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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.
Blood For a Parched Tongue
Summary: Snape gets his opportunity for some revenge.
Categories: Kink, Non-con
Notes: Many thanks to Nimori for the superfast beta. This was written for the Vocabulary Smut Challenge proposed by Makesmewannadie, to take at least 15 words that she considered "Too porny or purple to be sexy" and work them into the hottest smutty story possible, despite their "unsexy" nature. This one has nineteen of 'em.
Warning: Heavy kink including CBT, humiliation kink.
"And this," said Snape, holding up the ball of foam
rubber, "is my one and only mercy to you."
Black's lips drew back as he prepared to spit another obscenity at him, and that was the bastard's undoing; in one motion, Snape shoved the ball between those bared teeth. The compressibility of the foam rubber meant that he needed but the smallest opening of the mouth to accomplish it, and also meant that the thing expanded full-size as soon as it popped into the cavity of the mouth. Black wouldn't swallow it, and, owing to the strip of silk Snape was now threading behind Black's neck and tying just in front of the ball, neither could he expel it.
The wrist and ankle restraints that secured Black to the bed might be magical--necessary to insure that the cur couldn't transform--but sometimes Muggle ingenuity was the most satisfying.
"Shall I tell you why it is a mercy, you mongrel?" Snape drawled, sitting back on his heels on the bed as he shrugged his way free of his shirt, savoring the muffled raving incoherencies that the furious Black made. "Because I wish you to have the luxury of having no articulate voice when you decide you no longer wish to threaten me, or curse me, or call me the filthiest insults you can invent, but instead find yourself wanting to beg me not to stop what I am doing to you. That humiliation, I will spare you." He let his teeth show in one of his rare genuine smiles. "For a time."
Snape had the feeling he would display a fair number of those smiles, today.
Though wordless, Black let him know what he thought of that idea. A snort was a snort, even behind a gag and awash in rage. Black had a very expressive snort.
No matter. Snape did not need to have the bastard begging to be fucked to make this satisfying. Though Black would not be able to say that he had wished for nothing but escape, by its end. Snape was confident of that.
The shirt he dropped to one side; he did not feel the impulse to remove anything else just yet. Of his own. On the other hand, Black was wearing entirely too much. Anything beyond his own outrage was too much.
Snape made himself as comfortable as he could, on his knees, straddling Black's thighs--Black had stopped trying to buck him off at last--and reached forward, fingers like pincers, and began to unbutton his shirt. That got Black thrashing again, but he hadn't been able to unseat Snape before, either, and it didn't hinder Snape's actions. And he had no wish to rush things--even if he was already sporting a prick hard as a doorknob. Had been from the moment he'd spelled Black into the room.
He had the shirt unbuttoned, and peeled the two edges apart, allowing himself a leer as he bared Black's chest for inspection. He could hear Black's breathing quicken even further as he did. "Ah, very nice. Not what it was when we were seventeen, but you've obviously not let yourself go to fat in the interval years. What's the matter, Black, prison fare and the occasional rat not all that tempting?"
Getting the shirt off the man's arms would wait. That would require magic--or a knife, but that would be less precise--and this was too pleasurable to short-cut with magic.
Snape squelched the urge to hum as he unbuckled Black's belt. Too affected. He savored the feel of the leather running over his fingers as he pulled it loose--he might be able to work the use of that in later, though he'd been meticulous in planning the evening's activities. Nothing like flexibility to a schedule.
Such as now, for example. He'd planned to caress Black's prick through his clothing, get it erect and tenting the trousers obscenely, but it occurred to him it might be more interesting to watch Black's member go from limp to jutting in all its naked glory. So he undid the trouser placket with as much slow care as he had the shirt, took a hold of the waist on either side and pulled the material all the way down below Black's knees.
No underclothes, of course. Surely those were something only women wore, in Black's head.
Which meant he had a fine view of the prick, nesting in its tangle of black hairs, not some rock-hard erect pole at the moment, but not completely uninterested in what he had to offer it, either. Oh, yes, Snape was seeing a quiver of arousal, and no mistake. The vein along the side becoming a bit more prominent, the color deepening, like a very different kind of blush...No, Snape had not misjudged.
"Very, very nice," Snape said, making much of his scrutiny, for Black's sake. "More than passable. Ah, and look at that. No, it doesn't much care who's admiring it, does it?" He was careful not to play the you-must-have-wanted-this-all-along theme; no need for a lie when the truth was working, and lies would only allow Black to feel justified and martyrical. No, he wanted the man to squirm.
"And you do react well to being admired, don't you? Look at how stiff that lovely prick of yours is getting. No one's even touching you, Black. And yet you're rising like some whore is slavering over your private parts. Am I really that close to your fantasy? My, my." He said it with a chuckle, but spoke the truth: Black's cock was in full erection now, the tip already seeping. Bless the bastard's rutting canine heart.
The effect of undressing Black had lived its purpose; now Snape simply wanted him naked. A movement of a wand, and a word, and it was done, the clothing gone, Black's restraints undisturbed.
Restraints were well and good, as a beginning. Time now for something more uncomfortable.
Snape reached down to the floor. He knew very well which box he wanted, but made a point of shaking it for effect, so that the contents made a metal rattle, and murmured a confirmatory hmm of satisfaction. He pretended to ignore the way Black's eyes never left the box as he settled back and opened it.
Nor did he need to lift one clamp from the box and hold it up as if for critical inspection, but he wanted to insure Black would get the full effect. It was a delicate thing of twisted silver wire, the spring within seeming to be part of its abstract design, and would bite like the devil.
Snape smiled as he leaned forward, pleased to see Black struggling again. He kept his eyes on Black's as he bent to the man's chest--careful to keep from contacting his lower body as he did--extended his tongue and touched the tip of it to one nipple, licking it once, twice, then closing his lips about it to suck. Black made no sound--nothing voiced--but Snape could hear the rasp of breath through his nose quicken its rate.
Black tasted of salt sweat, and the nipple began to tighten under the caress of Snape's tongue. Was it necessary to use his teeth to lift the nubs of Black's nipples high enough for him to affix the clamps? No, but it was fun. Black groaned aloud as Snape closed teeth about one nipple, worrying the knot of flesh back and forth until he felt Black had been sufficiently tortured, and then he let go and brought the clamp in, settling the metal jaws around it and allowing them a slow release, the nipple purpling as soon as the clamp had its full pressure on it, Black making a choked, vicious noise in his throat. Yes, these were among the nastier ones in Snape's collection--the metal teeth were dull enough not to pierce skin, but that was about all the lenience they could merit.
After biting Black's other nipple into sufficient projection for his purpose, he placed the second clamp on it. This one he let snap into place, and savored not only the sound Black made, but the shock on his face.
He knew that Black had heard the noise the box had made when shaken. He imagined Black calculating just how many Snape had left in it.
Snape began at the underarm, using a clamp to pinch the skin just outside the head of the triceps and following with more, down Black's side, an outline that went all the way down to his waist, no more than a centimeter of untortured flesh separating each and none of the clamps ever permitted to grasp into muscle, which could endure the strain more comfortably than the tiny bites of skin. Again, Snape suppressed the urge to hum or whistle as he created a matching row on the opposite side of Black's body, Black hissing and twisting and growling murder behind the gag in his mouth.
At one point Black's fight ceased, as if he'd decided that staying still, soundless, would diminish Snape's pleasure. The pace of Black's breathing was enough to tell Snape what an effort that was for him. Snape took his time placing the next clamp, twisting it about when it was settled, using his other hand to brush down the row of the little silver beasts on the other side, making Black arch and groan despite his resolve. Snape deepened his smile and continued.
At the waist, he did stop. He let the box's contents rattle again as he set it to the side--let Black know that there were more left, oh, yes, and that Snape had not merely run out. Let him wonder what Snape had planned, in lieu of using those in other, sensitive areas.
Snape himself breathed faster, now. His own hard prick pushed against his trousers, wanting more pressure than mere fabric could give, demanding him to get the fuck on with it. He growled at himself to be patient, and continued.
He ran his fingertips over the two lines of clamps once more. Now the pain of that would be particularly bad, and Black did not disappoint, choking and struggling as if he could prevent Snape from touching them. Of course, tensing the muscles beneath the skin wasn't helping him either; that would set off similar jolts of pain. Snape blessed Black's ignorance.
Black's erection had not wilted, during this, but neither was it quite the purple-veined rod of iron it had been before the clamps. That in itself pleased Snape; he did not want to discover that Black had been a pain slut all his life. He wanted Black's cock hard and drooling despite the miseries he would inflict, not because of them.
To begin with, anyway.
"Do they hurt, Black?" he said, stroking the clamps the way a would-be-musician would run reverent fingertips over harpstrings. "I want them to hurt. I want you to be so glad that gag is in your mouth, for otherwise you know you would be snarling at me to take them off, and both you and I would know that snarling for you is just a translation of pleading. I want you to think that there is nothing that can distract you from the pain, from wanting them off." He gave the ones on Black's nipples a particularly hard fingernail flick, heard Black's satisfying moan. "I'll bet you've heard that your tits eventually go numb while wearing these; that taking them off is much, much worse than keeping them on." Snape took both clamps between finger and thumb. "Wrong," he said, twisting both until he'd gone a full three hundred sixty degrees from their original position, and Black had arched off the bed with a howl, trembling and sweating yet wisely not trying to thrash.
When Snape let go, and Black sank back to the bed, panting and wet-eyed and no doubt relieved that the throb of his nipples meant that they hadn't been torn off his chest, Snape rose. He was still clad in his trousers, and thought that this might be a good time to remove them. Just in case Black had any idea that Snape meant to let him off with nothing but a little pinching and molesting for his troubles.
Once stripped, and his wand in hand again, Snape cast the eight-word charm that would transfer Black's ankle restraints from the base of the footboard to the middle of the posts above his head. Black's surprise could not parallel the pain of those clamps shifting as he was suddenly folded almost in half, arse-up and splayed as crudely as he could be.
Though Snape knew Black's dismay at this new position would shortly outweigh even that.
Snape stepped in and began to enjoy a good, long look. Black's erect cock lay almost upon his belly, the tip of it leaking pre-come practically into his navel, with his arse lifted off the bed, thighs spread and the globes of his arse parted, scrotum heavy against his perineum but not far enough forward to hide the puckered entrance that now pouted obscenely before him. And all of it covered in wiry, straight black hair. Lovely.
Black's struggles had renewed themselves--until Snape stepped forward to begin looking. Then Snape saw his limbs stiffen, the twisting reduce to twitches, as it must have dawned on Black how very dreadfully humiliating struggling would look in this position. So long as Black was aware of that, Snape could accept losing that pleasure.
"What a perfectly lewd sight you are, staked out and on display. So very vulgar. Have you ever let anyone see you like this, I wonder? Has anyone had such a delightfully raw view of you? I'll wager I can make it even more stark." He fingered the ridged skin about Black's anus, twirled a bit of hair about his finger, and jerked, satisfied at both the feel of the hair pulling free and the sound of Black's short bark of a cry. "Yes, I'm sure I can."
Flicking the hair to the floor, Snape turned to lift a book-shaped Morocco leather case from a table, then opened it. The straight razor that he took from it had been polished to a gleam.
"Do you even know how to use one of these, Black?" he said, turning it so that Black could not mistake what it was, nor how the edge caught the light. "I doubt it. Depilation potions are so common. I use them myself." Snape continued to speak as he took stock of his equipment: a bowl of water, a towel, his wand. "Which is not to say that I don't keep in practice with a razor. Of course, I don't work on a moving target." He stepped back to the foot of the bed. "Which means I couldn't possibly vouch for the result, were I forced to work on something that insists on moving. We understand each other perfectly, don't we?"
Black groaned and objected behind his gag, and tried once more to get his ankles free of their new position, dignity be damned. Snape let him, intensely entertained. He suspected Black finally stopped not because he knew it wouldn't work, but because Snape was having too good a time watching.
Another charm, and he had warmed lather in abundance, precisely where he wanted it. He'd hoped the feel of that would take Black off guard, and it had, Black's cock stiffening further at the warmth, sustaining despite the blade in Snape's other hand.
Snape's cock let him know that it was still waiting, dammit, for some attention of its own. He was achingly hard, balls tingling, seepage of pre-come sliming his entire prick, but he continued to ignore it--not ignore, exactly, but wheedle into quiet with the promise of everything to come. No, he wouldn't cheat himself of one minute of this. Not after so long.
Black did not fail to heed the warning Snape had given, when Snape laid the razor upon Black's groin, just at the base of his prick, and drew the edge, with a rasp, as close to the man's thigh as he could go, taking both lather and hair with it. Black was still, as still as he could be in that taut presentation, and Snape met his eyes, which were almost all pupil at the moment, wide and focused upon him as if he could make Snape's hand stay steady by the force of his stare. Snape smiled, set the razor to the next patch of skin to be shaved--looking back at what he was doing--and repeated the action. He sensed rather than saw the flinch in Black's eyes, though Black didn't otherwise move.
When he had denuded Black's groin and belly up to his navel, he moved on to the thighs, clearing the easily accessed planes of them with brisker swipes, feeling the quivers in Black's flesh with each movement of the razor. Snape had to pause to clean the razor with both water and towel at intervals, admiring the quantities of hair that were covering the surface of the water bowl. He'd thought to stop at mid-thigh, but the position seemed so well-suited to going further, and he wanted Black feeling that razor moving over his calves, his shins, feeling not merely the scrape of the razor but the knowledge that this shearing in particular was such a humiliatingly feminine thing to have done to one. Snape was amused to see that Black was not afraid to squirm at this point, Snape having moved away from his more tender parts. This didn't hinder Snape, though he made a point of slowing his work, just for fun. Nor did he bother to renew the lather; he had enough for his purposes, on this less delicate skin. He continued until the razor reached the ankle restraints, and could go no further.
He knew perfectly well what to leave 'til last. He'd decided long before. Which meant that the razor now went back to the crevice of Black's arse, just outside of the puckered hole, and began to scrape away the tufts that grew between the buttocks, delicately and slowly enough to bring out the sweat on Black's forehead. Snape was using just the very tip of the razor now, careful of every wrinkle of skin, working his way into the center instead of from the outside in, knowing it would drive Black even madder.
When that was done, he made the rest of Black's arse yield up its finer covering of hair to the razor. Snape made a point of going all the way to the small of his back, tempted to go further--tempted, in fact, to get every bit of hair below his neck shaved from his body, but that would require a removal of all of the clamps, and another change in the position of the restraints, if he wanted to do that with the razor. Better to keep on as he'd planned; besides, he'd saved the best for last.
Snape took the pliant sac in his cupped hand, squeezing lightly to roll the balls about, feeling their weight. Black made a huffed noise through his nose; not quite a cry, certainly nothing that he would ever admit was a plea. When Snape raised the razor, however, Black made an attempt to yank the restraints right out of the headboard, accompanied by a far more distinct sound; Snape knew most of it would translate into furious cursing, but he heard the panic in it as well. He stood there, holding the man's heavy--and hairy--scrotum in his hand, razor poised centimeters from it, waiting for the thrashing to cease.
When it did not within a few moments, he shrugged mentally and brought the razor to the loose flesh, using thumb and finger to stretch it over one springy testicle, and set the bare edge of the razor to the surface. Black froze, panting, his chest heaving, but the rest of him still--quite still. Snape smiled and drew the razor along the skin, feeling such an unaccustomed lightness of heart at Black's groan.
Working on that sensitive surface took time, and Snape did just that, shifting and stretching every bit of skin over Black's balls, so that the razor could do its work in tiny shifts, right down to the last hairs. Those which grew right at the base, towards the perineum, were easiest, and so saved for last, though Black was no more comfortable for having Snape draw the scrotum up tautly in his hand to perform that task. That got a nice set of protests from him. Snape made a point of pulling a little harder.
When he'd finished, Snape felt not at all drained for having done such an extensive and delicate procedure--he was hungry to keep on. He swiped a finger down Black's hairless crack, pleased to see that it prompted a twitch and a noise from the man.
"Bare as the day you were whelped."
The smell of Black's sweat overrode the light soapy aroma the lather had left. Snape much preferred the musk to the other. It had grown stronger the entire time he'd handled Black's balls, making Snape more and more eager to continue with his agenda.
Snape let his finger wander back to the clean-shaven exposure of Black's anus, stroking, circling it, wanting Black to feel that invasive touch at his very core. Wanted him to want more, to want that finger to tease him open so neatly, perhaps to have his tongue join it. Yet Snape took his time, prolonging the close-but-never-that-close caresses until, when he at last let the tip of his finger push directly into his hole, barely inside at all, he could feel Black stiffen, and see the angle of Black's cock become even more acute, hardening without any other touch, the balls drawing up in their sac as the fleshy knob of his cockhead protruded further from its sheath. All this without touching his prick.
A little more attention should provide interesting results...particularly in preparation for what came next.
He let Black watch him bend, extend his tongue to that puckered orifice, enjoying the concentrated smell of male rut as he drew closer--he was sure that Black was sweating more of it even as he watched--and replaced his finger with the tip of his tongue, worming it just inside Black's channel, not missing the groan he made, nor the way his arsehole contracted about his tongue. Perfect.
His hands came up to clutch the sides of Black's arse and he began to rim the hole in earnest now, loving every sound the bastard made as he probed him, wet tongue working over the ridged skin and into him, imagining how very soon he'd be driving his own hard cock into Black's grasping fuckhole, and the sounds he'd make for that, no matter how badly Black hated who was doing it to him.
His mouth moved away at last, but only to shift to Black's balls, nudging them upward with his nose to tongue at their base, and then draw each testicle into his mouth, one at a time, rolling them with his tongue, feeling them constrict in their sac, pulling up still higher beneath his back-to-rock-hard prick.
Which meant it was time to produce the next surprise. Snape had the cock harness to hand just by reaching for it, and snapped it about the cock first, then secured the straps which circled and separated the balls. Black grunted, tried to pull away, but the harness was in place before he could lose any of his erection. Snape tightened the main strap another notch.
"There we are. I would so hate to lose your interest, just as things are getting good." Snape reached out and gripped the clamps on Black's nipples and gave them another twist. Black's howl was strangled, but his crimson erection flagged not at all.
Snape lifted the case that had contained the straight razor, and took a slender stylet from one of its recesses. It was as long as a man's hand, made of steel, and tapered towards its tip, where it ended in the smallest of circular loops.
Should he tell Black what its use was? Why not. It would add to the anticipation.
"Do you know what this is?" Snape asked, holding it close, so that Black could see its tiny contours. "A clever little device that someone invented for cleaning wax from the ear canal. Hence the rigid loop." He pulled it away. "You might have guessed that this is not going inside your ear. I have another delicate orifice in mind, however."
To Black's credit, his eyes were bulging and the enraged snarls had started before Snape had even arrived at the word not.
But there was nothing he could do beyond thrash and snarl, not even lose his erection, secondary to the useful little harness. Snape pretended to be deep in concentration as he lifted Black's rigid prick from his belly until it pointed at the ceiling, massaged the foreskin back and forth, and ran the loop end of the stylet in a single circle between it and the glans, just because he could. Then he let the loop graze over the dripping slit, allowing Black the opportunity to try to wrench his prick free (it just meant Snape got to pull harder), and then, cockhead pinched between finger and thumb, Snape inserted the loop just into the slit and rotated it once, conscious of Black's shudder but lack of sound. Then, small movements done with, Snape pushed the stylet's entire length down Black's piss-slit, pleased that he no longer needed to watch what he was doing, so that he could see every moment of Black's neck arching backwards until it looked as though his spine would break, his jaw dislocate, and the cur strangle on his own spittle. The howl was sublime.
He twirled the end of the stylet once, withdrew it a few centimeters and turned it again. Black continued to fuss, most piteously; it should have been enough to have any observer weeping. Instead, Snape smiled. The thing would feel like someone had jammed a burning brand all the way down to his balls. Snape had tried it himself; no point in inflicting a torture if it didn't turn out to be as bad as you'd imagined it should. He gave the end of it a flick with his finger, sighed contentedly as Black's scream gurgled behind the gag.
Releasing Black's prick altogether--sparing a moment's admiration for the way the erection bobbed with the weight of the stylet--Snape lifted Black's belt, considering. Why not. Too good a position to waste. And he had gone to all that trouble, sensitizing Black's skin with the shaving.
Snape drew the belt back and struck Black's naked arse with the length of it, not bothering to start out easily, but instead enjoying the loud crack it made in the room as it hit, and Black's groan, and the red stripe that appeared on his skin. Again he struck; he didn't need much care in his aim; the display of Black's arse couldn't be missed in this position, and it wasn't as if Snape feared hitting something painful. Such as his balls. Yes, those were in jeopardy, were they not? Good.
Over and over he swung the belt, at first in a random pattern, anticipating that he'd want to cover everything, but then deciding it would be pleasurable to work one area long enough to get Black moving on his own, trying to avoid the ever more painful smacks on that one target. He chose the spot at the lowest curve of the buttocks, at the join to the thighs, and concentrated on turning it scarlet. It had quite the desired effect, as Black was soon trying to twist away from the blows, present less abused flesh to the belt. He had to know it wouldn't help, but that couldn't keep him from needing to move. Snape enjoyed the show, and continued to stripe him in the same spot for a good while longer, not caring if Black's scrotum sometimes took part of the blow--that just made him move more vigorously, which was the whole point.
Eventually--when Black seemed to be giving over to exhaustion, and his groans were still as loud but his struggles less dramatic, despite the near-magenta discoloration of that portion of flesh--Snape gave over and plied the belt over the entire surface of Black's arse and thighs, not anticipating that he'd have enough patience to get all of the skin that same uniform magenta--he was eager to bugger the bastard stupid--but wanting to leave none of it unmarked. Black was wheezing now, not mustering much voice but still in too much pain to keep silent. Snape got more sound out of him when he paused to manipulate the stylet or one of the clamps at intervals.
By the time he dropped the belt, Snape no longer recognized the surface of Black's buttocks as any shade associated with human skin. He was especially pleased by the blossoms of purple bruises that broke up the red in places.
The odorless oil that he had ready--Snape didn't want anything to mask the smell of male sweat and arousal--was only a little cool in his palm, and warmed as he greased it over his own swollen, sticky cock. His interest in following every step of his proceedings had been intense enough to keep him from erupting this entire time--which he would have done at least a dozen times, had he not had such an explicitly laid-out plan that he did not want to cut short. Even the sound of Black whimpering under his cock as it pistoned his fuckhole wouldn't be enough to make him come before he wanted to. Snape hadn't even considered using a potion to prolong things. What on earth for?
Though he didn't need to use his thumbs to spread Black's hole open--the widely-held thighs already did that for him--he relished digging his thumbnails into Black's abused buttocks. He had plenty of oil; no cause to do any preparation with his fingers. Still controlling his own arousal, he watched with interest as the twitching entrance spread for him, as his leaking cockhead pushed against it, as the opening irised for him as he forced his way inside. He took his thumbs away as the head slipped within, hands moving to cup Black's buttocks--squeezing the abused flesh--and watched as the slow push of his hips impaled Black further and further on the entire veined length of his oiled prick.
He looked up at Black's face. And found him watching too. How nice.
Digging his fingers--fingernails--into each arsecheek, delighting in the groan that alone produced, Snape forced his way into Black's tight channel, feeling the ring of muscle grip him further and further down the shaft until at last it grasped the base, and Snape's balls were wedged directly into the crack of Black's arse. He sighed, moved a hand, and gave another twist to the stylet jammed into Black's piss-slit, sliding it back and forth a few times to feel how Black's anus contracted around him each time. That was a pleasure you couldn't buy or sell, particularly accompanied by the wet choking sounds coming from the man's throat.
Snape didn't remove the stylet, but he did decide it was time to leave off that for the moment. Pushing it back in, he withdrew his cock from Black's arse a few centimeters, trying to find the proper angle to graze past his prostate. There, he thought he had it; he pushed in again, felt Black's anus contract, and was sure. That was all he needed, then.
He didn't need to distract himself as he set up a rhythm; he just had to watch Black's face. The man's face wasn't as red as his arse, but it was dark as sunburn, and dripping with sweat. Snape hoped for some of that to be tears, but couldn't tell. He watched for the signs as he pushed against Black's prostate, over and over, took one hand and brought it back to the cock, not to touch the stylet this time but to stroke the underside in a firm grip, pinch the captured ballsac, slide over the purple glans in circles that carefully avoided the obstruction that protruded from it. Though he couldn't imagine Black's face looking any more distressed than it already did, Snape thought he did see something in the way the brow furrowed, different from all the expressions of misery and anger he'd worn since the restraints had bound him to the bed. Snape increased the movements of his hand, sped the pace of his hips.
His own sudden need to come and come now surprised him. He fought it back. Not yet, not yet, definitely not yet. He focused on fucking Black's arse, pushing the head of his cock back and forth against his prostate, using that reliable pleasure center.
The sounds Black made coincided with those thrusts; Snape had not misjudged. He continued to fondle both cock and balls as his other hand came forward to yank away the strip of silk and pluck the soaking foam ball from Black's mouth. Black roared, not yet capable of speech, saliva immediately running down his chin. Snape thrust into him again, hard. "Ahhhhh!" Black screamed. "You fuck--fucking bastard, take it out, take it out!"
Snape knew he wasn't referring to his prick. "You're about to come, aren't you, Black?" he said, with another thrust in and out. No matter that Black did not actually beg him to continue. That was more than sufficient--was bliss. He tugged at Black's foreskin, sliding it back and forth at the same time that he pushed his own prick in a short, fast rhythm deep inside Black's arse, hearing the man snarl behind teeth that he tried to keep gritted, trying to remain wordless and so deprive Snape of any more gratification.
But he lost the fight anyway. It was nearly a bellow, that Black made as his ejaculation oozed its way past the obstruction in his prick, fighting up that tortured passage to escape in sloppy short trickles, drizzling off the head of his cock and onto Snape's hand, which continued to milk the drips from him until no more could be had--it took more than a minute.
Almost as an afterthought, he decided he might allow himself to come now. He had not, before this, let himself think about doing more than coming inside Black's arse as he fucked him--he'd believed that he would be able to hold out until he'd made Black live through his own excruciating orgasm, but not been so arrogant to think he'd be able to sustain himself much beyond that. But now he pulled his cock free of Black's snug channel, wrapped his hand--still covered in Black's juices--about his prick, and came about to stand directly by the head of the bed.
With his prick poised just a short distance from Black's mouth.
"Do you want that out? Now?" Black's eyes were not closed, even if Snape suspected they did not really see, and neither was his mouth, which was gasping. "I can leave it in all day, Black. I will. Do you want it out?"
"Yes!" he screamed. "Yes, you fucking fuck! You sodding piece of shite, take it out!"
"Then you know what I want. Suck me, and suck me well, and I shall take it out directly. Try to bite, and I'll replace that stylet with my bloody wand; I swear I will." He pushed his hips, and his prick, that much closer to Black's mouth. Black could reach him if he lifted his head.
He didn't do so at first. But it took even less time than Snape had hoped.
Snape pulled back suddenly. "No. I think you'll have to earn the chance, now that I think of it." Snape took his come-covered hand and reached between his legs, smearing the spunk about his own anus even as he lifted one foot to the bed. He had to duck between the chains of the leg restraints to do it, but shortly he was crouched above Black's face. "You lick me, you cur. You lick my arse clean of your own filthy seed, and if I'm pleased, then you get to suck me off. Not before." He didn't bother to repeat any threats, or to form new ones.
Black's tongue, when it finally started to lick his anus, was the sweetest thing he'd ever imagined. Black's tongue was cool water on a hot day, was the moment you learned you were a wizard, was your first flight on a broom. Black's tongue was a fucking baby's coo and a sweetheart's kiss and a corporeal patronus, all in one.
Snape made him continue longer than he would have expected, considering that the next thing on the list was cocksucking, but eventually his balls began to protest again, and he shifted backwards so that Black could take his prick into his mouth and suck him off. It was not without risk--if Black chose to bite, Snape would be in considerable agony before he could cast a healing charm, retribution by way of Black's urethra notwithstanding. Yet Snape had no intention of casting any spell that might prevent Black from biting; he wanted Black to recall that he had had a choice in this. And Black did not bite, that lovely tongue of his caressing the underside of Snape's prick, lips stretched around him in a perfectly degrading circle, and he was working to get Snape off as fast as possible, mouthing, lapping--Snape did not try to make him slow down, too much in need of a good, hard come and unable to think of anything else he wanted to prolong things any further.
He did retain enough thought to pull back just prior to coming and shoot his sperm into Black's face. And Black rewarded him by looking surprised, the dear little cocksucker.
He didn't linger on the bed, aware that he might have tested Black's endurance, despite Snape's promise to remove the stylet. And remove it he did, immediately, not even twisting it on the way out. Black would see that Snape kept his promises.
Including the one he had just finished fulfilling.
He stood well away from the bed and murmured the spell to release Black's restraints from the bed--they did not disappear from around Black's wrists and ankles, however. Those kept Black from his animagus form--the bastard could get them off himself, when he got back to friendly territory and his wand.
The sweat-and-come-covered Black could not get to his feet right away. One arm wiped his face as he tried to rise, but his legs gave out as he moved off the bed, and he had to use the bed's edge to pull himself back to his feet.
Snape leveled his wand at him. Black, naturally, looked like he would spring like the mutt he was, no matter whether he wore its skin.
"Try it," Snape said. "You have no wand. If I subdue you, I put you back on that bed and I have another go. If you leave, I shall let you leave, and you can go off to lick your wounds and plot your bloody revenge as you will. I am quite sure that you do not consider this over, though I, for one, think I have just made a considerable dent in the reckoning you've owed me for all these years." He did not say, think on that. He wanted Black to leave.
Though he did not doubt Black would plot revenge, Snape also knew Black could not do anything to him that could alter the memory of what Black had just endured. Endured, and done.
But even after the door had slammed behind Black, Snape's wand stayed pointed in the direction of the door for long minutes.
When it finally fell to his side, that hand was steady.
Black would retaliate.
Snape might even look forward to it.
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