{Bastard,} Hermione muttered, though the rancor in her mind-voice was mild at best. Reaching up, she accepted her wand from his fingers in a languid, calm, evenly paced move. {You’d better
keep me from falling and breaking my nose, in exchange for this!}
[I will, but you must agree, it will be such an effective demonstration of my power over you,] he murmured back, smiling slightly. Smirking, rather, as much for their audience as out of his own amusement.
{That may be, but you’re still a bastard.}
“—What are you doing, Snape?” Voldemort demanded even as they conversed in a quick exchange of thoughts. The Dark Lord sat forward with a scowl, waiting for a reply, and waiting to see whether or not that reply would end in a death.
“Shh,” Severus soothed him, smiling just a little more at her insult. “You’ll enjoy this.”
Under his watchful gaze, Hermione lifted the wand, her fingers freed from his grasp. She swished it, and flicked it at her own chest, shifting her weight slightly so that she would be hopefully balanced enough to remain standing. She spoke loudly, firmly, as if she were in full, unflinching control of her actions. Which she technically was.
The bastard.
“—Petrificus Totalis!”
Her ennunciation was clear, almost perfect. Magic from her own wand zapped her in the chest, crackling over the black folds of her school robe and the vee of the blue knit jumper visible underneath. Instantly her limbs snapped together and she stiffened in place, unable to move. It felt like she was leaning a little to her left, but she didn’t actually topple, thankfully. Though it was hard to see the expressions on the other Death Eater’s faces, given only a bit of their mouths and chins and a glint or two of an eye could be seen behind those demi-masks, some were definitely gaping at her amazing display of obedience. A smattering of applause broke out, quickly gaining force as others joined in around the room.
Severus stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, careful to not press hard enough to overbalance her as the clapping died down again. His voice drawled through the room, dark and silky with smirking amusement. “…Precious, isn’t she? The perfect little toy. I can let go of her when she’s like this, and then touch her again, letting her scream inside her mind for a few seconds at a time, wondering if she’s in some horrid nightmare, with no idea or memory how she came to be here, nor how she became paralyzed. She will literally have no memory of petrifying herself, nor of doing so at my command.”
{…I feel like I’m beginning to fall, here,} Hermione warned him, as a few of the gathered guests applauded again.
He gripped her by the nape again. “Finite petrificum.” The magic vanished, allowing her limps to slump. Hermione blinked a couple of times to assuage the dryness stinging her eyes, but otherwise didn’t react. Severus tipped his masked head thoughtfully. “What shall we do with her? Shall we have her strip herself? Bare herself in abject humiliation? Hand over your wand and strip off all your clothes, Mudslut.”
She complied, though this was now getting to the part she wasn’t too sure about as she returned her hand and its wand to his fingers. {Oh, let’s be honest, ‘Mione; you’re utterly dreading this
part,} she muttered to herself, aware that he was listening. {I think my hands are about to shake…}
[Fix your eyes on that glass-fronted cupboard over there,] Severus directed her, giving her something to focus on besides their audience. [If you look closely, you’ll see that the leading for
the diamond panes are actually patterned like interwoven snakes. A bit overblown, isn’t it?]
{Right. Focus on the furniture. Nice furniture—if you’re a herpetologist.} Her hands were almost steady, as she shrugged out of her robe and toed off her flats. {I’m going to have to pull
my jumper over my head, now,} she warned him, gaze fixed firmly on the glazed cupboard doors.
[Bare your stomach first, and I’ll transfer my touch down there—watch out—]
Voldemort pressed down on both of their minds without any further warning than that. He searched their thoughts for a moment, then retreated when there was nothing new to be found. Though the serpentine git knew it not, it was a warning to be careful every moment of their little floor-show. Severus, sweating slightly under the cover of his mask at the near-miss, shifted his hands, keeping them on her flesh as she pulled up the sweater and the undershirt beneath it, baring her ribs and her plain white bra.
Thanks to the Vigo potion, her nipples were visible as bumps under the sturdy cotton covering them. Letting his voice smirk, Severus trailed a finger along the curves bared by the vee-shaped neckline. “Keep going, little Mudslut. Remove every single stitch of fabric, down to your socks. On a subconscious level,” he lectured the others, maintaining contact with her body as she dropped her bra on the floor, then stooped slightly to begin removing her pants, “she is still aware of what is happening to her. She’s had nightmares of her previous rapes and ravishments, and she’ll have nightmares of this night, too, though she won’t remember anything concrete. Not even my name, for all you could shout it at her a thousand times, tonight. It is rather gratifying to realize I can keep her like this, control her like this, so long as no one else interferes. The more I use her, the more I defile and degrade her, the more she becomes accustomed to the habit of obeying and responding to me. Eventually this will transfer from mental control applied under direct contact to verbal control applied at a distance.
“Turn around, little Mudslut,” Severus directed her. When she did, continuing to bend over and take off her knickers and her socks, he rested one hand on her back and slid the fingers of the other into her folds. They rubbed for a moment, stimulating her with the aid of the Vigo potion flowing through her veins, then withdrew. They were coated with her dew. His own body, stimulated by the other aphrodesiac, reacted to the scent of her musk as he lifted his fingers. He patted their tips with his thumb, displaying and playing with the viscous proof of her desire almost idly to the others. “…As you can see, she is clearly aroused in spite of the undoubted subconscious horror of her situation.”
“And what about you, Severus?” a familiar voice challenged him, the voice of the Manor’s owner, Lucius Malfoy. “I see your own robes are tenting a bit. Are you really aroused by the thought of fucking a mere Mudblood?”
“Hardly, Lucius,” Severus returned reprovingly. “I often prepare myself before each training session these days by taking a draught of Tutucupra. Revulsion does not always blend well with arousal. You know my tastes, and my preferences for more…refined flesh than this. I do not deny that it was titillating for a while to rape the girl, but now it is more amusing merely to control and humiliate her. But if you wish to know what she feels like for yourself,” he offered dryly, “I have already planned a suitable entertainment, as our Dark Lord has commanded of me. I think you will find it…stimulating. Mudslut, remove my robes, my coat, and my shirt.”
Naked, grateful for something to focus on, something to do to keep her mind off where they were and what they were about to do, Hermione faced him again and complied. He fished both wands out of his robes as she did so, salvaging them as he continued to touch her with whichever hand was convenient, maintaining contact and the fiction of control as she folded his clothes and set them on top of the stack she’d made of her own belongings down on the ground. Severus continued to ‘guide’ her with little touches to her bare skin as she worked, making them almost look like caresses, but not tender ones.
“As amusing as it is to see the Mudblood Granger stripped and humiliated like this,” another familiar voice called out, “it’s not very entertaining, yet.”
Only by dint of a sweat-breaking effort did Hermione not react in any way—externally—to the recognizing of that voice. Internally, she cringed with fear. {Dammit! That’s Draco Malfoy’s
voice! How can I do this in front of him? How can I go back to school, knowing he’ll have seen me like this?}
[You’ll do it because you have to,] Severus growled at her mentally, keeping his hand on her as she finished folding his shirt with slightly trembling hands. [Control yourself!]
{I’m trying!} she snapped back, her face a blank mask as she stooped and set the white fabric on the stack. {It helps that I haven’t spotted which one is actually him. I don’t think I could handle
it, if I knew that.}
[Then don’t think of him. Think of me. Everything else is an illusion,] Severus pacified her, in the mere fractions of sections it was taking them to exchange rapid-fire thoughts. [Nothing more.
Ready or not, here we go,] he warned as she straightened, and spoke out loud. “Mudslut, take this
wand, and perform the Fabulesse spell in tandem with me.”
“What kind of a spell is this, Snape?” Voldemort demanded, red, serpentine eyes narrowing in suspicion as Hermione grasped her wand, her expression still blank.
“An entertaining one. Literally,” he drawled, clasping hands with Hermione. He snapped his wand out, incanting the spell. “Pushtra meitra ikanadess!”
“Vishuante iballa vess!” she intoned, gesturing with her own wand. Their bodies leaned out, dropping and swaying around each other as if they were spinning around an invisible pole, wands slashing through the air. Describing a circle with a jet of fiery white sparks that made everyone flinch, though the sizzling light merely cut into the floor and glowed, brightening the gloom in the largish salon as it spread outward in a scintillating, soundless carpet. Voldemort hastily lifted his feet off the floor, scowling.
Together, they snapped their wands up, zapping power to the far corners of the chamber, incanting the final, tongue-twisting phrase in mind-linked synchrony. Their bodies turned to face each other, biceps flexing as they faced each other, yet wands still blazing outward, coating the walls and ceiling of the chamber. Ensnaring all who stood and sat within, they shouted in unison. “Aballamahallamatantra!”
The translation of the spell’s usage and effects might have been written in English, in the
Grimoires, but the spell itself was still in the wizarding tongue of the Hindi who had created it.
For a moment, the whole room blazed with light. When it faded, a furious Voldemort, feet still hovering over the now normal-seeming floor, raised his wand.
Severus quickly flicked his wand over the tip of Hermione’s left nipple, and she, acting as one with his thoughts, did the same with the tip of her wand, flicking his own aureola. Moving in tandem, exactly as ordered.
Every witness caught within the salon gasped. Hands clapped to chests, curved and flat-planed alike. Even the Dread Lord himself was affected, jerking as if he’d been shot, clamping his free hand over the left side of his robed chest. “What…what have you done?”
“Arranged a suitable entertainment, as requested, my Lord,” Severus drawled, and teased Hermione’s tight-budded nipple again with his wand-tip.
She did the same to his own flesh; the potion he had consumed caused the scraping stimulus to arc a lightning-bolt of desire from his nipple to his loins, rousing them further with desire. Drawing in a bracing breath as the others in the chamber gasped again, Severus regathered his scattering thoughts. They couldn’t keep working in tandem like this; not if he was to catch everyone’s attention.
“Be still and relax, Mudslut,” he ordered her, shifting his hand so he could rub her nipple in little circles with the pad of his thumb. And listened as the handful of women in the room moaned in pleasure. Smiling slightly again, he let his humor color his silky teacher’s drawl. “…It occurred to me that, with the little Muggle-blooded slut here turned irresistibly into my sex-slave, all at a simple touch, this could be an unparalleled opportunity to experiment with the art of Eromancy. In researching the possibilities, I recently ran across an interesting spell. It transfers the sensations of a couple enjoying physical intimacy into the senses of whatever audience may be sharing a particular chamber with them. In essence, when I do…this…”
His wand trailed down Hermione’s ribs, making her breath hitch at the ticklish sensation. A couple of the female Death Eaters giggled, while the rest panted and moaned softly at the stimulation, eyes so wide behind the holes of their demi-masks, bits of white could actually be seen.
“…the pleasure my little Mudslut, here, feels is transferred to every other female in the same chamber as her. And when she does this—Mudslut, lick my nipples,” he ordered. Hermione complied, leaning forward and laving her tongue over his small, Knut-sized and –coloured aureola; several of the masked and robed figures around the room shuddered in pleasure, some even groaning. “—As my fellow wizards can clearly feel, when she does that, the men in this chamber get to enjoy everything that I myself feel, for as long as the Fabulesse spell lasts. “As I have said before, the potion exposing and subjugating her mind to my skin-touched control would be broken if we involved any other participants in debasing her; however, with this
particular spell, all who are gathered here can still enjoy the exploitation of my new little sex- slave. Mudslut, free my prick, and suck on it.”
Bending over, Hermione complacently unbuttoned the fly of his trousers. While he stood there patiently, almost detatchedly desite the liquid courage keeping his erection at full-mast, while the other Death Eaters watched with avid curiosity, she pushed his boxers down out of her way and slid her lips around his erection, quickly lubricating it with the saliva on her tongue. Several masculine shouts accompanied the act, hands clutching at chair arms and couch cushions. A couple of the women moaned, almost sounding as if their own mouths were full. In reward for her prompt service—and to keep the other women in the room aroused and interested—Severus reached under her body and toyed with a breast, stroking the sensitive underside, gently tweaking the pebbled nipple.
“Stop, little Mudslut.”
There was a collective masculine groan as she removed her lips from his prick, though she did not remove her hands from his tumescent shaft. Severus glanced past her doubled-over body at Voldemort. Tucking her wand into his trouser pocket with his unoccupied hand, he lifted his own to his mask, tapping it and changing it into a demi-mask with a word, baring his mouth and lower jawline, though leaving most of his face concealed.
A second spell, another swish-and-flick, and Hermione’s body lifted off the floor, twisting in midair. They’d practiced this one a couple times in the past few days, but it was still a little disorienting for her to be able to levitate by thought alone, once the initial spell was cast—his thoughts, as well as her own. A second swish-and-flick, and his body, too, detatched itself from the effects of gravity.
“Part your legs, Mudslut, and lick my prick with that Muggle-born tongue of yours,” he ordered, tucking his wand into his pocket alongside hers. She promptly obeyed, splaying her legs wide, tonguing his shaft. The men around him groaned out loud as he merely hissed his pleasure, then he dipped his body low, bending it over hers mid-air, and lapped at her feminine slit from the now-hovering angle. Feminine moans joined the masculine ones, heads throwing back, tossing from side to side either slowly or rapidly, depending upon the nature of their owner and how quickly they succumbed to the pleasure they were experiencing.
The principle characters in this bizarre act focused for several minutes solely on arousing each other, doing their best to ignore the gasps and groans of the others in the sitting room, thinking of nothing but the actual mechanics of what they were doing. Clothing rustled, as hands shifted and moved, grasping at breasts, rubbing at pricks, fondling their fingers between their thighs to try and intensify the sensations. Many of the audience-participants were growing desperate for a climax, and several voices hissed, “—Finish it!”
Severus finally nudged her mouth off of his prick, pulling his own lips from between her thighs. Planting an elbow on empty air as if it were a clear feather mattress, he levered himself up and glanced over at Voldemort. Those slitted red eyes were wide with stalled desire, the slitted nostrils flexing with each panted breath. The Dread Lord, the Dark Lord, the Death Eater supreme had bared his pallid prick and hairless, scaly-looking balls, and was slowly fisting it. Not an image Severus wanted to take with him to his grave, but there was little choice in the matter, tonight.
“I do hope my choice of entertainment is to your liking, my Lord. Shall we continue?” Severus inquired mildly, as if he were suggesting the continuation of a poetry recital. “Or should we stop?”
“Finissssh it!” Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowing, burning with the need for an orgasm, but denied—as they all were—by the terms of Fabulesse. The others could enhance their own pleasure with their own efforts, but no one would achieve a release until the moment the Potions Master and his little Mudslut did.
Lowering his head back to her netherlips, Severus licked the soft, damp folds of flesh, making all the women in the room moan and squirm in anticipation. Hermione resumed licking and suckling his flesh, making the men groan, increasing the soft, thumping rustle of over a dozen hands stroking hardened flesh. The tongue and lips between her legs increased their ministrations, until she was forced to pull her head back, giving herself room to cry out involuntarily at the orgasm he bestowed, her body shuddering as she hovered a few feet above the floor. Half a dozen equally feminine voices joined her, some whimpering, others moaning, and at least one of them shouting something incoherent but clearly pleased.
The arching of her head backwards had shifted their orientation, midair. Severus found his feet