Day 4: Dirty Talk

Day 4: Dirty Talk

Harry had never been good at patience, and tonight was no exception.

He was on his back in Snape's bed, his arms pinned above his head by an enchanted binding that Snape had cast without a word. His wrists were held together by invisible restraints, leaving him utterly powerless, his body exposed and vulnerable. His breathing was already ragged, his skin flushed and tingling from Snape's deliberate teasing. Snape had done nothing but ghost his fingertips over Harry's chest and neck, never touching where Harry wanted—where he needed—to be touched.

It was maddening.

"Look at you," Snape's voice was a low, mocking drawl, dripping with disdain. He stood at the edge of the bed, fully dressed, his dark eyes roaming over Harry's prone form with an infuriating smirk. "Squirming like a desperate little brat."

Harry's cheeks burned at the insult, but the flush of shame only made the ache between his legs worse. His cock was painfully hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and every time Snape's fingers got close, Harry's body jerked involuntarily, craving contact that never came.

"Is this all it takes to reduce the great Harry Potter to a writhing mess?" Snape continued, his voice dangerously soft. "A few well-placed touches, and you're already begging for release."

"I'm not begging," Harry ground out, though his voice trembled with the effort of holding back. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last—Snape hadn't even touched him properly, and already he was losing control.

"Oh?" Snape arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned over the bed, his face inches from Harry's. "Then what is it you're doing, Potter? Because it certainly looks like you're begging to me."

Harry bit down on his lip, refusing to respond. He wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction—not yet. But Snape's smirk only widened, as if he could sense Harry's internal struggle, the way his body trembled with the need for release.

"You're pathetic," Snape whispered, his breath hot against Harry's ear as his fingers brushed lightly over Harry's chest, just above his nipples. "A trembling, needy mess. You want me to touch you, don't you? To give you what you so desperately need."

Harry's breath hitched, his hips jerking up in response to Snape's teasing touch, but Snape pulled his hand away before Harry could feel any relief.

"Answer me," Snape demanded, his voice sharp. "Do you want me to touch you?"

"Yes," Harry gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his arousal. "Please, Snape—"

"Professor," Snape corrected him with a sneer. "You'll address me properly."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his skin burning with a mixture of shame and arousal. Snape's dominance over him was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet Harry craved it more with every second that passed. He wanted to give in, to let Snape have complete control, but something in him still resisted. He didn't want to make this too easy for Snape.

"Please, Professor," Harry corrected himself, his voice a low whimper. "I need you to—"

"To what, Potter?" Snape interrupted, his tone mocking. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

Harry groaned in frustration, his hips lifting off the bed as he tried to grind against the air, desperate for some kind of friction. But Snape stepped back, keeping his distance, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Harry with cold amusement.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" Snape taunted, his voice low and dangerous. "If you want something, Potter, you'll have to ask for it. You'll have to beg for it."

Harry's chest tightened with a mixture of anger and desperation, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He didn't want to beg, didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction, but his need was too great, the pressure building inside him unbearable.

"Please," Harry whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, touch me."

Snape's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his hand hovering just above Harry's chest. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked softly, his tone almost mocking. "You can do better than that."

Harry's fists clenched in frustration, his body aching with the need for release. He could feel his pride crumbling under the weight of Snape's control, and he hated it—hated how much he wanted to submit, how much he needed Snape to give him what he craved.

"Please," Harry gasped, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please, Professor, I need you to touch me. I need—"

"Say it," Snape interrupted, his voice a low growl. "Tell me exactly what you want."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He wasn't sure he could say the words, wasn't sure he could bring himself to admit how much he needed this—needed him.

But the look in Snape's eyes—the way his smirk deepened as he watched Harry struggle—it broke something in Harry. He couldn't hold back anymore.

"I need you to touch me," Harry gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need you to—fuck—I need you to make me come. Please."

Snape's smirk widened, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against Harry's ear as he whispered, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he waited for Snape to touch him, to finally give him what he needed. But Snape didn't move. He stayed exactly where he was, his breath hot against Harry's neck, his lips curled into a cruel smile.

"You're pathetic, Potter," Snape whispered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Begging me to make you come like a desperate little whore."

Harry's chest tightened, his body trembling as Snape's words washed over him. The degradation, the cruelty—it should have made him angry, should have made him want to fight back. But instead, it only made him harder, the shame and arousal twisting together in a way that made his head spin.

"I could leave you like this," Snape continued, his voice soft and dangerous. "Tied up and aching, desperate for release. I could walk away and leave you to suffer."

Harry's breath hitched at the threat, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't handle that—not after everything Snape had put him through tonight. He was too far gone, too close to the edge, and the thought of being denied release was unbearable.

"Please," Harry whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Please, don't leave me like this."

Snape chuckled softly, his hand finally—finally—moving to brush lightly over Harry's chest, his fingers ghosting over Harry's nipples. The touch was maddeningly light, just enough to make Harry squirm, but not enough to give him any real relief.

"Tell me how much you want it," Snape whispered, his fingers circling Harry's nipple with agonizing slowness. "Tell me how much you need me."

"I need you," Harry gasped, his voice trembling with desperation. "I need you so much, please—please, Professor, I'll do anything—"

"Anything?" Snape's smirk deepened, his hand sliding lower, teasing the waistband of Harry's trousers. "Is that so?"

Harry's breath hitched, his hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea for more contact. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "Anything."

Snape's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and without another word, he reached down and unfastened Harry's trousers, tugging them down just enough to free Harry's aching cock. The relief was immediate, but it wasn't enough—Harry needed more, needed Snape's hand on him, needed the friction that would push him over the edge.

But Snape didn't touch him. Not yet.

Instead, he stood back, his eyes roaming over Harry's body with a calculating gaze, as if deciding exactly how far he wanted to push him. Harry's chest heaved with the effort of holding back, his cock twitching in the cool air, desperate for contact.

"You're a mess, Potter," Snape said softly, his voice filled with contempt. "Look at you. Desperate. Needy. Pathetic."

Harry's cheeks burned with shame, but the words only made the ache between his legs worse. His body was trembling, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back, but he couldn't take it anymore.

"Please," Harry whimpered, his voice broken. "Please, just touch me. I can't—"

Snape's hand finally wrapped around Harry's cock, his grip firm and unrelenting, and Harry let out a choked gasp of relief. The pleasure was overwhelming, every nerve in his body on fire as Snape stroked him with slow, deliberate precision.

"Is this what you wanted, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice a low growl as his hand moved faster, his grip tightening. "Is this what you were begging for?"

"Yes," Harry gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as Snape's hand worked him with ruthless precision. His body was trembling, every inch of him on edge as the pleasure built to unbearable heights. "Yes, please, don't stop—"

Snape's smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his breath hot against Harry's ear. "You're so easy to break, Potter," he murmured, his hand never faltering in its steady rhythm. "So desperate for my touch, so willing to beg for it."

Harry's hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into Snape's hand as the tension inside him coiled tighter and tighter. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his body straining toward release, but he could feel Snape holding him back, teasing him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge but never letting him fall over.

"You want to come, don't you?" Snape whispered, his voice soft and dangerous. "You're right on the edge, ready to lose yourself."

"Yes," Harry whimpered, his voice breaking. He was so close—so agonizingly close—and the only thing holding him back was Snape's control. "Please, Professor, I need to—"

Snape's hand slowed to an agonizing crawl, his grip tightening just enough to make Harry gasp in frustration. "Not yet," Snape growled, his tone sharp. "You'll come when I tell you to, and not a moment before."

Harry's entire body trembled with the effort of holding back, his cock throbbing painfully in Snape's hand as the need for release became unbearable. His mind was a haze of lust and desperation, his entire focus centered on Snape's touch, on the way his fingers teased and tormented him.

"I—" Harry's voice caught in his throat, his chest heaving as he tried to form a coherent thought. "I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Snape hissed, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes that left Harry gasping for breath. "You will hold on until I say so, or I'll leave you like this, aching and unsatisfied."

The threat sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he forced himself to comply, biting down hard on his lip to stifle the whimpers of frustration that threatened to escape. His entire body was tense, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back, but he couldn't disobey. Not now.

"Good," Snape murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as his hand quickened its pace again. "You're learning, Potter. Learning to follow instructions."

Harry's hips bucked again, his body responding to Snape's touch with an intensity that left him breathless. He was so close—closer than he had ever been—and the feeling of being at Snape's mercy, of being controlled so completely, only heightened his arousal.

Snape's hand moved faster, his strokes rough and unrelenting, and Harry could feel the tension inside him reaching its breaking point. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his body trembling with the need for release.

"Now," Snape commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Come for me."

The words hit Harry like a lightning strike, and his body obeyed immediately. His entire body tensed, his muscles locking up as his orgasm crashed over him with staggering force. A choked cry escaped his lips as he came, his release spilling over Snape's hand in hot, desperate spurts.

The pleasure was overwhelming, every nerve in Harry's body alight with sensation as wave after wave of release tore through him. His vision went white, his mind consumed by the intensity of the orgasm, and for a moment, there was nothing but the feeling of Snape's hand on him, guiding him through it.

Harry's body finally slumped back against the bed, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. His entire body trembled with the aftershocks of his release, his muscles weak and shaky from the intensity of the orgasm.

Snape's hand stilled, and he wiped his fingers clean with a flick of his wand, his dark eyes still fixed on Harry's flushed face. There was a faint smirk playing at the corners of Snape's lips, a glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze.

"You did well," Snape said softly, his voice surprisingly calm as he straightened up. "Though I suspect that won't be the last time I have to remind you of your place."

Harry blinked, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. He could barely form a coherent thought, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. But even through the haze of exhaustion and pleasure, he couldn't deny the thrill of Snape's words, the promise of more to come.

Snape waved his wand again, and the restraints holding Harry's arms in place vanished, leaving him free but too weak to move. His limbs felt heavy, his body boneless from the intensity of his release, and all he could do was lie there, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing.

For a long moment, the room was silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustle of Snape's robes as he moved around the room. Harry watched him through half-lidded eyes, his mind still struggling to process everything that had just happened.

Eventually, Snape returned to the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable as he looked down at Harry.

"You've learned your lesson tonight," Snape said quietly, his voice low and calm. "But don't think for a moment that this gives you any special treatment."

Harry swallowed hard, his throat tight as he nodded. He knew better than to expect kindness from Snape—knew better than to believe that this changed anything between them. But there was something different now, something unspoken that lingered in the air between them.

Snape's lips curled into a faint smirk, and he leaned down, his hand brushing lightly over Harry's chest. "You'll come to me when I call for you, Potter," he said softly, his voice dangerously low. "And you'll follow my instructions without question."

Harry's heart raced in his chest, his breath catching in his throat at the weight of Snape's words. He knew what this was—knew that Snape was claiming control over him in a way that went beyond their usual interactions. And despite the heat that still lingered in his body, despite the exhaustion that weighed on him, Harry couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that surged through him.

"I will," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse.

Snape straightened up, his smirk widening slightly as he regarded Harry with an expression that sent shivers down his spine. "Good."

Without another word, Snape turned and left the room, his robes billowing behind him as the door clicked softly shut. Harry lay there in the dim light, his mind spinning as he tried to process everything that had just happened.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.