Despoiling Harry
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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
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any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as
authorized materials of these owners.
For Your Own Good
by Amanuensis
Summary:
Harry punishes Draco. After all, he needs it.
Pairing:
Harry/Draco
Categories:
PWP.
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.
.....
Draco
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."
"What?"
"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!"
Crack. "No."
"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?"
"Wh--no!"
"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."
"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."
-fin
Despoiling Harry
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