#857) Fan Fiction First Thoughts

I’ve never written any fan fiction. I’ve never read any fan fiction. I try to avoid reading other people’s unpublished writing to avoid any plagiarism charges, or the impulse on my part to tweak what I’ve read my own way, which would be derivative. When my blog’s readers urge me to continue with the same characters in a part two of a story that I feel done with, I smilingly want to suggest that they write that continuation for themselves (but I never have).
Anyway, I was listening to a podcast where a writer that I respect raved about fan fiction, and it opened this can of worms for me. And a book series and characters sprang immediately into my mind to contemplate spinning-off in my first fan fiction.
I love the Harry Potter series of books! I’m of the generation of young readers that had the thrill of going to premiere parties (all dressed-up as a witch) and waiting until midnight for the next in the series of seven books was released. Let me first state the disclaimer that I do not own the Harry Potter books or characters, that this is not for my personal profit, it’s just for fun, out of respect for these well-defined characters…
Severus Snape was not a patient man, but what little he possessed had been strained to the breaking point by that insufferable know-it-all Hermione Granger. Now she had the nerve to ask him to supervise her extra time spent in his Defense Against the Dark Arts dungeon. He found it a colossal waste of time, listening to her ask questions that she already knew the answers to and other general brown-nosing. With Professor Umbridge now head-mastering Hogwarts, he felt he had a little more latitude to do as he wished, and when his patience snapped, what he wished became abundantly clear.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough, I must call a halt to this session, Miss Granger!”
“But I’m not finished practicing this new potion, Professor, and I…”
“I don’t care, please pack-up your things and go,” he curtly stated as he magically and efficiently began cleaning up the mess she’d made in and around the bubbling cauldron.
“Professor, I feel that I really must insist…” she argued in that clipped, obnoxious tone of voice.
“No!” he interrupted. “I must insist, be gone girl or I cannot take responsibility for my behavior…”
“You have never been fair to me, Professor, never! And I resent….”
She was a bright young lady, with a bright future, but so headstrong, so self-centered and self-involved. Her abilities might be formidable, but Snape’s experience and skills still gave him the edge in this contest of wills, and he used them to overpower the simpering student. In the blink of a newt’s eye, he’d upended the bushy-haired girl. Her skirt magically flew up and her white cotton knickers flew down. Snape caught the briefest glimpse of her pubic patch, as she sailed across his knee. She was just as bushy down there, he noted. He wondered if this post-adolescent had started to consider grooming her pubes, as many of the finishing students were doing these days. The cruel professor put thoughts about this girl’s pudendum out of his mind; his concerns were with the flip-side of her coin. Hermione’s bum was trim and athletic, though the girl spent all of her free time reading and studying and not outside playing sports and exercising. Still, the sight of her twin orbs pleased the professor, they were the perfect amalgam of baby fat and muscle, a nice, tight drum of a derriere, and Snape wanted nothing more than to beat that drum nice and hard, and long and slowly.
Her right orb jumped, then in reaction to the sting it flexed, making her deep butt crevice into a thin, dark line. The fair complexion colored appealingly with a tinge of pink. Oh, this was going to be a treat, just comeuppance for a dreadful smart-aleck, a treat too long in enjoying…
“How dare you! Professor, stop!”
Hermione’s left orb wobbled delightfully, giving her professor a good glimpse of her nether regions, a tight, pink petaled rosebud and that bushy jungle which seemed to hold her scent like a thick, unkept garden would the sweet floral bouquets of all the blooms therein. Again, he watched her backside react to the pain, tighten with a jiggle and then relax, and the mirror image of a rosy blush blossom on this cheek. Her coltish long legs kicked and scissored, given him more of a view, more of her sexual scent. Once again, he reminded himself to concentrate on the task at hand, a hand spanking for a woefully neglected pair of buttocks that should have felt corporal chastisement years ago. Besides, her legs were long but not bony or sinewed, so “coltish” wasn’t an apt description, but “filly-ish” wasn’t a word.
“This is how I dare!” SMACK! “You’ve had this coming since the moment I met you long ago.” SMACK! “If ever a young lady needed a good hiding, you are that girl!” SMACK! “And today you are going to get your due!” SMACK, SMACK! “Now quit resisting, or I’ll be even harder on you, and I already plan to spank the holy hell out of you…” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!
“Ow, that really…”
“Stings?” SMACK! “Yes, punishment is supposed to, my dear.” SMACK!
Snape redoubled his concentration, holding the squirming girl all the more securely in place over his knee. Unfortunately, he was out of practice at this much-needed exercise; his arm was getting tired and his palm was smarting badly. With just a thought, Hermione’s own hairbrush materialized out of thin air and hovered over her now-cherry-red cheeks. It magically arced up into the ether above the seated man and his prone subservient, then came crashing down with twice the velocity he’d been able to muster on his own.
“Yeow! What the hell was that?”
“Your hairbrush applied by charm to your bottom,” Snape said as he massaged the sting out of his stilled right hand with his left. SPLAT!
“Ow! That’s agony! …Please, don’t…!”
“You ought to know that your complaints, even in that whiny tone of voice, are music to my ears, so why don’t you do yourself a favor and silently take your medicine…”
After a long, hard session with the magically-inspired hairbrush, Snape took a small measure of mercy with the now-whimpering mouth and sniffling button-nose on the tear-stained face of the pretty girl.
“Your magenta-hued bottom looks to be numb. Wouldn’t want my magical efforts to be wasted. Take a break by standing in the corner, Hermione.”
She got up from off his lap from this novel, ignominious position, hating how difficult it was to retain any dignity, how impossible it was not to display her feminine charms to his probing gaze, how hard it was to resist the impulse to try to tamp down the fires that raged back there with a comforting caress or rub or hold of the wounded twin spheres. She limped her way to the castle’s corner.
“Here, busy yourself while you’re there,” he said in that drawling, demanding tone of voice, and sent her hairbrush flying through the air between them, straight into her hand, which then was made to rise to her head of hair. “Give your head one hundred strokes with the bristles, just like your bum just received with the flat side…”
With difficulty due to the wavy nature of her thick hair, Hermione obeyed. So this is what a paddling of one hundred wallops feels like, she said to herself as she brushed. God, my poor posterior is sure to be badly bruised by morning. I wonder what it’ll look like, what colors it will be…? Then she caught herself; he’s not through with you yet, she reminded herself. He said that this was a break, he plans to resume the session soon…
“Very well, girl, come back here for a second helping of discipline.”
Wanting to curry favor, she tried to hand her hairbrush back to him for this, but Snape had other, more wicked ideas, and sent the implement flying back across the room and neatly into her purse with a wave of his hand.
“Bend over this cauldron,” he instructed in silken tones.
“What are you going to do?” she asked like the damsel in distress she now was, as she complied.
“Professor Umbridge introduced a marvelous method of encouraging students to make proper behavioral choices, her version of ‘writing lines.’ Have you heard of it?”
“Yes. She used it on Harry. Every line he inscribed with a special pen carved the words painfully into the skin of the back of his hand!”
“Precisely, clever girl. Well, let’s try a variation on that theme…” Again Hermione’s short skirt magically flew up, and with her knickers still around her thighs, her ruddy rump was once more exposed to view. “Repeat after me, Miss Granger, ‘I have been a dreadful pain in the arse, and now my arse must pay the price.’ Say that sentence, please.” With his words, a long, thin rattan cane materialized, poised over Hermione’s proffered and pert sit-upon.
As she started to repeat the line, this magic cane flashed down upon her derriere, perpendicularly bisecting that bum crack with a vivid red welt. Almost at once, as the stripe blossomed before Snape’s eyes, it turned into script carved into the surface of the skin of her once pale and now crimson bottom.
“OWWW! What the fuck!” she hollered, “What’s happening?”
Severus Snape chuckled, amused at his own ingenuity. “Why, obviously your line is becoming indelibly etched in your pained arse, girl. It looks to me as though there’s room for eleven more lines of script on your small but attractive little rear… Say it again!”
Powerless to do anything else, she said again, “I have been a dreadful pain in the arse and now my arse must pay the price…” Proving that it was no nightmare or figment of her worst imaginations, the rod cut into her bum again, and again it magically transformed into even more painful script carved into the soft, succulent flesh. The tender-tushied teacher’s pet screamed in pain. Ten more times this ritualistic dance of discipline was enacted across her hind-quarters before she was allowed to leave, as Snape had ordered ineffectually before.
On her way to her Gryffindor dormitory bedroom, Hermione encountered Ginny Weasley.
“What the heaven’s the matter?” the younger student asked of her mentor and friend.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you” Hermione grimaced. “Come back with me to my room and I’ll give you a look. I could really use your help rubbing arnica cream and salve into my…”
Ginny was aghast when she first saw the damage inflicted across the poor girl’s backside. She cried empathetically as Hermione cried more tears from the lesson blazing across her butt. She ran cold water over a flannel and gingerly applied this to the twin cheeks, after the ointments were applied.
“Try to get some sleep,” Ginny lovingly advised. “I’ll come back and check on you in a few hours to see if you need anything…”
“I need a new bum,” Hermione feebly joked, “this one’s cracked up the middle and in a dreadful state!”
Neither girl laughed.
Ginny ran directly to Harry’s dorm room in the males section of the house that they all belonged to in this school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“You won’t believe what’s happened!” and she began recounting all she knew and what she’d seen.
Half way through her rendition of the facts, her brother, Ron, bolted from the room to go to his girlfriend’s bedside. This was just the opportunity Ginny had been awaiting. She began to remove her school clothes, looking her boyfriend, Harry, directly in the eye as she did.
“Can you imagine someone so dastardly as to subvert something so sublime into something so gruesome?” Now nude, she delicately laid herself across the lap of the most powerful wizarding student Hogwarts had ever entertained within its hallow halls. Her redhaired complexion was beyond fair; her epidermis was so pearly white, her perfect buttocks almost glistened in the candlelight. “Promise me that you will never raise your hand to punish me in so hurtful a manner, Harry…”
“I promise,” he said solemnly, caressing the cool flesh of her alabaster ass.
“Promise me that spankings between us will always be just for fun, just for foreplay…”
“I promise,” he repeated, and began softly spanking the bottom laid out before him, getting as stiff as a magic wand in the process.
Down the hallway in the females section, Ron was confronted with the blemished beauty of his beloved’s buttocks.
“I’ll kill Snape for this!” he vowed.
Hermione rolled up on one hip, exposing that bushy pubis to his eager eyes, not for the first time.
“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, please take my mind off of my ravaged backside with a right proper rogering, my love…”
The cacophony of two sets of bedsprings creaking filled the night.

8 responses to “#857) Fan Fiction First Thoughts”

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