Procured by the Potion’s Master

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Your wand had broken - you apparated sloppily after a few too many drinks at the Leaky. You stumbled into your flat and passed out, telling yourself you’d take a port key back to Diagon Alley the next day to retrieve a new wand from Ollivanders. 

Hungover, you managed to get there. Your muggle mother left when you were young, and your father had died last year and left you a lump sum of money in your vault. Knowing a new wand was not cheap, you retrieved some Galleons from Gringotts, stopped for a cuppa and biscuit, and went to Ollivanders. 

The old man was as chipper as ever, even with Lord Voldemort supposedly being back. You didn’t believe it - you hadn’t seen anything firsthand, no Dark Mark, no Death Eaters. 

Until you did. 

Just when Ollivander had fished a beautiful mahogany wand out for you, the windows shattered and beams fell in - Death Eaters were, indeed, very real. Through the fire and smoke, one emerged, cloaked in black with a shiny mask. You got one spell off that they deflected with ease - you were never much of a dueler. Two of them grabbed you whilst the other apprehended Ollivander. 

“Take the girl - add her to the revel,” one commanded, in a high pitched, sick voice. 

A bag was shoved over your head and the rest was history. 

You haven’t been able to see much of where you have been apparated to. Your wrists are bound behind you and your captors have thankfully taken the bag off your head (you could barely breathe) and replaced it with a blindfold. For awhile, it seems as if you walk for eternity - you’ve turned left three times, right once, left again, and now are walking straight. The men who captured you handed you off to a woman, at least you think it’s a woman. There’s a gentle hand guiding you on your shoulder. She finally speaks, confirming your suspicion on her sex. 

“You haven’t asked to be freed yet,” a light voice states. 

You smirk wryly. 

“Would you free me if I asked?” you reply. 

The woman laughs once. 

“No.”

“Exactly,” you conclude. 

She grips onto your shoulder, pulling you to a stop. She removes the blindfold - you’re in an underground somewhere - the walls and floors are dirt with lanterns lighting the walls. There are no windows. No sounds of life outside. No way to scream for help. The woman extracts her wand and waves it over the dirt wall. It trembles slightly, sending dust wafting in front of you both, and reveals a simple wooden door. She taps it with her wand and it opens. You watch her slip it back into her knee high boot, her right one, on the inner calf. She shoves you inside. 

You look down when the dirt floor beneath you changes to firmer, sleek material. Black marble floors. You look up, seeing a vaulted ceiling with beams and three glass chandeliers lining the length of the room. When you look straight ahead, leather love seats, chairs, tables, and a long, fully stocked bar fill the room. Then, you see four girls kneeling in front of an older woman. 

“Add this one to the lot,” the woman who is escorting you commands. 

She shoves you forward, making you stumble. You look back at her - she isn’t anything remarkable. Dark hair and eyes, a thin frame. Your eyes lock onto the necklace around her neck. You’ve only seen it once before at the Quidditch World Cup two years ago. It’s the Dark Mark. You gaze at her inner arm, finding no Dark Mark tattooed there. Perhaps she’s the wife of one of Voldemort’s followers. She heads to the door and slips out of it. 

“Come!”

You turn back to the other woman, swallowing - she’s pointing down to the floor in front of her. You look at the other girls - they’re older than you, maybe their late twenties. Their heads are down and they don’t make a sound. You don’t move fast enough for the woman - she whips her wand at you and your feet fly across the floor to her, then you’re forced to your knees. She kneels in front of you and begins to examine you. Bluntly, she reaches one hand out to your chest, squeezing one of your breasts. You lurch back, frowning - the nerve of this woman!

She grabs the neck of your shirt and pulls you back to her. Her hand comes up to your face and she turns it from side to side. Anxiety begins to rise within you now. 

“You’re pretty. You’ll sell for a treasure,” she muses. 

Your eyes widen as she stands and begins to pace in front of you and the rest of the girls. 

“You’ve all been chosen to serve Lord Voldemort. It is a great honor and you all should be thankful,” she begins. 

You scoff, making the woman look back at you. 

“No fucking way am I serving-“ you begin. 

The woman flicks her wand at you and your body begins to seize in pain. This is the Cruciatus Curse - every nerve in your body is instantly enveloped in electrifying pain and utter agony. You fall to your side and scream. You tremble and just when you’re on the verge of vomiting, the pain ceases. You lay on the floor, wrists bound behind you, completely helpless. Warm tears rush from your eyes. The woman yanks you back up to your knees and glares down at you. 

“Do as you’re told, or you will die,” she makes clear. 

You press your lips together and remain silent. Your ears ring and you force yourself not to piss. She needn’t explain more - you realize what this is. 

You’re to be a Death Eater’s sex slave. Or die. You vaguely feel the need to tell your friends you won’t be at your game of Cloaks and Cauldrons this evening. Maybe they’ll think you skipped town. You just hope they don’t look for you - they may end up right where you are. 

“This revel is a special event meant to reward Death Eater’s that the Dark Lord has deemed worthy. You will obey their every command. If not, there will be repercussions,” the woman goes on. 

The girl beside you looks up to the woman. 

“Are we…to serve them each evening?” she whispers. 

The woman shakes her head. 

“No. Whoever chooses you will be taking you to their home. Binding magic will take place between you and the man to ensure you will not try to escape,” she explains. 

You furrow your brows. Binding magic? You only read about it once in the restricted section at Hogwarts. It piqued your interest when the Triwizard Cup took place during your seventh year. Champions had to compete, or else they’d die. 

“So…we will…have to have intercourse with them…or we’ll die?” a girl asks, voice shot. 

You shift on your knees nervously. The woman continues to pace, almost boredly. As if she’s done this before. As if she’s sold girls to Death Eaters like a simple job. 

“Well, no, not immediately. You will start to feel the effects of the magic when you do not copulate with the other.”

You tilt your head. 

“Even the man will feel the effects?” you ask. 

She nods simply. 

“Correct. The Dark Lord wishes to reward his servants. What better way than to urge them to have intercourse with a pretty woman?”

You push up on your knees and stand, looking at her. 

“Listen, please let me go. I have galleons, loads in my family’s vault, I’ll give it all to you-“

“Take. Your. Seat,” the woman commands. 

Without thinking, you sink back to your knees, feeling the world around you beginning to spin. You have to get out of here. You have to escape. 

“My Lord, I have better things to tend to than entertaining women,” Severus Snape speaks. 

Snape stands at his master's side at the empty long table in Malfoy Manor. He, simply, cannot believe this. First, Albus Dumbledore is dying and Snape is tasked to keep the curse that has taken his hand from spreading further. Then, just this bloody evening, he’s forced to make an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy. And now, on top of everything, Voldemort has commanded him to partake in the revel at midnight. How utterly exhausting. 

“Oh, you would be the one entertained, Severus… I want to reward you for continuing to trick that old man Dumbledore,”

Snape’s fingers flex, apprehensively. 

“You reward me enough, My Lord, by allowing me to serve you,” Snape eloquently informs. 

Voldemort stands and a sickening smile forms on his face. He paces to the fireplace, resting one arm on the mantle as his snake-like head angles downward to the flames. 

“You’ve never participated in one of our revels, Severus…” Voldemort points out.

Snape swallows, turning towards his master.

“I just do not have interest in meaningless affection, My Lord,” Snape tries. 

Voldemort huffs out a laugh and turns his gaze back to Snape. His red eyes stare at the Potions Master for a long moment, before cruelly saying, “if I could find you a red headed mudblood, would you partake then?” 

Snape tenses and forces himself not to breathe. His Occlumency shields slam into place and the rage that was so willingly ready to erupt from him eases. Oh, how he wants to kill this evil bastard. Cut him into pieces. Gauge his eyes out. 

“No, My Lord,” Snape grits out. 

Voldemort paces back to his seat. 

“It makes me question your loyalties, Severus, when you do not partake in what my fellow servants do,” Voldemort expresses. 

Snape concludes he has no choice in the matter now. Remaining in good faith to the Dark Lord is of the utmost importance. That is all that matters - if Snape fails, all will be lost. The Order will not be a step ahead and will crumble, Potter will fall at the hands of Lord Voldemort. This war would end in the favor of darkness. 

“Then allow me to cease all doubts you have, My Lord. Where is this revel? I will make sure to uphold our standards,” Snape eloquently affirms. 

Voldemort smiles sickly and informs Snape of the location the revel is. Faithfully and begrudgingly, he goes, believing all he’ll have to do is put his hands on a whore and be done with it all. 

Hair removal, bodily piercings, and skin cleansing potions are just a few of the things they’ve done to you. Three women work on the lot of you in a room off the entertainmentroom, or as the women call it. Prepping you, styling your hair, doing your nails - making you into their perfect slaves. From listening to the women in charge, you’ve come to the conclusion this is their seventh revel since the he-who-must-not-be-named has returned. You haven’t seen the woman who brought you in again. You know her wand is in her boot. You just have to grab it and apparate out. 

You sit on a bench, in a simple robe, and await the other girls to be finished. One woman is unpacking a box, revealing leather apparel of some sort. You expected to be paraded around practically naked to whatever men are to attend this repulsive sex ring. 

“Come here,” a woman commands you. 

You stand and approach her, hands still bound behind your back. She lays out five leather body suits with masks and headpieces with some sort of animal feature to go with them. Dragon wings, butterfly wings, pixie ears, dragon ears, and bunny ears. What an assortment. 

“I’ll let you pick since you’re ready first.”

How fucking kind of her to let you choose your slave outfit. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, lest you get tortured again. You look over them all, not wanting to wear any of it. All you want to do is be curled up on your couch with your cat. You nod towards the long, black bunny ears. The woman approvingly smiles. 

“Make a statement and you may go home with someone of great wealth,” she murmurs. 

She waves her wand over you and makes the robe around you vanish. You're naked in front of her now - the cold air makes your sensitive nipples harden. She begins to dress you - first in fishnet stockings, then a leather bodysuit, tightening and untightening the straps, adjusting your breasts, fixing your hair. The suit barely covers your most intimate parts. She finishes by pulling thigh high black boots up your legs, then attaching straps from the suit to the tops of the boots. 

“You’ll sell fast,” she muses. 

You smile wryly at her - you've been on the verge of sobbing this entire time, but the chance of escape fuels you. She instructs you to go and wait by the door as the revel is beginning soon. 

You make sure you are the last out of the drawing room. You all walk in a line towards the chattering of men. They sit on the furniture, dressed in normal wizard robes, holding drinks in their hands, appearing normal. Until you see their faces covered by silver masks. They aren’t normal. They’re blood supremacists who serve he-who-must-not-be-named. You stand in front of them on display, as if they’re shopping for new broomsticks, in your bunny ears, leather bodysuit, stockings and boots. 

One scoots over and pats the cushion next to him for the first girl in line. The girl hesitates, but is magically shoved down onto her knees beside the man on the couch. He begins to touch her where he pleases. You look behind you, seeing the woman who escorted you here by the door. Perfect. 

A few men walk towards you now, murmuring how beautiful and erotic you are. From behind, one steps up to you, pressing his body against yours. You exhale shakily, looking at the other girls, seeing other men beginning to do the same. The man in front of you reaches out and touches your face - he has a wedding ring on. What wife would allow him to come here? You suppose that it doesn’t matter - a Death Eater will do as he pleases. 

When the man rudely gropes your breasts, you place a hand on your stomach and forcibly and loudly gag. The men around you leer away, words of disgust shoot your way. You stumble towards the woman at the door and grab on to her, fakely crying. 

“Oh gods, I’m going to be sick!” you cry. 

You lurch down right in front of her, gagging. 

“Get it together or you’ll be in trouble-“ she begins. 

You snake your finger into her boot and snatch her wand out, quickly aiming it at her. You attempt to apparate but, fuck , there must be an anti-apparation ward here! You can’t apparate!

“Get her!” the woman yells. 

You aim at the ceiling instead and chant, “ Bombarda !” and the ceiling caves in, causing everyone to disperse. You shove the woman down and kick the door open, turning into the lantern lit, dirt covered hallway. You take a step, fully preparing to sprint away, but someone blocks your path. Wait, not someone . Fucking Professor Snape stands in front of you. It catches you off guard. He’s in his black robes and cloak, just like in school, with his hand halfway out of his cloak. He’s holding a silver mask - a mask a Death Eater wears. 

You should shove past him. Not be caught like a centaur in headlights. 

But his black eyes latch onto yours. You see his brows furrow ever so slightly, as if he recognizes you beneath this leather mask. But you weren’t special at Hogwarts. Sure, you got all O’s and were a decent Quidditch player, but you kept to yourself. He wouldn’t remember you. 

“ Incarcerous !”

Your body binds together and you fall down, dropping the wand, landing on your side with a grunt. The woman you stole the wand from comes out and retrieves what’s hers. 

“You bitch!” she yells. 

The woman aims her wand at your face, likely to torture you. You shut your eyes, as if that’ll help the coming pain. 

“Do not do that,” Snape speaks. 

You open your eyes, seeing him stepping towards you, towering over you now. His cloak tickles the skin of your upper thighs. He almost glares down his hooked nose at you, as if you’re burdening him. 

“Mr. Snape!” the woman announces, lowering her head to him. 

Is she…bowing to him? What the fuck is actually going on? 

“Good evening. It does not look like you have things under control here,” Snape points out. 

The woman begins to actually panic, wringing her hands together and looking inside at the mess. 

”We do, sir, I promise you! This one just…stepped out of line,” the woman defends, “I assure you, one of the girls inside would be thrilled to serve you.”

Snape huffs, still looking down at you, who’s body is bound together. 

“I want this one,” Snape states. 

You gawk at him, not understanding. Sure, you look hot, nearly anyone would in this outfit. Why the fuck does he want you?

“Oh, she will be too difficult, too unruly-“ the woman begins. 

“I will teach her to behave,” Snape drawls.

The woman nods once, pulling you to her feet. She unbinds you, but places your hands in front of you in leather cuffs. 

“Let me get the Contractor, sir,” she states. 

Once the woman goes inside, you open your mouth. 

“What are you doing, Professor!? You’re one of them ?!” you hiss. 

Snape eyes you up and down, then has the audacity to sneer at you. He glances inside, seeing the room back in place and the revel beginning. 

“Would you prefer one of the other men inside? I’m sure they’d love to pass you around.” 

You lean your head into the threshold, seeing the women being used thoroughly, one by two men at once. You look back up at Snape, swallowing. No more words can be spoken - an older wizard comes out and instructs you to extend your hands to each other. Squeezing your fingers, Snape commands the man to hurry. 

He does the binding ceremony wordlessly, making you curse beneath your breath. How can you even begin to reverse this, once your the fuck out of here?! Strings of darkness begin to form around each pair of your hands, slowly growing tighter and tighter, until it dissolves into your skin. You feel a rush of tingling energy go through you, settling right into your lower abdomen. 

“You can acquire payment for her by speaking to the Dark Lord,” Snape breathes. 

You raise your head to look up at Snape. His dark eyes are on you, intensely boring into your own. 

“The binding is done, sir,” the elder wizard states. 

Snape grabs the chain binding your wrists and begins to drag you behind him, walking with purpose. As if he’s fleeing from this place as fast as possible. You struggle to keep up, especially with his heavy cloak hitting your legs. It takes a few minutes to get out of the underground. Eventually, see the blue light of the moon hitting a staircase - he continues to drag you until you’re up the stairs and in a vacant street. You look at the building, seeing a run down church of some sort. He shoves you back, letting you go, sneering at you now. 

“How did you get caught, [last name]?!” Snape demands. 

You gawk at him. He does remember you. 

“You think I wanted this?! To be…sold to you ?!”

Snape laughs wryly, turning on his heel, pacing away from you.

“Because I am just so disgusting and vile, aren’t I ?”

You shut your eyes, not meaning it that way. 

“You can just let me go! I won’t tell anyone!” you promise. 

He whips back towards you, cloak flying around him. You can see the anger all over his face now. His sneer, the heat in his high angled cheeks, the fury in his black eyes. 

“You won’t, sure,” he points towards the vacant building with one long finger. “They will, though. They will make sure to tell everyone that Severus Snape finally went to one of these repulsive revels and got himself a new fuck toy!” he growls. 

You look down, pressing your lips together, choking on the cries beginning to come out if you. 

“Stop that,” he commands. 

You bring your cuffed hands to your eyes, wiping them. 

“I was just trying to buy a new wand, okay?! I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” you yell, voice thick with unwanted emotion. 

Snape audibly exhales, running a hand through his hair. A moment passes, and the hand at his head lowers to his waist. He presses, then scowls. He glances at you, who is staring at him with a look of fear. 

“I feel it too,” you whisper. 

Deep in your stomach, unwelcomed arousal is already beginning. Snape shakes his head. 

“No,” he states. 

You sigh, stepping towards him. 

“What are we to do, Professor?! Can you break this binding contract?!” you demand. 

He presses his lips together. 

“I’m unsure. Not soon enough to where we…will be able to last,” he says, slowly. 

You stare at him, then throw your head back and look at the dark skies, damning whatever gods did this to you both. 

“Fuck,” you cry. 

“Fuck, indeed,” he agrees. 

You stand outside of his home in some slummy place. He glances inside, then looks down at you.  

“I have a guest-“

“Another girl?!” 

He grits his teeth. 

“A rat the Dark Lord has placed with me. I will send him away,” Snape explains. 

He begins to undo his wards, nodding for you to step up the steps to him. You obey, feeling another tinge of arousal. You don’t want to think about it - but you do. He’ll be having sex with you. Your old professor. An older man. 

“I will tell you to go to my bedroom. It is upstairs. Address me as master ,” 

You scoff. 

“I will do no such thing!” you whisper. 

He lunges down at you, baring his teeth, making you lean back. 

“It’s just for show, for the Death Eater inside. Do as you’re told,” he explains.  

You frown as he opens the door for you. You step inside, into a quaint, outdated kitchen. He lives here? Odd. The professors must make a shit wage. He shuts the door behind you. 

“Snape, where have you been?” a raspy, light voice calls out. 

As the man comes into view, Snape pulls you backwards into his chest. His mouth latches onto your throat, beginning to suck, whilst his cloaked arms embrace you firmly. You feel the outline of his hard erection press into your back. The sensation goes right between your legs. 

“Out, Wormtail… the Dark Lord has gifted me a new toy… I’ll need to be alone with her,” Snape commands, against your skin. 

The stocky, ragged man grins sickly as he strides past you, but you pay no mind. All you can think of is how delicious he smells, the feel of his cloak, the heat rolling off his body. 

“I understand, Snape…” the man replies. 

Snape shoves you forward. 

“Go upstairs and wait for me,” Snape meanly orders. 

You swallow, your head spinning. His lips felt like a drug. 

“Yes, master,” you sigh. 

You hold the wall for leverage as you turn into the sitting room. Oh, gods, you almost fucking collapsed . You force yourself to control your breathing. You take in your surroundings - bookshelves line the walls of the room, along with an unlit fireplace. There’s a leather loveseat and chair. You hear the front door open and close, then Snape begins muttering enchantments to ward the place. 

You feel your face and throat begin to flush with arousal. It’s overtaking you. Almost making you succumb to it. As you grab the railing of the stairs to ascend them, your knees give out and you fall forward. 

“Fuck!” you complain, though it comes out as a moan. 

You can’t control your body - you don’t know if you want to right now. Your clit is throbbing in sync with your heart, reminding you every fucking second how badly you need to be pleasured. You kneel on the steps and attempt to collect yourself. 

When Snape hears you curse, he quickens the warding and rounds the corner to see what is wrong. He halts when he sees you bent on the steps. His eyes can’t help but stare at your body - your leather covered ass high in the air, your supple thighs covered in stockings, you’re spread enough to reveal the pink flesh of your -

“Please,” you cry. 

You slam your hands on the stairs. Snape’s breathing grows faster as he approaches you. He can’t help himself, it’s an urge, a need - he shoves his hips against your ass and it takes every shred of willpower he has left not to fuck you here, on the stairs. He presses his hardened member against the seam of your ass again. 

“Unnnghh…” you pant. 

He groans lowly, then leers back off of you. You turn your head over your shoulder to see him leaning against one of the bookshelves. His hand balls into a fist and he begins to hit the top of his thigh. 

“I will not !” he announces. 

You turn to sit your bottom on the stairs, hands still cuffed. 

“Maybe we can…just masterbate?” you ask, nervously. 

He arches a brow, then turns his back to you. You hear his pants unzip and his arm begins to move frantically. 

“Go upstairs and attempt it,” he breathes. 

You stand and force yourself up the stairs, your mind cloudy. You hear him grunting as you reach the second level. Maybe it’s working. You walk into a room, finding it empty with only a twin bed. You wander down the hallway lined with peeling wallpaper, passing a washroom, towards Snape’s bedroom. 

You push the door open, finding a large four poster bed with a dark green comforter on top. His trunk is at the end of the bed and a chest of drawers is in the corner. You kick off your boots and climb into the bed, wondering how fucking insane it is to be in your old potion masters house, about to touch yourself in his bed. 

The idea in itself is a turn on. You don’t think Snape is disgusting or vile. In fact, he frequented your fantasies whilst you were a student. And he’ll be in your fantasy right now, as his groans fill your ears from the sitting room. 

You part your legs and unbutton the bodysuit at your crotch, pressing. You shut your eyes when your fingers immediately are covered in your excitement. You snake  your hand down the stocking and begin to rub yourself furiously. Your chest trembles as you begin to pant. Your hand goes harder, faster around your clit. You feel it building, an orgasm. Your mouth drops as it begins to form - this feels like normal, you’re going to -

“ Fuck !” Snape bellows. 

You tense and stop moving. You hear something crashing and more curses flee his lips. You start trying again, despite Snape’s failure. Surely, you can orgasm. They wouldn’t take that away from you. 

But, of course they would. 

You grow frustrated as well. You sit up and sigh, wanting to break something. You put your face in your hands as you hear Snape coming up the stairs. The floor creaks as he approaches. You don’t dare look at him, not until three light knocks come onto the open door. 

“I suspect you reached the same conclusion as I did,” Snape says. 

You lower your hands and nod, looking at him. He’s put his manhood back into his trousers - it tents painfully against the fabric. He swallows and steps into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

“You understand what we must do now?” he inquires. 

You nod and lay back on your back, parting your legs. 

“Just hurry!” you request. 

You watch him step between your legs. He drops his cloak, then begins to unbutton his frock robe, letting that fall too. He stands in his white undershirt and black slacks between you now. His hands slowly come to grasp your thighs. He watches you closely for any signs of retreat - you widen your hips in response. 

His eyes drag down your body, over your tight leather suit, down to your crotch. He runs his tongue over his lower lip when he sees your wet, pink skin. He slowly drags his fingers to you, then rubs his pointer and middle down your folds and back up to your clit. You gasp at the touch. 

“Can you…can you untie me?” you ask. 

You hold your bound wrists up to him. He retrieves his wand and points it at the cuffs. They unlock. He helps you take them off. He returns his hand to your core. He finds your entrance and begins to press two fingers in, but finds resistance, so he stops. 

“Are you…a virgin, [last name]?”

You feel blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. You look away from him. He’s obviously experienced. You are not. 

“I know how it works!” you assure. 

He reaches a hand to your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

“I didn’t doubt you knew how. I wouldn’t expect anything less from that know it all, infuriating Ravenclaw brain of yours,” he retorts. 

So, he remembers what house you were in. He steps away from you and kneels at the nightstand. He pulls out a few jars of candles and lights them wandlessly. Within seconds, soothing smells of eucalyptus, rose, and lavender fill the room. 

“You needn’t make it nice, Professor,” you murmur. 

He walks to his chest of drawers and opens the top of it. You examine him from behind. His hips are narrow but his back curves into a strong set of shoulders. His arms are long and fit, but not overly built. 

“I would like to,” he simply states. 

He strides back over to you, kicking your legs apart to step inside them again. He holds a jar of balm in his hand. He takes a generous dollop onto his fingers. He looks down at your womanhood again. 

“These are annoying,” he murmurs. With his free hand, he rips down the seam of your stockings, exposing you fully now. “Better…”

He begins to rub the balm up and down your folds, then slowly inserts one finger at your entrance. You tense, your hips flexing. He presses one hand on your lower belly, keeping you still. 

“Relax,” he instructs. 

You both lock eyes as he fully inserts one finger into you. Your lips part and a sigh escapes them. 

“Alright?”

You nod. You’ve had your fingers inside yourself before, but his are larger, longer, more rigged. The balm is helping. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. 

He groans and leans over you now, beginning to finger you slowly. His mouth finds your ear and he begins to whisper into it. 

“Do you know how arousing you look?” he asks, voice low and shaky. 

You moan, shaking your head. His lips kiss the shell of your ear. The finger inside you begins to curve, hitting a sensitive spot, producing indescribable pleasure. 

“Like a wanton little whore,” he breathes. You gape, turning your head to him. “Dressed in this little outfit, panting beneath me, as wet as you’ve ever been before in your entire life…”

You nod, liking this, liking the way he’s speaking to you, touching you. 

“Yes…yes, please…” you beg. 

He leans into your neck and presses his warm, thin lips to your pulse point, beginning to suck. Your hips rise when he adds a second finger into your tight warmth. He continues fingering you, spreading his fingers now and again to stretch you. 

“Gods, I can’t wait to be inside you…” he breathes against your neck. You moan when he jams his fingers against the sensitive skin inside again. “…hearing you moan like that…”

He shoves a third finger inside you now, almost impatiently. You wince and lean up, gasping, but he presses his body against yours firmly, forcing you back down. It begins to feel good, to make you crave more. 

“I want you to come around my fingers first,” he explains. He leans his head up to examine you - a wicked smirk comes across his lips when he sees you dazedly staring back, mouth lax, heavy breaths escaping your lungs. 

“Yes, sir…” you breathe. 

He groans again, deeply, adding his thumb against your clit. You nearly scream. 

“Keep calling me that and I will not be responsible for what I do to you, witch,” he warns. 

His words make you moan and back arch, an orgasm beginning. He leans back off of you, flexing his arm harshly, fingering your warmth ruthlessly, eyes boring into you as you come to rapture. You lean up, jaw dropped, moaning as an orgasm rips through you. You clench around his fingers, moaning stupidly, grabbing onto his shirt. 

“Yes…keep coming…” his hand that isn’t ravaging your insides comes to the back of your head. He yanks the bunny mask off of you, staring down at you with lust filled eyes. You own roll back. 

“Fuck, Professor!” you moan. 

He groans again, threading his fingers through your hair, and watching you come beautifully. When you come down from it, you collapse onto your back, panting. He chuckles darkly. You open your hazy eyes to see him sucking your fluids off his fingers. 

“ Good girl ,” he praises. 

You kick one leg up and wrap it around his hips, tugging him towards you. You want this man. The men that have tried to touch you like that failed miserably. He just made you have a world shattering orgasm. More. More. More.  

His hands come to your hips, squeezing. They travel up your leather covered sides to the cups that cover your breasts. He yanks them down, exposing your breasts. He arches a brow. 

“Oh, these are lovely…” he breathes. He leans down and kisses the valley of your two breasts, then slowly locks his lips around one of your nipples. You tense and your hands fly up to his shoulders. 

“Ow! Not there,” you complain. He leans back, looking at you worriedly. “They pierced them! Just today…hurt like a bitch,” you explain. 

Quickly, he grabs the balm again and begins to massage your breasts and nipples with it, taking extra care to be gentle around the silver piercings. Your tender, warm to touch buds cool and soothe, causing you to relax back into the bed. 

“I am sorry,” Snape speaks, leaning into your neck instead. You feel one hand travel between your bodies, then hear his zipper unzip. You feel his supple, firm flesh press against your soaking core. 

“They feel better now,” you whisper, speaking of your nipples. He flexes his hips and presses closer, coating his erection in your arousal. 

“No, I am sorry…they captured you…” he begins. His lips kiss down your throat, black locks brushing over your bare chest. “I am sorry I am the one you have to do this with,” he breathes. 

You slowly run one hand up his back, pleasantly surprised at how strong and tight it is. You bring it up to the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair there. You want to tell him that, out of anyone in that room, you rather it be him. Not just for familiarity. Not just because he’s your former professor. But, because you have been attracted to him since sixth year. If you’re to be a Death Eater’s sex slave, you’d chose him. You’d choose him over and over. But, you can’t tell him that. Your brain can’t communicate with your voice. You need him too badly, just as he needs you. To stop this excruciating compulsion. 

“Just fuck me already!” you pant, bucking up against his cock. 

He groans and leans back, one hand sliding to your thigh to pull it around his hip, then has no mercy as he plunges into you. There’s resistance there but he seems to think pushing through it is best. You hiss through your teeth and your hands react to the sudden stinging by pushing against his abdomen. Once he is inside you to the hilt, pressing against the furthest depth of you, he stops moving. 

“Fuck,” he groans, as he lowers his body back over you. His nose runs up the bone of your cheek as he presses his lips to your ear. “I will go slow…at first…” he breathes, clearly restraining himself. You nod, hands gripping the sides of his shirt at his waist. 

He slowly moves his hips, pulling halfway out of you, then pushing back into your tight warmth. His hands at the side of your head grasp at the comforter. 

“…so good…” he whispers, voice an octave higher. One hand drifts to your chest, grabbing the underside of your breast, fingers gripping. The stinging pressure within you begins to calm - it feels good. 

“I think you’re what my friends describe as big…” you sigh. He laughs once deeply, almost menacingly. You raise your hips, encouraging him to continue. He does. 

“Faster now, please,” you murmur. 

He groans and leans up slightly, beginning to push in and out of you at a slow, gradual pace. Your head falls back and a low moan escapes your lungs. Snape seems to be spurred on by your reaction - his hands seize your hips and he angles you higher and begins to thrust faster, forming indescribable pleasure within you. You grab his wrists, hanging on, mouth parted. “Oh, gods, like that ,” you moan. 

He keeps the pace, watching you beneath him, feasting on your pierced breasts as they rock up and down and your jaw hanging open. When he feels your small hands squeeze around his wrists to propel yourself into him, his throat betrays him and he releases a moan an octave higher than his voice. 

“Touch yourself,” he commands, panting. You obey, letting go of one wrist to rub your clit viciously. Snape leans back, still fucking you, to view your soaking warmth. His cock grazes against your knuckles as he continues to thrust. He bites his lower lip, suppressing a whimper. 

Pleasure is coiling inside him, but it’s too quick, too juvenile to come this quickly. He breathes in slowly and finds solace in his Occlumency abilities - the pleasure dulls and he begins to pick up the pace. There’s no words shared between the two of you for a few minutes, just your moans and panting, and the sound of skin meeting. 

“Oh, gods, Professor… fuck …” Snape watches you suck in a deep breath, then he feels you come, clenching and pulsating around him. And moaning - Professor , Professor , Professor . . He exhales and lowers his Occlumency shields, the pleasure igniting within him. He thrusts once more, hard, inside you, then spills himself with a groan. He falls on top of you, letting the weight of his hot, sweat covered body press against you, letting himself turn his head into the crook of your neck. His cock empties and empties and Snape is surprised when the pleasure doesn’t cease. Is this the binding causing an intense, prolonged orgasm? Or is it you doing this to him? 

“So good,” he sighs. He pushes in deeper, and you feel his warm semen coating your inside. After a few more glorious seconds of orgasming, you both catch your breaths. Snape’s damp lips press to your throat, then he stands, beginning to right his trousers. You catch his eyes - they’re dark, clouded with pleasure and something else you can’t place. 

“Forgive me,” Snape murmurs. 

You sit up in bed, face flushed, feeling the most satisfied you’ve ever been. You aren’t sure why he’s sorry - you’re both affected by the compulsion. 

“Are you really a Death Eater?” you ask. 

Snape doesn’t reply. Instead, he paces to the chest of drawers and fetches a long, grey shirt that he tosses onto the bed. He retrieves black lounge pants and a shirt for himself, then stalks into the hall to the bathroom without another word. 

He showers quickly, returning to the bedroom dressed in his sleeping clothes. With his left arm, he’s rubbing his hair with a towel. Your eyes connect to the dark black tattoo on his inner arm. The Dark Mark. As if he notices you staring, he angles himself so you can no longer see it. 

“Go shower,” he commands. “I will fetch us a meal…and begin to brew a contraceptive potion,” he explains. 

You stand, your legs weak, grabbing the shirt off the bed. You stop, glancing down, seeing Snape’s release running down your inner thighs. Snape snaps his fingers impatiently. 

“Don’t let it get on the floors - shower. Now.”

You practically run past him and into the bathroom. The shower has been left on for you. You stare at yourself in the steamed covered mirror. You look…tousled, to say the least. You tear your slave suit off and throw it in the wastebasket, then step into the shower. 

You find a deep green loofa and an all in one hair and body wash. What a simple man. You rinse the loofa and bring it between your legs, but stop. You’re friends have told you to pee after sex to prevent infection. You crouch down and relieve yourself of your urine, then begin to wash yourself thoroughly. You grab the bottle of soap and pour it over yourself, finding it practically unscented. Snape smelt so good, not like this. Odd. 

After washing yourself thoroughly, you step out of the bathroom with the towel around your shoulders, keeping your damp hair from wetting your back. Snape’s shirt reaches your mid thighs, but your legs are freezing. You wander back into his bedroom and begin to rummage through the drawers until you find a few pairs of long socks balled together. You grab one and pull them up your legs, then return to the bed. 

You hear Snape’s front door open and close, making you sit up cautiously. Did he leave? You swallow as footsteps approach. He enters the room, shrouded in his cloak, keeping his bed clothes hidden. He retrieved takeaway. 

He sits two paper bags down on the bed, then steadies himself against one of the bed posts to remove his shoes and cloak. Meticulously, he sits his shoes neatly by the door and hangs his cloak. 

“I hope you like chicken,” he mutters. 

You grab the bags and begin to rummage through them, absolutely starved. As you begin to eat, he sits down on the edge of the bed with his back facing you, beginning to partake in the meal as well. 

“How are you feeling?” he inquires after chewing a few bites. 

You swallow your food. “Well, I’m not miserably turned on anymore,” you inform. 

“Yes, it was rather unbearable, wasn’t it?” he says, lowly. 

Without turning, he extends his paper bag to you - his leftover chips. 

“I’m alright,” you murmur. He stands and collects your trash, then sends it away. He stares at you in his bed, eyes narrowing. 

“Sleep in the spare room, [last name],” Snape states. 

He returns to his side of the bed. You don’t move for a moment. You feel a bit offended. He can fuck you but not let you sleep in the same bed? Silently, you stand and pace to the door. You stop before exiting, turning to him. 

“So, how are we to move forward from this? How do we break the binding?”

Snape runs his hands through his hair. “If I knew, it would already be done.” He raises his head to look at you. “I am returning to Hogwarts tomorrow. You are to remain here. The Dark Lord will not take it well if you’re given your free will.”

You cock your head. “So, you really are a loyal Death Eater?” 

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns his inner arm so you can see the wicked ink across his skin. 

“I respected you, Professor Snape. Admired you. Of all of the things that happened today, seeing that mark on your arm is the worst.”

You turn on your heel and shut the door behind you as you leave. You walk into the spare room, seeing the bed from earlier with new linen and an old quilt. A nightstand has been transfigured from the wall and a pitcher of water sits there with a glass. You lift the quilt and climb into bed, finding the sheets smell like lavender. 

You’ve been procured by the Potion’s Master - a Death Eater in disguise. You only hope the binding contract doesn’t make you need to fuck each day. That would be inconvenient if you’re going to break this curse. You hope Snape has a way out of this. He is intelligent enough to at least know where to begin. 

You shut your eyes and begin to cry, realizing he may not want out of this. He’s a Death Eater. Besides their thirst for blood supremacy, everyone knows their aptitude and drive for sex. From what your father told you and what you’ve read, Death Eaters frequented brothels and raped many in the first war. It was a way to show their power. 

This is no different. 

Snape is no different.