Snape sighed, as he arranged an assortment of potion vials on the table, his irritability on casual display as he waited for Arthur Weasley again. The only thing that improved his sour mood was the muted struggling noises from the prisoner. The combination of his carefully calibrated potions and aphrodisiacs continued to saturate the mudblood’s system. He didn’t need the control galleon to tell she was overwrought by her need for a climax, but he felt no sympathy or inclination to allow the annoying chit some relief. He knew that Narcissa had allowed the mudblood an orgasm during their last session, but as his orders where to prepare the prisoner for Voldermort, he would leave her stew in her suffering, it more than satisfied his sadist tendencies.