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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.
For Your Own Good
Summary: Harry punishes Draco. After all, he needs it.
Kinks/Warnings: D/S, Spanking, Figging.
Notes: For the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest request made by frau_r -- "Alpha!Harry/bottom!Draco, established relationship, true love, Harry punishes Draco by spanking him in a very humiliating way, comfort!sex in the end."
Thanks to betas cluegirl and fabularasa.
set his shoulders, tucked in his chin, and pulled. No give whatsoever,
neither ankles nor wrists. The restraints were spelled; what had he
expected? Harry never did things by halves.
He relaxed at last, breathing hard, the back of the sofa pressing into his belly, the air on his skin feeling cooler already. Even that bit of effort had had him breaking a light sweat.
"That's not going to work."
Draco would have been reassured if Harry's voice had more of a playful touch to it. But of course, he didn't stay with Harry because he wanted the playful side of him, did he?
His cock was already stiff, bumping up against the sofa back, and the coldness of Harry's words got him stiffer. "What isn't?"
"You, trying to get a flush to your skin before I even take the paddle to your pretty arse. Won't save you. Not one blow." Harry's hand grabbed a good-sized pinch of arseflesh, and pinch he did. Draco yelped. "Not one single blow. Even if I do love to see you all sweaty."
Draco mewled, lifting his arse by rising onto his heels slightly. Harry might handle his balls a bit before the punishment; Draco thought he might be able to tempt him to it.
"That's good. You're not going to have any difficulty keeping your legs spread tonight, are you?" said Harry, giving the inner flesh of Draco's thighs a healthy smack with his hand.
"Not bloody likely." Not with him bent over the sofa like this; wide-stanced, wrists bound to the front sofa legs and ankles to the back ones, and not an inch of slack in the restraints.
"Language. You'll be paying for that as well."
"You're calling me on bloody?" Draco craned his head around to stare. "Fuck, Harry--making me strip and get spanked in the bloody Gryffindor common room tonight-- and I'm still waiting for you to charm that fucking door, thank you--jumping all over me at the first "bloody"--what the fuck did I do?" Because that was the way of it, wasn't it? Harry didn't spank him except for discipline. Never mind that Draco wanted it. Never mind that Harry wanted to give it.
If they did ever run out of reasons--and started doing this just for the pleasure of it--Draco knew that Harry would tell him so beforehand. Because Harry was like that.
"You weren't even conscious of it, were you? I knew it. That's why you're getting it extra hard tonight." A finger stroked down Draco's damp spine. "I heard it. So did Ron. Weasel."
"What? Oh, for fuck's sake." Draco slumped against the sofa, found it bit into his ribs too uncomfortably for slumping. "I said it to him. Wasn't an insult. Just a nickname. And he's a bloke, Potter; we're supposed to understand that kind of name-calling. It's bonding." He shifted, trying to rotate his thighs inward. Damn, those bindings were short. "I have learned that much. I don't call Granger Mudblood anymore, do I?"
"You don't use that word at all. Because I taught you not to." Again, not a trace of playfulness in Harry's tone. Just that bare statement, to conjure those three days of punishment following which Draco had not been able to think the bleeding word without shuddering.
"And by the way, no, there isn't a charm on the door. And there isn't going to be one."
"You think I turned that sofa around so I'd have more room to swing my arm? Not bloody likely, to use your words." Harry stepped closer, so that Draco could feel the breath on his skin when Harry spoke. "I can't wait for someone to come through that door and see you like this. Bare-arsed and spread. Because I put you there and you let me. I hope they come in while I'm spanking you. I'm going to give them a fucking turn, Malfoy. And tell them you like it hard."
Harry stepped back; Draco heard him pick up the paddle from the floor. Smothering his moan against the sofa cushion, Draco tried once again to turn his thighs together, his vulnerable balls whimpering for some protection. No good. Shit. Harry couldn't mean it, about the door, could he?
The paddle whistled as Harry swung. Even the crack of it as it struck Draco's arse--neither that nor the pain of the blow could block that whistle out. Draco was yowling almost before he felt it hit. "Ow!"
Harry gave him another, no pause between them but for the time it took Harry to draw his arm back. "Fuck!"
"What did I tell you?" Crack.
"Goddammit, spell the goddamn door!"
"Ah! You fuck--" Crack. "AH!" Dammit, there wasn't any time between the blows! "--fucking bastard!"
"Your mouth just keeps costing you." Crack.
Draco yelled through clenched teeth. Harry was hideously good at this. Always got the underside of his arse with that paddle, right where it joined his thighs, where he could take the hardest punishment without hitting anything bony.
Crack. "Fuck, fuck! I didn't mean it!"
The paddle struck again. Draco hadn't expected Harry to answer. Harry never did, when Draco started to change his tone. He had to be more convincing. "I'm sorry!"
"No, you're not." Crack. "Haven't even started being sorry." Crack.
And again. And again. Oh, fuck. It was one of those nights when Harry was going for quantity. When he wanted Draco howling and pleading, uncensored. When Harry worked himself up into a good hard sweat over the spanking, beating Draco just below the point of drawing blood, getting both of them into a proper frenzy. Oh fuck fuck fuck.
"Harry! Shit, I'm sorry! Let me up, let me up! I won't call him that again, I swear I won't, oh, fuck--no, I'm sorry, I won't curse anymore, oh--please, Harry, you're killing me..." Not a sound from Harry other than his breathing. Not a moment's let-up in the paddling. "--you're right, you're right, it was wrong, I won't, won't say that, not, not anymore, I was wrong, I deserve this--" He knew it was the right tack to follow, just as he knew Harry still wouldn't have mercy on him for it. Not yet. "--I deserve it, you're right, I need to be punished, need you to punish me, need it, I'm the most, the most foul-mouthed bastard ever born, spanking's not good enough for me, do it harder, I'll be good, Harry, I'll be good--"
And he went on. And on and on, even as the paddling went on and on. Each blow drove him nearly up on his toes, made his balls cringe as the paddle buffeted air over them (always just that close, but never quite touching), and hurt like a motherfucker--he could feel the tears starting already. Which was good, because Harry would hear the tears clogging his voice. "--so sorry, I deserve this, yes, ow, ow, please, Harry, please punish me, fu--I mean, please, Harry, this hurts so much, ow, I'm sorry--"
God, he was on fire. He knew from experience that what felt like blistered was only red, and not even beet red--beet red felt like broiled. And Harry wasn't slowing. The paddle was striking him just as hard, and Harry had moved down from his arse to the backs of his thighs. Oh, he always hated this part so fucking much. So tender. So much skin to turn red. Harry wouldn't be missing an inch of it. The end of the paddle came so close to his balls as Harry punished the insides of his thighs; Draco sent thanks to all the Wizarding gods in existence that his erection had not flagged, despite the punishment, and continued its upright stance against the sofa back, beneath his belly--at least that was out of the way. He could feel its sticky seepage on the upholstery, and took the tiniest satisfaction that it was Gryffindor furniture he was soiling.
"--please, what, what if someone, c-comes in, I don't, don't want them to, paddle me, it's too much, please, Harry, it's too hard, you're doing it t-too much, oh, I'm sorry, I won't, won't do it any more, ever again, please, please lock the d-door, oh, if they, if they, please--"
He'd gone from crying to sobbing. Every other word was please now, and what wasn't please had a fair chance of being Harry. He could hear how hard Harry was breathing, was sure he could have smelled the exertion on him if he could breathe through his nose--it was already drippy with tears and snot. He didn't care. All that mattered was that Harry stop, that no one come in, that Harry not give anyone else a chance to paddle him, not after this, they'd hurt him too much, they'd be too delighted to see Draco Malfoy taking a paddling like this and want to do it harder, and it couldn't get harder, it couldn't it couldn't--
He was sure they'd reached a new stage of red--one that felt like charred--when the paddle finally clattered to the floor. Harry had dropped it, and Harry had also dropped his weight against the back of the sofa, next to Draco, gripping the sofa back and panting. Anyone seeing him would have thought he'd come. But Draco knew better. This was Harry making sure he didn't come, not yet. It was too early. He'd come in Draco's arse, or his mouth, or against his belly or in his face, but Harry wouldn't have shot it all during the spanking, no.
"You look," Harry gasped for air, "so red, you look like you're about to combust." Deep gulps. "I don't know if you've learned your lesson and I don't care. I'm not done with you."
Draco knew better than to answer that with anything but a groan.
"Going to fuck you. But not yet. Not yet." Harry pushed himself to Draco's side. There was a nasty slap onto Draco's searing buttocks--nothing so hard as the paddle, but a dozen times worse on the punished skin than it would have been had Harry merely started with the hand spanking.
"Ow! No more, no more!"
"Yes." Harry spanked him again. "Got your arse so red but my hand never even got to touch you for any of it. Not right."
Being hand spanked by Harry might not have been as vicious an ordeal as the paddling, but it was no less cruel. Harry would dig his fingers in and squeeze after a spank--never anything so nice as a good rubbing of his skin, which would have soothed and made each spank worth it. This was punishment, and Harry's lingering hand only pinched and tweaked wickedly before rising for the next hard slap.
Draco set up a new litany of howls and pleas, as Harry got down to the business of working over his already searing buttocks and thighs. This time the featured words were I'm sorry, though please still made plenty of appearances. Plus a number of vociferous ows for the new bits of skin Harry was able to punish. Harry could go in even closer on Draco's inner thighs, using his hand--no great harm done, if his balls got slapped a little. At least Draco was sure that was how Harry saw it, given that it wasn't his own balls Harry was worrying about.
At last Harry's hand stopped rising and falling over Draco's upended rear, lingering and stroking in a way that would indeed have been pleasant about a hundred slaps earlier--now all it did was make him whine at the heat of it. Harry's mouth was at Draco's ear. "My hand's hurting. Know what that means?"
Through watery sniffs and sobs, Draco gasped, "I-I'll kiss it and make it better. I promise."
Low chuckle in his ear. "Not this time. It just wants a rest from spanking you. Doesn't mean your arse is saved yet."
Harry left him. Left the sofa and went off to get something, something he'd brought into the room without showing Draco, from the sounds of things opening and shutting. Draco rubbed his wet face against the sofa miserably, and did the same with his cock, not that it helped. God, his arse was blazing.
Harry was at his side again. "What are you going to do?" The sentence was out of him, pathetic and whiny, before he could check it.
Harry's fingers were near his face. "Smell that?"
"I can't smell anything," he said with another noisy wet sniff.
"It's ginger. Peeled. Know where it's going?"
"You're such a good guesser."
Draco gave a yell as Harry took hold of his buttocks and pulled them apart, deliberately sinking his fingers into the abused flesh. "Ow ow ow ow!"
"Just you wait." Something blunt and wet nudged at his arsehole--much cooler than anything else that had touched him so far. A push, another, and it was inside him, was shoved in deeper until the ring of muscle closed down around a narrower neck set into the thing. Draco shuddered as Harry released his buttocks and stepped back, leaving the plug of ginger snug inside him.
"Now. Think your arse can take more?"
"Take more what?"
"Yes, I suppose it'll have to." Sound of something going swick through the air.
Then something hit him, hard. "Ow!" He jerked against the restraints. It had crossed his arse in an awful line, but the tip had struck like a knife on his arse. He craned his head around to look; it looked like a cane, but springier--taken from a tree, he guessed.
And Harry swung it hard enough to make him look away in panic. "Ow!" he yelled again as it struck, tip biting into the right side of his arse just under where it had hit the first time. And the length of it felt like it was going to welt his buttocks no less.
These were not coming as quickly as the paddling or the spanking had. Which was not a lot of comfort; he could tell that these blows required attention, to get them to land where you wanted them.
That was about the point when he noticed the effects of the ginger.
He'd thought it would sting. It did. But slowly; slowly getting his awareness that something uncomfortable was happening inside his bunghole, slowly starting to burn in that way that felt cool rather than hot, like ice that never warmed with your body temperature, and never numbed you, either.
The cane swacked down on him again. Even as he yelled, he felt the icy burn in his anus flare. Fuck! It was like lemon juice and menthol and pepper all at the same time, and yet it had its moments when it was worse, and when it receded. What the hell?
It took three more swacks of the cane before he realized. When the cane hit. When he clenched his buttocks each time it did. He tightened around the ginger and the burn would eagerly attack the lining of his arse. Oh, fuck.
"Don't clench," Harry said, chiding softly, just before he struck again.
Draco howled, clenched of course, and exploded, "Let me do it to you and we'll see how well you do!" He hung over the sofa back--ribs not the least concern now--panting, thinking that was definitely not the right thing to say, under the circumstances.
But he doubted anything he said would have made it worse. Another swack. The burn went through his arse inside and out, both across and through--he didn't know which was worse. Another. He hissed, tried to bite at the sofa upholstery, told himself not to clench at the next blow. Another. Oh, fuck, it was worse, not clenching one's arse; the cane seemed to cut six inches deeper. Another. Ah, fuck, no, the fire of the ginger was worse! Fuck fuck fuck, which was it?
Harry's fingers were on the ginger plug. He was taking it out--fuck, no, he was rotating it inside him, no, moving it back and forth a little, no! And then he'd stopped, left it where it was, and set his palms on the globes of Draco's welted, red-hot arse, and pushed them together around the ginger, holding them there as Draco screeched and begged and suffered the full effects of the ginger and came within a hair of calling Harry the most evil fucker on the planet and threatening to kill him. Draco really, really didn't want to go back to the beginning on this one.
Harry caned him (birched him? He didn't know what it was, he just wanted it to stop) with slow precision, making sure the tip of the cane never wrapped too far around his bum when it struck, and switching sides several times so that each of his buttocks got the full effect of the tip, not to mention his thighs. Draco was past sobbing and had gone on to blubbering, pulling at his restraints until he thought his hands and feet would go numb (pity nothing else would), begging Harry to stop, Harry would split him open, the ginger up his bum was going to burn right through, it was killing him, he'd learned his lesson, of course he couldn't keep from clenching around the thing, no one could, it burned it burned it burned it needed to come out now, please stop, please Harry please please please...
The cane hit the floor with a much softer sound than the paddle had. Harry spread Draco's buttocks again and eased the ginger plug out. It was Harry who moaned even louder than Draco at that, however. "God. You're on fire. So hot," he gasped, and Draco heard Harry's zip and the friction of his clothes, just before something gooey and blissfully, stunningly cool was slathered along his cleft, and Harry was shoving his cock inside Draco's opening, pushing in until his hips met and compressed Draco's tormented arse between him and the sofa so that he screamed. Harry was moaning, "Oh, fuck, yes, you feel so hot, so fantastic," and began driving into him, his hips slapping Draco's skin brutally with each thrust. The lubricant was so deliciously cool, the friction of Harry's cock inside him so soothing, and Harry's moans such exquisite babble, that Draco could almost overlook his punished arse. He wailed as Harry's hand came around his thigh to tug at his aching cock, and let Harry's thrusts push him into that hand, not needing any other rhythm but the one Harry set; that was how it always was, how it had to be.
Draco heard Harry choke, and felt him clutch his cock tight, tighter as he came inside Draco, and Draco was shuddering with it even before he started to come, a long trembling that left him unable to keep his weight on his feet and leaving him to the mercy of the sofa back beneath his stomach once again. Somewhere during the trembling Harry's other hand came to work his balls, and his cock strained within the hand which held it, and he was falling into orgasm, pouring it out over Harry's hands and the sofa, his arse clutching at Harry's cock still within him as if the spankings had never stopped.
They were locked together for the time it took Harry's breathing to return to normal, and then Harry slid free and down to his knees, pressing his lips to Draco's tormented buttocks, kissing them over and over, fingertips stroking the backs of his thighs ever so lightly. Draco felt the sobs rising, and they choked their way out of him, tearfully, noisily; he always cried after being allowed orgasm, after one of Harry's punishment sessions. "Ssh, it's okay, it's okay," Harry murmured, still kissing him, fumbling out his wand and murmuring a soft finite at the restraints, drawing him down to the floor and kissing his wet face everywhere. "It's okay."
Draco did not hold on to him; Harry did that, hands gentle, soothing, touching him all over, but avoiding his punished arse. Draco knew he would not heal that for him, nor would he allow Draco to do anything about it. Harry would take Draco to bed with him, keep touching him, soothing him, but making sure Draco's arse stayed hot and blazing until the next morning. Then he would decide if Draco had learned his lesson, and consider healing him. Harry didn't always decide in his favor.
Now it was Harry who was murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you deserved it. Please don't do that deliberately; I'm begging you, Draco."
He shook his head against Harry's chest. "I don't. I promise I don't."
"If you want me to find an excuse to punish you, I will. Believe me, I will. But I lose control of myself when you provoke me like that. Please." A long, shaky exhale. "Be good for me. If you're good, I'll promise I won't let you go too long without a good hard session like this, and there won't be any lesson behind it, so I can go as long as I like no matter what you do. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Because I have to make myself stop when I think you've got the idea now, I do."
The idea--that Harry could punish Draco as long as he liked, and nothing Draco could do would matter, would stop Harry before he was fucking good and ready--left Draco wordless, shuddering against Harry again in a sort of second climax, whimpering and euphoric.
At last Harry kissed his face again. "Let's get you up to bed."
Draco needed the help to get to his feet. When he was almost standing, he said, "The door...really was locked, wasn't it?"
Harry gave it a glance--an afterthought of one. "No. I left it open."
"The hell you did." Draco didn't quite dare to twist around to see how bad the damage to his arse was. Besides, he wasn't sure he wouldn't fall. "All that time, and no one came in?"
"I left a guard."
Harry had a supporting arm about Draco's shoulders. "Ron. I told him to wait there. I also told him he was free to look in at any time. And that he could let anyone else he chose look in as well."
Draco felt all blood flee his head. "You didn't. He didn't."
Harry smiled that slow smile that Draco knew he could never live without. "You, Malfoy, aren't ever going to know."
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