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He didn't seem to know how to respond, so he stumbled up and towered over the table. His lips pursed, and he touched his chin with his fingertip. She was reminded of how she first saw him that day in the Great Hall when they first encountered each other again, the way he had so carefully deliberated the choice he was going to make. It was a false sign of reservation, she saw now, an elegant but awkward attempt to stave off time before he took practically all of it.

"Just get whatever appeals to you," she said with a smile on her voice. "No need to debate with yourself."

He grimaced, apparently hating how easy he was to read, but did not respond, his sense of dignity too fragile to stop pretending at it.

He went ahead and brought down some things for them to share on the rug - a large toffee pudding (apparently he hadn't had enough), and a bowl of strawberries.

"Here," he said, the crisp white bowls gleaming in the firelight as he set them down, "have some."

She realized she had barely eaten dinner, other than the fried chips, and was still queasy with the emotional turmoil. She did take a strawberry and she chewed it, letting the sharp flavor cleanse her palate.

She was more interested in feeding him, for the moment, so she picked up a berry and licked it seductively.

"You," he murmured, laying down on the floor, belly flattening underneath him, "what are you doing?"

She didn't need to respond; she put the berry gently in between her teeth and went, belly first, to his eye level, grinning impishly.

"Fine," he moaned, and he inched towards her and began to lick her lips, slow and tantalizing, coaxing her until she gave up the fruit to his tongue.

"Thank you," he said once he'd swallowed it, and before he could say another word, she had another one in her hand, twirling in front of his face by its fibrous stem.

"That's not polite," he said with a groan, but snatched it out of her fingers like a shark grabbing at a fish slung over the back ledge of a boat.

"Why not?" She asked, pressing another one into her mouth, and he moved towards her again to grab it from her lips. She rolled over, starting to giggle, still in possession of the strawberry, which began to ooze its juice out of her mouth over her teeth and down her chin. She tried to suck it up but failed.

He settled the question by kneeling and, as she tried to escape, he lorded himself over her like a lion, with a heavy arm supporting him on one side, and the other possessively caging her on the other side, successfully pinning her down. She felt her chest pounding to have so much heaviness above her, and Snape's cruel smile... Was it play, or was it real? Probably both. He looked as smug as a Gryffindor that had caught its prey unguarded, and was prepared to use brute strength to overcome it to submission.

Oh yes, this was how Slytherins and Gryffindors were the same, Hermione thought, drinking in Severus' power. They both were lords of their ladies, conquerors at heart, never ceasing to have enemies, but also never ceasing to have passion. Slytherins just had been bullied so long they knew the value of hiding their truest desires from everywhere else - that was what disenfranchised people did to protect themselves. But in their own territory, when their own power had waxed.... Oh, Severus was a sight to see. She had, in her relationship with Ron, always thought of herself as the one in charge of the relationship- particularly in charge of such necessary evils as maintenance and care.

But here, in this relationship, she knew it wasn't so one-sided. Ron had never ceased to irritate her in how little he initiated in anything other than the obvious. This was not the case with Severus, no matter what was going on with his crystal-like love for Erika.

Oh, she knew the way he looked at her, he didn't think she was a fragile creature waiting to be protected by him from the cruel world. He saw her as different than that, she felt - a partner worth fucking, not worth worshipping. A partner worth twisting into submission for the sheer joy of it. A partner who wouldn't submit unless she wanted to - and half the pleasure was in convincing her.

He could indeed be a wolf, or a snake, or whatever convenient metaphor he chose. He could do this with her. Not with Erika, and certainly not with Lily.

She had never thought of herself as submissive, but here she was, letting him play her into that place so easily. What a delight it was not to have to be the one trying to get his attention! He was intensely focused on her every breath, watching as she fidgeted and moved.

She was startled from her rapturous wool gathering as he launched himself to the floor and bundled her inTo his arms and stole the squished strawberry from her parted lips, kissing her deeply afterwards, licking her chin and cheeks. Then, when satisfied, he relaxed, and she rolled slightly in his arms until he was spooning her as they lay on the floor.

"This is... Enjoyable," he murmured after some moments, "but I grow impatient. I think we need some more... Efficient methods, am I right?"

"After you," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm a bit worked up after the intensity of the past hour. Not feeling quite all right."

"I hear you," he murmured, and with a great effort he sat up, and the motion was such that his stomach slipped out from being constrained by his trousers; now his belt sat underneath his massive gut, and he rubbed it absently along the lines the belt cut into him. "Would you like to feed me, then? Would that whet your hunger?"

"yes," she said with an enthusiasm that made her own spine tingle.

She let her fingers dive into the soft flesh of his belly and knead it. They were becoming used to having this decadent experience. it was like bathing in cream. And she was well on her way to developing her own luxurious body for them to enjoy.

"Let's get some more food into this belly," she said with a smile, and with gentle hands she guided him into a reclining position, his head propped up by pillows.

His hair arrayed beautifully across the silk and velvet, and she positioned herself beneath the pillows so that his head was indirectly on top of her thickening thigh. "There," she said with a whisper, "that comfortable?"

"Very," he returned, a sly smugness on his face.

His stomach, relishing the relaxed position, made satisfied gurgling noises.

"I can't tell if that means hungry or processing," Hermione said with a smile, "but either way, a bit more can't hurt."

Snape responded by leaning slightly upwards and putting his mouth on the fatty underside of her breast, a hot rush of teeth and soft tongue.

"Mmm," she murmured, feeling awash with heat. "I can't wait until we can sit like this and my breast is so big you can suck my nip from where you now sit."

He shivered. "That's a pleasing thought."

She struggled off her underwear, careful not to disturb him, and he made a motion to take off his trousers and pants as well.

"No," she said as she put an imperative hand on his belly, "wait."

"They hurt," he argued feebly.

She looked down and met his eyes. "Do you *really* want me to let you take them off?"

He nodded.

She conceded. "All right. But let's make sure we're both on the same page as we enter the play."

He mumbled his assent as he swiftly disentangled himself from his belt, trousers, and pants.

"All right," he said with a nearly silly grin, "I didn't think it was fair if you got to be disrobed while I didn't."

"No matter. I have some other plans for you, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Remember our safe word, though."

"I remember," he said with a low growl of pleasure.

"Then let's begin," she said with delight. She proceeded to accio his trousers to her hand. "You won't be needing these anymore, will you?" She asked softly. "They're far too small to be comfortable."

"I only have one other pair in an... Appropriate size," Severus said with embarrassment.

She nodded. "We can do something about that this week," she said. "For the moment, is there something else I can use?"

He wandlessly summoned a cotton dish towel from the kitchenette.

"This is fine," she answered. "Let's get started."

She proceeded to lay the cloth on top of his belly, grab her wand, and cast some interesting transfiguration spells. When it had finished transforming into a long bolt of cotton cloth, she gestured for him to help her get it underneath him, and he arched his back, unintentionally provocative as his belly became prominent, and she admired it with one hand caressing its curve.

She remained focused though, and stuffed the cloth underneath him. Then she began to magically cut and sew it, the first time she'd bothered with anything like this since Molly Weasley taught her the domestic skill. (Her face grew hot at the realization.) the cloth began to grow into an Oxford shirt, with buttons down the front. The fabric yielded to her easily, though it remained checkered and dish towel-like despite her efforts to blend it. She was also unable to get out the few snags that plagued the thing, but she managed to work them into buttonholes that were halfway passable.

Soon the shirt was done, and Hermione admired her handiwork. The towel had been repurposed to an almost unrecognizable end.

Severus looked at it skeptically, craning his neck.

"If I even sit up," he said with a grimace, "this entire thing will fall apart."

Hermione grinned with a thrill as he said that. The sight of him in this shirt was even more enticing than he'd looked in his trousers. The buttons gaped, revealing the delicate skin underneath, and looked in his

"The point," she said with a giggle, "is that you will be trapped where you are until you eat enough to burst the thing."

Severus' face grew quiet. "No," he murmured, "I can't do that. I'm already so full."

"Not too full to sass me, though," she replied smoothly. "No, Severus, I won't be satisfied that you've had enough until you eat your way out of that shirt. Come now, it's already so tight on you. You could do it right now if you finished that tin of pudding, now couldn't you?"

He groaned, and put a hand on his upper belly to massage it deeply with his fingers. She could already see his erection rising, which was a very good sign.

"I suppose," he tumbled good-naturedly. "But I can't do it without some help."

"No fear," Hermione said with a smile, and she accio'ed the tin of pudding into her hands. "I will stuff you, Severus, until you are too full to speak."

He nodded, and she was satisfied by the twinge his dick made as she spoke.

"I am ready," he announced, and she took the big wooden spoon from the table and drove it into the thick, gooey pudding. It was like driving a pylon into the sea, where it could stand right up afterwards, but she wasn't doing this for aesthetics. She took the spoon out of the pudding and gave Severus an enormous spoonful.

"Enjoy," she said with a soft smirk, and she was exhilarated to see him attack it ravenously. He practically inhaled it, then waved her hand to get more as he sucked it down.

"That's so rich," he murmured with a sigh after eating the second heaping spoonful. "I might be unable to tuck it in."

"Now that's all right," she said cheerfully, "you can take a break if you want to, my dear. Just know that this warm, sticky mess will be followed by a course of something quite different."

She pressed a strawberry into his mouth as he tried to respond, and he was effectively shut up for the moment.

"Hermione," he begged, and he thrust a second, then a third strawberry in his mouth, pudging out his cheeks in the way that made him look so plump and delectable. Then, as he swallowed, he seemed to have a flash of inspiration. "Mistress?"

That got her attention darned well. "Yes, poppet?" she asked, not sure how she chose the word, but if Severus objected, he didn't say so. In fact, she thought she saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. Maybe he liked being talked to like a child.

"Can't I have some more?" There was a contented purr in his voice that she found irresistible. She began to stroke his shirtfront, trying to smooth the wrinkles in vain.

"More what?" she asked, obviously she knew, but it was part of the play. She draped herself across him and kissed his cheek.

"More pudding," he said simply.

Hermione tsked with her tongue.

"Now darling, I know I usually let you have whatever you want, but I want to make sure you know that you're getting a bit, erm, big."

"Is that so?" he replied, the awe and surprise in his voice clearly a charade, but an effective one.

"Oh yes dearie," Hermione said, finding her voice sounded like her grandmother's strangely. It was a comforting sort of fretting. "I mean, haven't you gotten too big for your trousers? If you keep this up," she went on, her voice getting stiffer as her lady-bits got harder, "you might get fat."

"Oh no," murmured Severus, with childlike simplicity, and it was the most eerie and charming thing. "But," he went on, "what if I can't stop eating? I like to eat, Mistress. It's my favorite thing to do."

"Do you want to get fat?" answered Hermione, her face reddening as her hand grappled with the most convenient and beautiful roll of his fat.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Severus, and that was Hermione's cue. She ripped herself from the floor and sat herself down on top of his cock, her buttocks spreading over his balls and her vag firmly trapping his dick, forcing it to fold backwards up against his belly.

"Imagine your belly is as heavy as I am," she whispered, "that my fat behind is your own belly and pubic fat. They’re so large and so jiggly that they trap your precious willy and hide it in a massive blob of flesh."

He shuddered in ecstasy, his eyes closed, his hands groping her blindly until they got to her beautiful deflating-bubble butt. (She’d noticed her buttocks just starting to sag with cellulite as the fat cells began to adhere to gravity's call.)

"Do you want to get so big, Severus," she whispered, "that you can't get out of bed, that you're entirely dependent on me, your busty Mistress-slave, to fetch and carry for you what you yourself cannot?"

He was clearly having immense trouble keeping his body from succumbing to the rapture of orgasm, so all he could do was nod.

"Good, good, my sweetheart," she whispered, "then here you go."

She gently got off him, and his hands went immediately to touch himself, to alleviate some of the desperate pangs of lust that she had evoked in him. She grabbed his hands in a forceful coup.

"No," she said imperiously, "not until you have finished your dinner."

He moaned with what seemed like genuine pain, so she broke for a moment. "Do you want to stop?" she asked, staring at him seriously. And his eyes opened to look into hers with what seemed to be actual hurt and struggle.

He answered, in a hiss, "No."

"Are you sure?" she confirmed, "You don't look particularly happy"

"Go back," he sneered, his face reddening, "now."

"All right," she said, and he glared at her even for saying this. She grabbed the tin of pudding, and Severus demanded, "Say it again."

"What?" she asked, and he groaned. Then she realized what he meant. "Oh," she responded, squeezing his hands again and holding him down. She leaned in closely, slowly, until her lips met his ear.

In an erotically dramatic fashion, she whispered, "You can touch yourself any time you like, as much as you like, but only after you have finished your dinner. You promised me that you'd finish your toffee pudding." She then lifted the spoon to his lips. "Were your eyes bigger than your stomach?"

"Never," he responded hoarsely. He proceeded to grab all of the contents from the spoon with his teeth, and as he chewed, a change came over him. He tore his hands out of her grasp. “Now,” he said, one hand on his belly, the other propping his head up in an incredibly luxurious fashion, “let’s dispense with the frivolity. Feed me, witch.”

She saw it was her time to let him be in charge, and she shrank away a bit as she lifted the next spoonful to his mouth. He took it and swallowed it swiftly, and then gestured for something to drink.

Hermione grabbed him the pitcher of milk, and she poured him a tumbler and gave it to him. He drank it greedily, his thick double-chin bobbing as he gulped. He gave the tumbler back to her, and she put it on the floor, and as her head was turned she peripherally saw him stifle a burp in his sleeve.

She then took the spoon and offered it to him again. He took another heaping bite, but frustration seemed to set in. He seemed about to say something caustic, but instead revised, it instead saying, “This...oh, just give it to me.”

Hermione gave him the spoon and held the bowl for him. He proceeded to go to town on that tin of toffee pudding. While substantially larger than the other one, he made steady progress.

During his next milk break, the man finally lost the buttons on his shirt. Hermione was watching for any sign of breakage, as the shirt’s buttons couldn’t possibly take any more strain, and she was delighted when, as he took a deep breath after drinking a full tumbler of milk, the buttons practically peeled off.

“Gods,” was all he said, with relief, and he peeled off the scraps of what was left of the shirt (which, granted, was all of it, minus buttons.)

He didn’t see the red marks that dotted his torso, instead picking up the pudding again and stuffing himself to the finish.

Hermione got up, rummaged around his desk drawers, and found a tincture of hazel to put on the red marks.

He was startled by his ministrations, but was at the point where he had to pause for breath between bites, so he didn’t say anything.

He started outright panting as he neared the bottom of the pan.

“It’s… it’s too much,” he moaned, laying back on the pillows, “I’m so… so full. More milk, please?”

She gave him the tumbler back, and he drank two full glasses, though it took him a great deal of effort to get them down; in the end, he had to take little sips.

“You’re doing so well,” Hermione said. “Just a bit more, now.”

He nodded, and looked about ready to fall asleep. “I know,” he said lamely, and he yawned, which turned into another burp, which he stifled far less subtly. Embarrassed, he glanced at her, and she just patted the top of his tummy as reassurance.

“How can I get you to finish?” Hermione asked, and Severus looked at her with such a painful grimace, she knew it was nearly time.

“We’re almost there,” she said, “come on, Sev. You helped demolish the dark lord, certainly you can finish your cake.”

He looked like he was going to start laughing, but then he looked like he was going to throw up if he started laughing, so he just groaned and rubbed his belly. “Don’t… don’t make me laugh,” he warned her.

“I won’t again,” she promised. “Here.”

She picked up the tin of pudding, dragged her finger through the sauce, and held it to Severus’ lips. He sucked on it hungrily, until it was clean, and he sighed in contentment.

This was going to be easier than she expected.

She did this a grand total of twenty-three times, and the entire bowl was clean.

Severus, however, was unmovable. He looked like he was about to be sick any moment, and Hermione implored him to recline and relax, and she rubbed his overtaxed tummy with vigorous motions.

“How was that?” she asked Severus as he stared at her through nearly-closed eyelids.

“Wonderful,” he affirmed, “as usual.”

His breathing proceeded to get slower, and then finally it was clear he had fallen asleep. Hermione snuffed out the candles in the room with a swift hand, then accio’ed one of the throws from the sofa, and draped it over them, with some extension spells of course.

Then, she cuddled up to him, making herself the big spoon as she fit her body against his, and draped her hand over his belly, to conveniently massage it as she drifted off, too.