Once there, they undressed, and to her surprise Muriel felt as nervous and insecure as the first time. Minerva hesitated, looking questioningly at Muriel, who slowly opened the drawer of the bed table.

A time and a place for everything …

As Muriel placed the five folded pieces of silk on the bedside table, she curtly told Minerva to undress. Muriel did so herself, keeping her underwear on, as always when she was dominating. She found that being partly clothed with someone who was fully naked helped significantly in creating the right power balance. She had also found out, to her surprise at the time, that wearing tight corsets did wonderful things for her own libido – as long as she had a very light dinner first. And as she grew older, a corset did rather wonderful things for her cleavage and waistline, as well. It wasn't just the tight hug of the satin, the light pressure of the whalebones – it was knowing she looked her damn best that gave her a thrill.

She secretly hoped that Minerva would further develop her already excellent taste in lingerie as well.

When Minerva noted the midnight-blue corset her eyes widened in surprise. "Merlin!" she whispered. Muriel, who had known even as a young girl that her shoulders and décolleté were among her strongest points, drew herself up just so and enjoyed the effect. Min's hands were trembling, she noted, and her breath quickened. And – that was something to be nipped in the bud at once – she had stopped undressing herself. Really completely uncertain about what to do or what to expect, she was, Muriel realised. A novel experience indeed, for someone who had 'Capability' for a middle name. And now Minerva was in such unchartered territory that she could but followed Muriel's lead. Which was not a bad place to start, of course.

"Undress completely!" she ordered. "And lie down."

Minerva gasped.

"And don't speak!" Muriel added. She was not a Legilimens, never had been. But at that moment, she could almost literally see the words forming in Minerva's head. I'm the one who'll be bound? But … you said … when you feel tied down and powerless, it's so liberating … Liberating!/i To be tied down even more? I'll … I'll …/i

So that was what had caused those flushed cheeks when Muriel made her suggestion. Minerva's interpretation had been that, when you feel tied down and powerless in real life, it would be so liberating to be totally in charge in a role play – to be the one who called the shots. Being Dom brought its own burden of responsibilities, of course, but to Min that was clearly self-evident. All she had thought of was the delightful experience of not being second in command. An experience all the more delightful since there wouldn't be any stress involved: nothing more important to decide than when exactly she would allow Muriel to come. The idea that she'd have to follow orders came as quite a shock – Muriel, who had learned to read Min's face, saw that being at someone's beck and call yet again wasn't her idea of a good time. Then this was the moment where she might refuse.

And when you look at it like that, she's right, Muriel mused. She's so clearly cut out for the top job , it's almost an insult to offer her another subservient position – for that's how she sees this now.

But then Minerva drew herself up. She had said 'yes', to what was clearly an important request for her, Muriel, and she'd have to give it a try, at least. With pursed lips, with the curt, deft movements that had always warned Muriel – but, strangely enough, not the other Board Members – of trouble ahead, Minerva undressed completely, folded her underclothes with military precision, and stretched out on the bed as a stone effigy on a tomb.

It took all of Muriel's willpower not to smile.

"Lift your head," she ordered, taking the thickest of the five rolls – the one with the quilted eye pads. Now, there was proof that looks couldn't kill. Almost a pity to cover that fierce Gryffindor Glare. But Minerva would find it much easier to reach complete abandonment when she couldn't see Muriel, and this was about giving Min pleasure. There would be a time and a place for other varieties.

When she had tied the eye pad to her satisfaction, Muriel ordered Minerva to stretch out her arms. Two more pieces of silk secured them firmly against the bedposts. Muriel, who was now at liberty to smile as much as she wanted, took a moment to observe Minerva's still body. Every inch of it expressed the unspoken wish to be done with it quickly – so that Min could say that, after all, it wasn't her thing. Without feeling that she'd gone back on her word.

"Lie still."

Muriel waited, intentionally, full of gleeful anticipation, for the change in Minerva's breath. Amazing self-control, Min had … but there it was! A slight quickening, the not-fully-breathing-in that came from tension, uncertainty, and then, arousal. Finally, Muriel moved.

One slow, tentative finger.

Tracing an erratic path from Minerva's cheek to her jaw, to her shoulder, down her inner arm and up again, stopping just as Minerva expected her to move towards her breast. Muriel could practically feel Min's eyelids flutter behind the pads. Where next? What next?

Little puffs of breath, like a cool breeze.

On Min's hips, on her belly, finally on each breast … but not nearly enough for what she wanted. And couldn't – wouldn't – ask for. You still feel in control, Muriel thought. You're enjoying it; you find it sensuous, indeed. But you still feel in control.

Slowly, she brought her mouth nearer, let Minerva feel its closeness. And … yes! Minerva did try, with a very deep breath, to breach the distance between her nipple and Muriel's mouth. Oh, no, you don't!

"Lie still, I said."

Two fingers now.

Fingers that didn't even go near a breast. Fingers that drew patterns on Min's belly, on her loins, on her outer thighs, on her calves, circling and tracing till her whole body quivered. And those tiny ripples were completely involuntary indeed. Your body's taking over. You're losing control – slowly but certainly you're losing it.

"Not a move, not a sound."

Two fingers trailing up. Knees, thighs, belly, finally breast. Minerva's deep, quivering breath. But it was breathing out, not breathing in, not trying to control. Good girl.

Fingers on Min's nipple, teasing, caressing, sometimes one finger, sometimes two. A second hand for a second breast. Minerva's head, leaning back on the pillow, the lines of neck and jaw speaking of utter abandonment. Oh, but you're enjoying yourself. You think you know now what it's all about, and you're eagerly waiting for your reward. Bring on the orgasm, Madam is ready to be served. Not so.

A pinch.

Unexpected, in both nipples.

Hard enough to hurt.

A gasp, a movement of the torso, the hips.

Muriel straightened her back, stood, and waited. Waited for Minerva to make her choice.

Uncertainty, or control.

Obedience, or control.

Lust, or control.

This is where she realises. Where she understand that she has the absolute power of the safe word. Where she knows that this time, she can choose to give up control. Freely. Willingly. Completely. Because she wants to. Because she needs the release of utter abandonment. Liberation. This is where she chooses liberation.

Or not. Muriel might have been completely wrong about Minerva, might have taken far much for granted, relied too much on her own feelings.

And if Minerva said "Hogwarts", what on earth would they say next?

Muriel realised that she had held her breath when she couldn't get enough air in. Damned corset. She gasped – several quick intakes of oxygen. So much for being Dom. Min might not be able to see, but she could certainly hear. She could, allegedly, hear the folding of an illicit note across a full classroom, leave alone Muriel's frantic gasping.

And then, at last, Minerva rested her arms against the bedposts, relaxed her body.

"Please," she whispered, and slightly, almost imperceptively, opened her legs. Do what you want, it meant. Where you want.

Complete submission.

But still, a word. And a movement.

Muriel picked up the fourth tie from the bedside table.

"Cross your ankles."

She tied them firmly together, just this side of painful. That would put an end to Minerva's ideas of a quick climax.

"If you speak, if you move, I'll leave you like that."

And then, with cruel precision, a finger on the little triangle of dark hair.

Soft pressure.

The smallest of circular movements.

Min, with a hint of a smile at first, then concentrating, focussing. Existing only not to move, not to speak, not to buck towards that finger, not to move but just feel not move not move just feel just –

Not come. No finger. Nothing. Just a body on a bed in the dark.


Yet, perfect stillness. Well done, my dear.


Slowly, Muriel untied the ankles. They stayed crossed. Now that you've chosen submission, you can't help but excel at it. She took one slender ankle and slowly moved the leg sideways. She tied it to a bed post. The other leg stayed in position. That's my girl.

Slowly, she walked around the bed, ensuring her footsteps were audible.

The other ankle.

The other bedpost.

The slow walk back, stopping halfway.

Muriel leaned heavily on the footboard, wanting for Minerva to know that she was there watching her. Admiring what she saw – yes, Min would know that, too, and it would arouse her beyond anything. And Min would expect, hope, and wait for those fingers to return. Wait confidently, knowing how much Muriel wanted her, how exited Muriel had to be.

Minerva was right, of course.

And wrong.

"You look beautiful. I've never seen your nipples that taut. Those endless legs … and then, all pink and wet …"

It was as Muriel had expected. Min visibly clamped, a silent plea for the release of Muriel's fingers. Not a word, not a sound, just that tiny movement.

Still, movement.

"You'll regret that."

Silence. Anticipation. The thrill of fear. Verging on real fear, made pleasurable by trust.

Oh, no, my girl, I'm not as predictable as that. Never was one for whips or paddles. Just voice. Power.

Muriel climbed on the bed, positioned herself against the footboard, one leg each side of Minerva's legs, her feet touching Minerva's thighs. My, but those legs were endless.

A finger up Minerva's leg, halfway up her inner thigh. Not a quiver, this time.

Another finger, on the other leg.

Muriel leaned over – with an effort she'd feel the next day, but worth it, oh, so worth it – and let both fingers join, so briefly that it was the mere suggestion of a touch.

Perfect stillness. Good. Very good. Worth a reward. My fair little teacher, would you give yourself an 'Outstanding' for that performance? Or would modesty command you to settle for 'Exceeds Expectations'? You certainly exceed mine – but 'Hogwarts' is where this stops. A safe word, not a reality. Your only reality is this body, on this bed, in this darkness. Now listen – that's all you can do.

"It's what you want, I know it. Not a word. Then you might get it – eventually."

Muriel settled herself comfortably, knees slightly drawn up, feet still firmly against Min's body.

"Feel free to wriggle," she suggested. "It's not as if you can do anything for yourself, not really, not like I can … But remember, not a sound!"

A few seconds, to let Min get it wrong, to make her think that Muriel meant: 'not like I can do for you'.

Then Muriel slowly began to touch herself, letting her breath quicken audibly, letting her legs quiver, and giving herself every freedom of noise and movement in the world. Grinning briefly at the moment when Minerva realised what was going on.

She watched Minerva strain at her bonds as she realised that, as ready as she was, as close as she came , she would not find release until Muriel allowed her. Min's back arched, her muscles tensed – but the voice moaning "yes ... yes..." was Muriel's.

Finally, after a most satisfactory orgasm – "Thank you, love, you were such a pleasure to watch" – Muriel got up. Briefly, she steadied herself against the bedpost. And now it's your turn, love.

"Last chance. You've been good. I'll allow you noise. But not a move, not a word!"

Fingers tracing patterns, finding a nipple, two nipples; teasing, pinching.

Breathing that quickened, turned ragged, turned into a low, needy keening.

One hand sliding down, fingers that touched, caressed, probed.

A thumb that replaced the fingers.

Keening changing into small cries.

A thumb rubbing in small circles, and finally two fingers sliding in – sliding in so easily – pumping, scissoring.

And then Minerva's hands grasping the bonds, her body arching, her mouth one great cry, louder than Muriel had ever heard, and her muscles clamping down as she came. Long, hard, endless.

A cry that quieted to ragged breaths, half sob and half exhilarated laughter.

One day, Muriel thought, as she watched Min in the deep sleep of the utterly exhausted, one day, sometime soon, perhaps, I'll want it from you. I'll want you to set me free. You'll do it – because you'll feel you can't refuse, not after what I gave you. You'll gather that Gryffindor courage yet again, and you'll do it. And that, my darling girl, is when you'll learn what taking someone, well and truly taking someone means. And what it feels like.

Someday soon.

There's a time and a place for everything.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. Next week, a T-rated tale featuring Minerva, Pomona and Griselda in a story about the Imperius-curse Minerva casts in DH.