of his own dark needs, no woman was ever left behind once she boarded and was mounted under the piston of the Orgasmic Express better known as Severus Snape. More than one swollen, bedraggled and deeply punctured partner had told him he ought to be required by wizarding law to register “that one-eyed monster” as a dangerous weapon.

All the whores of Knockturn Alley knew where the real serpent of Slytherin was hidden. In the trousers of the dour Potions Master. When he turned up at the inn, dark and brooding, scowling into his firewhiskey while sitting at the furthest table from the door, quiet fights would break out among the whores to see who would ply for his patronage. He could be counted on to hire a girl for the whole night, was always scrupulously clean, smelled good, and tasted even better. Plus, he could fuck for hours on end.

Severus indulged himself willingly, but always left his wanton engagements with the disgruntled feeling that it was him who should have collected the fee for the night’s activities. He always had to hold back. The prostitutes were fine for fucking up and down worn mattresses, putting rug burns on his knees and slamming roughly into headboards, but there were things Severus longed to do that these used women were just unfit for. He couldn’t claim their mouths brutally, or lap at their juicy openings like a man deprived of food for weeks. Too many cocks had filled every orifice with come or spittle or gods know what else, and cleansing spells only went so far. He relieved himself, yes... but was tired of coming back to his quarters and scrubbing his skin raw to wash away the scent of them. He wanted a woman he could possess fully, whose body could be a succulent buffet on which to feed and feed until he was sated. He wanted a woman who he could bathe with his tongue, who he could taste, bite and swallow. He wanted someone pure, someone fresh, someone barely touched. He wanted Hermione Granger.

At this honest admission, Severus’s hand lazily pushed through the elastic of his pajama bottom and grasped his hard-on firmly. He fisted his cock slowly as he thought of the seventh year Gryffindor. To say he held an affection for Miss Granger would be taking it too far. He secretly admired her courage, intellect, loyalty and conviction. She was a bright girl, who seemed to avoid the errors of other young women her age, preferring to focus on the acquisition of knowledge, rather than fumbling, around in bed with boys who knew as much about sex as flubberworms.

“And definitely fuckable,” Severus snorted dryly as he absently continued his smooth handling of his tool, squeezing a bit more tightly and feeling a burst of pleasure shoot up and down his shaft.

Hermione’s intellect might have been what saved her from falling into the clutches of the usual hormone driven relationships. An intelligent woman can often thwart suitors, most being interested in what lies beneath the robe, rather than the mind. Sitting in the library discussing magical theories and hypothesis would not fit most young men’s ideas of courtship. Granger, with the sad exception of her purely platonic relationships with Ronald Weasley, the Burrow Brawler and Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Is-A-Perpetual-Pain-In-My-Arse, would of necessity need a partner of equal or greater intellect in order to form a good, stable and intimate relationship. In her case, Severus mused, one needs to feed the mind, then the body will follow. He had been feeding her mind for years. Yes, the body will follow. Ah, that body. That soft, shapely, untouched temple of womanhood.

Severus’ hand moved faster as he pictured Hermione pleasuring herself in her bed after the sensual dream of the Slytherin serpent possessing her, a serpent whose dream-self represented none other than himself. He was sure that, once she regained the ability of logical reasoning, that bright mind of hers would realize that she was destined to be fucked senseless by her Professor.

The rate of his breathing increased exponentially as he feverishly worked his hand back and forth over his hard length. His head fell forward, black hair sweeping like a closing curtain into his face as he becomes lost in the lustful vision moving across the screen of his imagination. The swollen purple eye wept a thick, murky tear as his balls began to tighten. He pictured Hermione pressed flush to mattress, tossing her head back and forth screaming his name over and over, her sweating body pinned tight beneath him, knees flung over his shoulders, his long fingered hands holding her thighs apart, thumbs parting and massaging her labia. He is almost drooling as he watches his thick shaft poling in and out of her honey wetness, watches her soft pink flesh suckle like a baby on the hardness plunging in and out of her incredible tightness. He watches her breasts bounce and jiggle from the force of his frenzied invasion of her body, watches her amber eyes dilate as she moans senselessly from the budding pleasure building beneath the pain of his possession. He watches, amazed, rewarded, lost in the scent and sight of her, loving that she is willing, loving that she came to him, loving that he has stolen that know-it-all look from her eyes, and taught her something new. Right now she knows only her Professor, her Teacher, her true Head-Master. He delves hard and deep inside her, feeling her cervix shift as she bucks her hips, crying out something beautiful and unintelligible. He is watching, watching for the detonation, the explosion...

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The tendons in the Potion Master’s neck tightened, and every muscle in his body strained to meet that perfect ball-gripping peak and hot rush of release. He threw his head back and groaned ferally, pulling his cock free of his pajamas just in time and almost howling as he ejaculated strongly, his come spurting, arching into the firelight and landing several feet away, thick as heavy cream and milky white upon the hearth. His body shuddered as the last weakening jets pulsed themselves out. Exhausted, Serverus hung his head, chest heaving, dizzy with the forcefulness of his release.

“Great Merlin,” he groaned. “Great Merlin’s balls. If just thinking about her is this good ... damn. Damn...

He wiped his eyes and fell back against the chair, his strength sapped and mind working frantically.

“I’ve got to figure a way to get her hot, bothered and alone...soon.”

His limp organ slumped contentedly over the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms. Shifting in his seat, Severus waved a languid hand at the threads of come glistening a short distance away on the stone floor before the hearth. It glowed almost luminously in the firelight.

“Scourgify!”


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A/N: I was thinking it might take a while for our sexy Sev (he’d hex me for using that nickname) to seduce and ravage our randy, but still chaste Miss Granger, so I put my (or Severus’) hand to it, to speed things up. I was anxious to try out my first lemony scene. Writing it was quite an errm... experience. I hope it meets with some approval. Thank you for all the reviews I’ve received. They really make me want to continue to write this story. Thanks again!

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