Submission

Left alone in the quiet confines of his quarters, Remus sat back in his armchair, his mind racing. He was more than aware that what he was doing was dangerous, was wrong. He was aware of the risks, the potential fallout if you were ever discovered. His career, his reputation, everything could be destroyed in an instant.

Yet, that day you came to him, desperate for guidance, for dominance, he couldn't say no. There was an undeniable attraction, a pull towards you that he couldn't ignore. He knew that if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else. Someone inexperienced, someone who could take advantage of your vulnerability, your innocence, and it filled him with a protective rage. He preferred having you explore this part of yourself with him, in a safe environment where he could ensure your consent...or at least that's what he liked to tell himself.

Remus had always prided himself on his self-control, his restraint. He was known for his moral compass, for his respect towards his students. But with you, all his rules seemed to evaporate. The intoxicating mix of your innocence, your submission, your desire, was too overwhelming to resist.

Every moment of your encounter replayed in his mind as he sat in his armchair. Your flushed cheeks, your trembling hands, the way you'd looked at him with such trust and submission. The memory of you kneeling before him, of you looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, was enough to make him hard again. The way you'd whispered 'Yes, Sir', the vulnerability in your voice, made his heart race. He could still feel the softness of your lips as he grazed his thumb over them, the warmth of your mouth around his shaft, could still taste you on his lips...taste himself on your lips. The marks he left on your neck and back, a visible sign of your shared secret, would be a constant reminder of his dominance, of what you'd done, of what you were about to explore.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the dark ceiling. He was in deep, and there was no turning back now.

~

You made your way to DADA the next day trying your best to look as normal as possible. You were normal after all, and no one had any reason to suspect you had been on your knees before Professor Lupin the night before, gagging around him and swallowing him down. You couldn't even let your thoughts wander there. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and walked in the classroom like the most normal student ever.

The moment you stepped into the classroom, his eyes fell on you. You did your best to look as innocent as ever, your eyes bright, your cheeks flushed with the morning chill. But the short skirt that hugged your hips, hiked up just enough to reveal laced stockings clinging to your thighs, told a different story, whispered secrets only the two of you shared. Your professor took a moment to appreciate the sight, practically devouring you with his gaze, his pulse quickening, his palms itching to touch, to explore. But no- he had to maintain his control- that was what you had asked of him, after all.

Throughout the class, neither of you could focus on anything else but each other. Every time he looked at you, his gaze lingered longer than it should, tracing the curve of your neck, the shape of your lips. He didn't care how obvious his stare was, how inappropriate it might seem, how predatory it was. He noticed the way your eyes lowered when your gazes met, the faint blush on your cheeks, the subtle shift of your skirt as you crossed and uncrossed your legs. Each small action was a dangerous dance on the edge of forbiddance. He wanted you, needed you. His mind was filled with thoughts of you. Of how he could take you right then and there, on one of the desks. And you, you would just bend over for him, self-respect completely forgotten, dignity gone.

After class ended, he found his voice, a low, steady command that made your stomach jump, your knees weak: "Y/N, would you stay behind for a moment?"

Once the room was emptied, the sounds of chairs scraping and students chattering fading away, you found yourself alone with him. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs spread, silently inviting you to step into the space between them. The air was thick with tension, anticipation, the room suddenly too small for the two of you.

When you were within reach, he reached out, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you closer. He watched as your eyes widened slightly, your breath hitching as he pulled you against him. He could tell how he affected you, and he loved every moment of it.

"Look at me," he ordered softly, his gaze unyielding. When you hesitated, he repeated his command, his voice just a notch firmer, "Look at me."

Slowly, your eyes met his, hesitant yet trusting. His hand moved from your waist to your thigh, his fingers brushing over the lace of your stockings, causing you to shudder slightly.

"I want these on you tonight when you come to my quarters," he told you, his voice husky. It was an order, a declaration of what was to come. "Understood?"

"Yes, Sir", you whispered, your voice shaky.

He smiled at you, a small, appreciative smile with a softness only he could mutter. "Good girl," he praised. "Now go, and behave yourself today."

With that, he released you and you walked away, your steps slightly unsteady, feeling intoxicated by the power he had over you. The arrangement was not supposed to hinder your academic success- yet, your mind was consumed by the memory of kneeling on the floor of his quarters, his length hitting the back of your throat. Everything had become a blur since then. Despite the rules he had established for you, you would never admit to him he had such an effect on you, the fear of losing the sweet feeling of being owned, dominated, too intoxicating, too good.

You were not surprised by your feelings. You were a horny teenager, after all. Inexperienced, desperate, touch-starved. And there was something about the way Professor Lupin held himself that made you want to surrender completely. He was attractive, yes. But it was more than that. It was the kindness in his eyes that made you know you would be safe with him. His quiet strength telling you he could be in charge, take control, make it hurt good, make you cry, make you beg, all the while making you feel like he was the safest, comfiest place in the world.

Remus, on the other hand, had not anticipated the thrill he would be getting from this, from you. For the rest of the day, he had found himself caught in a heady mix of anticipation and unease, his mind never straying far from what was to come this evening, from what he wanted to do to you, with you. The knowledge that what you were doing was ethically wrong, taboo, only seemed to amplify his anticipation. He was acutely aware that he was crossing boundaries he had set for himself long ago. Yet, the intoxicating allure of the forbidden made every stolen moment feel even more intense.

Later that evening, in the silence of his quarters, Professor Lupin sat in his armchair, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the armrest. He was nervous, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. He felt like a teenager again, debating what he was going to wear. Did it really matter? He doubted his clothes would stay on long enough. Still, he opted for something casual- comfortable grey trousers, a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a loosely tied tie hanging around his neck.

Your nervous knock on his door snapped him out of his reverie. He was by the door in an instant, pulling it open to reveal you standing there. Your eyes wide, and your cheeks flushed in a way that made his heart pound in his chest. You were dressed just as he had instructed, your short skirt revealing the laced stockings from that morning. The lack of any underwear was invisible to the eye but he knew, and the thought sent a jolt of excitement through him. Your blouse was slightly see-through, the white fabric revealing just a hint of the mark he had left on your back. You looked every bit the innocent schoolgirl that you were (or that you pretended to be), and yet undeniably alluring.

"Come in," he beckoned, stepping aside to let you enter. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but not unkind, silently communicating his pleasure at your obedience. He guided you towards the armchair positioned opposite to his own.

"Sit," he ordered. You obeyed, your steps hesitant. You could feel his gaze lingering on you as you settled down on the chair, drinking in the sight of you in the outfit he had chosen.

"You look beautiful," he finally said. There was a note of genuine admiration in his tone, an honesty that was impossible to ignore. You couldn't help but blush. You wanted to return the compliment, but you couldn't find your voice, suddenly too nervous to speak. Your reaction did not go unnoticed and he gave a soft smile, satisfied with the effect he had on you.

"How was your day?" he began, his tone casual, as if you were merely two friends catching up yet his eyes were studying you intently.

"Fine, Sir," you lied hesitantly.

He noticed the hesitation immediately and raised an eyebrow. "Just fine?" He continued, his voice holding a note of intrigue. "Did you eat properly?" he continued.

You nodded, stuttering a "Mostly, Sir."

"And did you pay attention in your classes?" He asked. He knew the answer would be no, but he wanted to see if you would be honest with him.

You bit your lip, obviously flustered. "I...I couldn't concentrate...Sir."

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Couldn't concentrate?" He echoed your words, a hint of concern coloring his tone. "Did you complete your homework, at least?"

Again, you hesitated for a moment before responding a timid "I tried to, Sir."

There was a silence as he digested your words, his eyes boring into yours. "If this...arrangement of ours interferes with your academics, or your health, it will end immediately," he stated, his voice firm. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, a soft 'Yes, Sir' escaping your lips.

"Good," he approved, letting the stern façade slip away, replaced by an expression of anticipation. He took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, the nervous girl in laced stockings, awaiting his command.

"Come here," he beckoned, leaning back in his chair and patting his lap. The command went straight between your legs. You hesitated, not trusting yourself to stand, but you obeyed, moving to sit in his lap. His hand immediately settled on your waist, steadying you. The other hand rested on your knee, his fingers gently tracing the fabric of your stockings until they reached the line of lace adorning the middle of your thigh. He let out a soft, approving hum as he appreciated your obedience to his request.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice lowering into a whisper, stirring a thrilling shiver down your spine. His hand slid further up your thigh, disappearing under your skirt. He let his hand wander even higher, his fingers ghosting over your bare skin, noticing the lack of underwear. You squirmed, your body arching instinctively towards him. Your movements elicited a soft gasp from him and you could feel his length hardening against you.

The hand that was resting on your waist snaked up to your neck and then reached to gently grab your chin, turning your face towards him, his thumb grazing your lips, pressing into your mouth. You obediently started sucking on it, your eyes never leaving his. The sight of you, eyes wide and innocent, your mouth working over his thumb, made his erection twitch in the confine of his trousers.

He slowly withdrew his thumb, trailing it across your cheek, before tangling his fingers into your hair, tilting your head back slightly. His lips hovered mere millimeters away from yours, your breaths mingling. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a husky whisper. "Are you going to do as you're told?"

You nodded eagerly, unable to trust your voice again. He let out a soft chuckle, seeing how flustered he could make you with only a few words and touches. He tugged on your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat. He pressed the softest kiss below your ear, before sucking a mark there. His. His mark. His territory.

This was too much, you wanted more, needed more. You arched further into his touch, straining for a hint of contact, a fraction more pressure from his hand from his hand that had remained teasingly still under your skirt. But the man was not one to be rushed.

"Now, now. Have we forgotten our manners already?" he gently scolded, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in an amused smile. His movements stilled completely, effectively freezing you in your tracks. He savored the sight of you: flushed, desperate, and teetering on the edge.

"Use your words, ask nicely," he urged you.

His directive sent a rush of warmth through you. You were flustered, your words stumbling out in a breathless rush, "Please..."

"Please, what?" he prodded, a soft chuckle escaping him again. The pleasure he took from your desperation, from your submission, was evident on his face.

Your lips parted as you drew a shaky breath, finally adding the one word he'd been waiting for. "Please...Sir," you stammered, your cheeks flaming as the words left your mouth. His eyes softened at your admission, his lips curling into a pleased smirk. Your squirms and tiny whimpers sent delicious jolts of pleasure through him, his hard length pressing insistently against you.

His fingers began to move again, trailing further up your thigh, ever so teasingly close to where you wanted him most. "Keep your eyes on me," he instructed you, watching as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Stay still," he ordered, letting his fingers dance around the most intimate part of you. The most desperate whimper escaped your lips, a sound that was music to his ears, pushing him to the brink of control. You involuntarily arched into his touch, making him withdraw his hand abruptly.

"Did I not tell you to stay still?" he reminded you, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Good girls listen, remember?"

"I...I'm sorry, Sir," you managed to stammer out. You felt his hand around your waist tighten, anchoring you firmly to his thigh, not allowing you the satisfaction of grinding down on his fingers. This was his game, his rules, and you would have to play by them.

Satisfied with your answer, his hand disappeared beneath your skirt again, your breath hitching in anticipation. His fingers ventured further up, tracing the damp path his touch had created until one finger pressed at your entrance. His eyes studied your reactions, your pupils blown wide with desire, your chest heaving. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice steady despite the clear arousal in his gaze.

"Yes...Sir," you panted, your voice trembling with need.

His finger pushed further inside you, a low growl escaping his lips as he felt your warm tightness clench around him. His thumb began to trace lazy circles on your clit, his touch maddeningly slow. Your hands instinctively clenching onto his shirt, desperate for some form of stability. Your knuckles turned white with the effort of staying still. He set a steady rhythm that had you trembling, your body fighting the urge to move, to chase the pleasure he was so expertly teasing out of you.

He continued his rhythm, bringing you to the edge of release only to stop abruptly. He was enjoying this too much, the control, the power, the trust you had placed in him. He could feel his arousal pressing into you, the tightness of his trousers now bordering discomfort. But he ignored it. This was about you, about taking care of you, making you feel good.

"Sir..." you whimpered, the loss of contact making your hips buck up in search of his touch. But he held you steady, his hand on your waist keeping you in place. His rhythm was cruelly timed, just enough to build your anticipation before denying you release.

"Please...Sir," you cried out, the words a desperate plea.

He chuckled, his voice laced with an edge of amusement. "Poor thing," he cooed, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy. "Look at you, so needy. Can't hold on any longer?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, ashamed of yourself for being so desperate, so vulnerable. But in this moment, it didn't matter. You were so close and you didn't want to dare reaching that sweet release without his permission.

"Tell me, what do you want?" he asked, pulling his fingers away once more and smirking at the whimper of protest that escaped your lips.

You were a blushing mess, your eyes pleading with him as you struggled to find your voice. "P-please...I n-need...," you stammered, unable to finish the sentence.

"Yes?" he prodded, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the evident arousal in his eyes.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before speaking again. "I-I need to...to come, Sir. Please..." you admitted.

A low growl rumbled in his chest at your admission, the sound sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "Good girl," he praised. His finger, slick with your arousal, ventured back inside you, this time adding a second one. You gasped at the stretch, the pressure, but he kept his pace slow, steady, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled.

"Relax," he instructed, his fingers moving in rhythm with the steady circling of his thumb over your clit. Your body obeyed, relaxing into the touch, and soon his touch was robbed of all gentleness, setting a pace that had you panting and moaning beneath him. The relentless assault had you whimpering, your mind focused on nothing but the waves of pleasure he was eliciting from you.

"Let go," he encouraged, a soft whisper in your ear. "You're such a good girl...let go for me."

With a final whimper, you let yourself succumb to the pleasure, your body convulsing in his hold as you rode out the waves of your climax. Your body arched into his touch, your hands clutching at his shirt. He didn't stop his movements until you slumped against him, completely spent.

"That's my girl," he praised, a note of pride in his voice. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to your lips. His eyes met yours with a silent instruction. You obediently took his fingers into your mouth, cleaning them with your tongue, your taste mingling with the salty remnants of your climax. He watched you, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you, flushed and sated and completely at his mercy.

"I think," he said in a low, husky voice, "we should move this to the bedroom." You swallowed thickly, your pulse racing, but nodded, letting him guide you up on your feet.

His room was a reflection of him. A large, comfortable looking bed sat in the middle, the sheets rumpled and inviting. Dark wood furniture filled the room, bookshelves lined the walls. There was a distinctly masculine scent to it, a mixture of parchment, leather bound books and something else, uniquely him.

He led you to the bed, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back. You could feel his gaze on you, it was heated, predatory. "Sit," he commanded. You obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of you, your eyes at the perfect level with the bulge in his trousers.

His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer. "I want you to see what you do to me."

His grip in hair tightened, the sweet pain making you gasp, your lips now mere centimeters from his erection clearly outlined against the fabric of his trousers. You could feel your cheeks burning at the sight. It was a powerful thing, to know that you could evoke such a reaction from him. It was intoxicating.

He took a step back, his gaze taking in your shivering form. His hands reached out towards the buttons of your blouse, the touch making you flinch slightly. His fingers worked slowly, undoing each button with meticulous care. "Relax," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm as the material fell away, exposing your delicate skin.

Reaching behind you, he unclasped your bra with practiced ease, discarding the fabric with a flick of his wrist. You trembled, exposed and vulnerable, yet you held his gaze. His hands traced down your sides, stopping at the hem of your skirt. "These," he stated, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your skirt and stockings, "stay on."

He gently pushed you, guiding you to lie down on the bed. His figure loomed over you as he positioned himself between your trembling legs. Your professor, still clad in his clothing, a cruel barrier between your bodies, pressed his hips into yours. The friction drew a sharp gasp from you, and you instinctively tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck.

He was quick to catch you, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing your gaze back to him. "Look at me," he commanded. His hand slipped from your face, down to rest on your throat, his grip just tight enough to make you swallow nervously.

He stilled, studying you under him, his thumb pressing ever so slightly into your soft skin. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper against the silence in the room. You wanted him to dominate you, to control you, even if this meant giving you permission to breathe. Your response was instinctive, your hand reaching up to press on his, urging him to tighten his grip. But he simply smirked at you, "Use your words."

You swallowed, your eyes flickering with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Y-yes, Sir," you stuttered, the honorific rolling off your tongue, only fuelling his arousal. His thumb pressed deeper into your skin, feeling your pulse there.

Maintaining the pressure on your throat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. The tenderness of the action stood in stark contrast to the dominance he held over you, the grip on your throat sending jolts of pleasurable fear through your body. Breaking the kiss, he moved to straddle you, his eyes never leaving yours.

Deliberately, he began to loosen his tie, pulling it free from his neck and discarding it with a carelessness that had your breath hitching. He started on his shirt next, each button revealing more of his toned chest. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bare skin, your mind foggy with the realization that you were probably the first student to see this part of him. Sure, no other student had been on their knees gagging around him, but seeing this part of him, like this, felt different. It was more intimate.

He caught your wandering gaze, the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement. He took hold of your hands, guiding them towards the buckle of his belt. You hesitated, your eyes darting up to meet his, silently seeking his approval. A low chuckle escaped his lips, "Go on," he encouraged.

Your hands trembled as you reached for his belt, the metal clinking softly. Once you had the buckle undone, you moved to his trousers, pulling them open to reveal his black boxers. Your hands froze at the sight, your eyes looking back up at him, uncertain.

"Keep going," he reassured you. You swallowed, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, letting his erection spring free. He shifted back, pulling his boxers off completely before settling back between your legs. His bare skin against your was a new sensation, a very welcomed sensation. It felt warm, strangely soft, and safe.

His tip brushed against you, teasing your entrance, yet he made no move to push forward, causing you to whimper softly, your breaths coming out in short gasps. He stilled, his dominant façade melting away for a moment to reveal the gentle, kindhearted Remus Lupin you knew so well. He looked down at you, his gaze soft, "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his hand to stroke your hair comfortingly. "We can stop at any time if you're uncomfortable."

You loved that he was so caring, you felt safe, but you also wished he could read your degenerate mind. You didn't want him to be so gentle, so attentive. You wanted him to be rough, to use you, even if it was your first time. You shook your head- no, you absolutely didn't want to stop- a breathy plea of "Please, Sir," tumbling from your lips. Your hands came up to his shoulders, clinging to them in anticipation. The sight of you, so willing, so eager under him, had him teetering on the edge of losing control.

He started pushing in, slowly, agonizingly slowly. A groan escaped his lips, the tightness around him was almost too much. You held your breath, the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched causing you to tense up.

He paused, fully sheathed within you, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, "Breathe, love. Relax," he instructed gently.

At your needy whimper, he began to move, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching in your throat. Your small noises of pleasure spurred him on. "You feel so good," he groaned, his hand moving up to cup your breast before resting on your throat once more, pressing down just enough to slightly restrict your airways.

You arched into him, your body begging for more. "H-harder...please, Sir," you begged, your words coming out breathlessly. His heart pounded in his chest at your plea. "Such a good girl for me," he praised, his movements becoming harder, driving you into the mattress.

He moved his hand to your hair, tugging harshly to expose your neck. His lips descended upon your exposed neck, sucking a possessive mark into your skin. His other hand slipped down, tracing the line of your thigh, over the lacy stocking that clung to your skin. "Mine," he growled, the statement punctuated by a particularly harsh thrust. His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer to him as he buried himself deeper within you. His rhythm was relentless.

Your breaths were becoming shallower, your body tightening around him. He could tell you were close, so close to that edge he had brought you to earlier. His movements became rougher, more aggressive as he began to lose himself in the pleasure of the moment. "Please..." you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies coming together.

His body was coiling tighter, the pleasure mounting as he thrust deeper and harder into you. "Come for me," he rasped out, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. Your body tightened around him, your moans growing louder as you neared your second climax of the night. "That's it, good girl. Let go."

With a final thrust, he stilled inside you, his body tensing as he spilled his seed within you. The pulsing sensation was enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you in waves. You clung to him, struggling to catch your breath.

He remained still on top of you, your bodies pressed together, intimately connected. "Good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your cheek as he planted soft kisses on your flushed skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he looked down at you. Your body felt heavy, exhausted. You could only manage a weak nod in response, your eyes still half-closed.

"Did I hurt you?" he pressed, his gaze lingering on the mark he had left on your neck. You shook your head. He watched you carefully, his eyes studying you for any sign of discomfort or regret. All he saw was exhaustion and bliss.

Slowly, he pulled out of you, the action causing you to let out a soft whimper in protest, leaving you feeling oddly empty. You barely registered his movements as he got up from the bed, only becoming aware of his absence when you felt the warmth of a cleaning spell between your legs. Your skirt and stockings were discarded, your body tucked under the comfort of his bed sheets.

He settled next to you, pulling you close to him, cradling you in his arms as he murmured softly "I've got you." He kissed your temple, the action tender and loving, a contrast to the intensity of what had just happened. As much as you loved being manhandled, owned, dominated, right now, this is what you needed. His heartbeat, steady against your ear, was the most comforting sound you had ever heard.

You knew this was not going to last forever, the reality of things pulling you out of your post-climax bliss. You would have to go back to your dorm soon, pretend to be a good, innocent little schoolgirl. But for now, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep.