Her Clothes

Without turning away from the mantle, Snape spoke in a low, menacing whisper. "Your clothes."

"What?" came the surprised, **** voice of Bellatrix. "You don't mean—"

"That, is exactly what I mean." Snape turned to face the fallen, defeated witch, his face a sullen mask of thinly veiled hatred. "If you want my help, you will remove your clothes."

"But—" Bellatrix's hands trembled as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "You—you just—you can't—"

"I can," Snape said imperiously, "and I do. Either remove your clothes or you can leave."

Snape wondered if all the fight had vanished from this normally feral witch. He got his answer when she lowered her head, seeming to comply. Then, with a snarl and a murderous gleam in her dark, bloodshot eyes, she leapt up drawing a small knife from the folds of her cloak. It was a move Snape had been fully prepared for. Even if she'd had her wand, Bellatrix was no match for Snape. He took a half step back and in a flash flourished his wand from the sleeve of his robe. "Stupefy!" The spell caught the charging Bellatrix directly in the chest and sent her spiraling to the floor where she landed in a heap.

Snape kicked the knife from her hand and placed the heel of his boot against her cheek. He pressed her face against the hard wood planks of his floor. "You are like a child," he sneered, "foolish and easily predictable."

Fresh tears leaked from Bellatrix's eyes as Snape smashed her face against the floor. He held her there, pressing his heel against the flesh of her cheek in a humiliating show of power as a moment or two passed and she came back to her senses. "Severus," she pleaded through a clenched jaw, "we're friends. Please."

"Bella," Snape replied in a bored tone as he pressed down harder with the heel of his boot, grinding it against her face. "I think we both know the fallacy of that statement. You — do not have — friends. You have only victims — and tools. I am neither of those things. The only person you ever felt anything for was the Dark Lord, and he — is gone." He moved away from her, returning to the mantle piece. "I suspect the only reason you're showing any concern for Roldolphus is because you want his help fighting your ridiculous war." Bellatrix sat up, but didn't dare stand or assume a hostile position. For all she knew, the next time she lashed out he might kill her. "Now — I'll give you one last chance. Either you remove your clothes, or I toss you out into the street and inform Kingsley Shacklebolt of your location." In a smooth motion that was a clear signal of how little threat she posed, he slid wand back into his sleeve. He spoke dismissively, as Bellatrix looked helplessly to the floor, her mind racing as she tried to process this impossible choice. "I'm not forcing you to do anything," he added just to further her torment. "The choice is yours."

Bellatrix let out a very uncharacteristic sob of despair. She cast one last pleading look upon a very uncaring Snape and rose to stand on shaky legs. Snape watched, his face a blank, indifferent slate, his eyes glistening with greasy intent. He had found a new purpose: delighting in the humiliation of those he disliked or in this case, loathed. Bellatrix brought a trembling hand to the silver broach holding her cloak closed. She fumbled with the delicate clasp for a moment, before with a click, the thick black shroud fell to the floor. The formerly proud, arrogant **** Eater wore a slim, black robe with silver embroidery beneath. The once elegant item had seen better days, between the Battle of the Burrow and a month spent on the run, the fine linen robe was now a dirty, torn, disheveled mess.

Her dark, tear-filled eyes flitted to Snape's, silently questioning whether he expected her to proceed. The former Potion's Master didn't demean himself with a response, and merely cast a bored look to the front door, suggesting where she could go if she didn't like his terms. More tears trailed her cheeks as she slowly began to unbutton the tattered gown. It too fell to the ground in a cluttered heap, leaving Bellatrix shivering in humiliation, and wearing nothing but a thin, silken chemise that could barely conceal her sleek and surprisingly sexy body. Several moments passed as Bellatrix struggled to complete this demeaning task. Finally, she raised timid, trembling hands to the delicate spaghetti straps holding her underclothes in place. The tears in her eyes fell to her face and she glanced to Snape, pleading with her gaze to stop the **** strip tease he was forcing her to perform.

"All of it," Snape said dully, as if the most humiliating thing she'd ever done was his most boring.

Shuddering in revulsion, Bellatrix slid the straps off her narrow shoulders. The wisp thin nightgown, this **** Eater's last line of defense, fell from her body, adding to the small pile of clothes on her tormentor's floor and leaving her standing fully nude. With tears dripping from her cheeks, the raven-haired witch folded her hands over her taut stomach, giving Snape the view she believed he wanted. "There," she whispered, a moment later. "You've had your look. Now, will you help me?"

"A moment, Bella. We must have — patience." Snape casually strolled around Bellatrix. His dark eyes glistening with anticipation and lust as he gave the witch's body a long, appraising gaze. Bellatrix had flawless alabaster skin, as pure white as freshly fallen snow. It was a sharp contrast to her long, tangled, pitch-black hair. Her breasts were on the small side, but were as firm and perky as any Snape had ever seen, and her nipples... They were the color of pale pink rose, were fat and puffy and just begging to be pinched and pulled. As if that wasn't enough, she had long, shapely, athletic legs that led up to a neatly trimmed pubic region. The thin patch of hair left most of her pelvis bare and her swollen pussy lips fully exposed. Her ass was round, pert, and tantalizingly firm. Her only flaw, if it could be called one, was she was extremely gaunt from years spent in Azkaban. Just above the delicate lines of her stomach muscles, Snape could make out the faint curves of her rib cage.

The sight of her body sent blood surging to his cock. It had been far too long since he'd seen a naked woman. He came to a stop behind her, careful not to revel his arousal. He wanted to humiliate her further and if she knew how the mere sight of her body had affected him she might try to use it against him. He wrapped his long fingers around the delicate flesh of her shoulder blades. "You still desire my aid after all of this?"

Bellatrix was understandably uncomfortable with Snape's lecherous fingers on her skin. She tried unsuccessfully to shrug him off but only managed a weak, "yes," that came out as a timid squeak.

Snape leaned closer, pressing his cheek though the tangled mass of her hair and whispered, "we will see if that is true." Then, he took a sudden step back away from her, drawing his wand. "Place your hands behind your back."