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Draco is kneeling on the plush carpet of their shared bedroom. Fully nude as commanded, with his back to the doorway and his eyes cast downwards. His mind is filled to bursting with the sound of the ticking clock, the press of carpet fibres into the flesh of his knees, and the cool air slowly rifling through the almost invisible hairs on his arms and legs.
His muscles ache from holding the position for such a long time; this is his arduous punishment for staying out after curfew and returning home blackout drunk last weekend after a few too many rounds with the guys. He’s impatient– it’s something Hermione has long been working to break him of. He is able to follow instructions however, and Hermione has been very clear in those. He will not disappoint his wife, he will not fail her in this.
The door opens and Draco is pulled out of the trance-like state he has settled into. His ears are on high alert for any clues as to her mood. He can always tell so much by the speed and weight of her steps, he can feel the vibrations– muted but still noticeable through the floor he is intimately acquainted with.
“Good evening, my pet. You look perfectly edible tonight.” Her voice is low, and soothes his frayed nerves like velvet. He perks up at the praise, but keeps his mouth tightly closed. She hasn’t asked him a direct question, so he must remain silent.
His mind is empty now of anything but her . He waits for her to speak again, wishing she would step closer so that he might catch a hint of her perfume and hoping fervently that she will be pleased with his efforts.
“Did you follow all of my instructions, pet?” Her hand ghosts over his shoulder and he wishes desperately that he could lean into it, but good boys do as they’re told– so he focuses instead on keeping his body still and answering the question he’s been asked.
“Yes, Mommy.” He’s so happy to answer her in the affirmative. So proud of himself for obeying, and doing exactly as he has been told. A soft smile blooms across his face as she runs her fingers up and into his still damp hair. The touch brings him more fully into a warm and fuzzy feeling he has grown to crave.
“What a good boy you are. So eager to please me, after breaking the rules. Sometimes I wonder if you break them on purpose, looking for an excuse to test my creativity.” Hermione has moved to stand in front of his knees and the temptation to look up is strong, but he keeps his gaze averted awaiting her command.
“You look so beautiful in this position, your body was made to kneel at my feet. I would love to stand here and watch you hold this pose, but I was already detained at work for far longer than I intended…” Her voice trails off, as if she is thinking. “No matter, I’ve still got all the time I need to teach you your lesson. I want you to start with my shoes, and strip me slowly. Take your time, but use your hands only. Do not press your lips or tongue to me.” That sharp edge creeps into her voice.
That tone always causes his insides to clench and quiver. It’s a voice to listen to, and to obey without fault. It slithers down his spine and curls low between his legs, causing blood to rush into his cock.
With all of the reverence he can muster, Draco lifts his hands from where they have been laying folded across his lap. The movement signals his mistress and she lifts a heeled foot onto his thigh. She presses the stiletto into the muscle, just enough to dig into the skin, drawing a loud exhale from Draco. The biting sting is a welcome sensation and he revels in it. He swallows, trying desperately to bring some moisture into his suddenly dry mouth.
She’s wearing his favourite shoes; black patent leather, five inch stiletto heel, a thin strap fastened at her dainty ankle. He remembers almost too late that she specified he needs to move slowly, and he pushes the strap up through the metal buckle with a whisper of sound. It’s agonising, being so close to what he desires and not being able to do as he pleases.
His mind snaps back to the task at hand just as Hermione pushes her heel further into his leg. He clamps his mouth down on the purr that threatens to escape at the increased pressure. Wanting to offer an apology for his distraction, but knowing that he still hasn’t been given permission to speak freely. He removes her shoe and sets it on the floor beside him. She sets her stockinged foot back onto the carpet, and lifts the other foot to his unmarked thigh, repeating the process.
This time Draco manages to remove her shoe slowly, without stalling, and is rewarded with her fingernails dragging through his hair once more. The sensation is grounding, an anchor holding him steady in the storm of emotions threatening to overtake him, and he craves more of her touches. Next he must remove her stockings. His hands trace up her strong, but slender calf– up to her thigh. They slip under her skirt; he caresses over the space where her stocking ends and her skin begins.
The heat of her core assaults the hand on her inner thigh, and he practises excellent self-control. His fingers curl into the stocking, and roll it down in increments. His fingers follow the same path on her other leg, and he’s panting with desire just at the feel of her silky skin along the tips of his fingers.
“There’s my good boy. Let me see that pretty face.” Her grip on his chin is tight, but not bruising, as she lifts it quickly until his neck is bent at an almost painful angle. Draco rolls his eyes up, seeking Hermione’s face, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks at the scrutiny.
“Mmm… How are you doing, pet?” Hermione is assessing him with her knowing eyes, but she wants him to confirm where he is at.
“Green, Mommy.” He rushes to answer.
“Finish undressing me, you may use your mouth to praise me. With words only.” The last sentence is a warning, and one that he will heed well. He’s not going to risk further punishment by sneaking a taste of the woman standing in front of him, no matter how delicious it would be.
“Thank you. You are so good to me, take such good care of me.” He begins babbling almost immediately, so glad to have use of his voice, being silent is harder on him than holding this position. Mommy knows that, and is being so kind to him despite his transgression.
His hands slide back up her legs, and as he nears the hem of her skirt he lifts his body more fully onto his knees so that he can reach. She turns slowly to present the zipper and button to him. He continues to worship her as he moves. Fingers moving slowly, despite the stream of words flowing from his mouth. Once her skirt is pooled on the floor around her feet, she turns to face him once again.
Her finger lands on his lips in a shushing motion, and he falls silent immediately. His eyes lift to find her face more easily from this stance. “I want you to stand now. Without the use of your hands.” She looks at him with one eyebrow raised.
When she had first begun training him, he hadn’t been able to stand without using his hands. Once he had mastered it, he’d had other setbacks. Long periods of time spent kneeling causes the limbs to fall asleep. He’d had more than one instance where he stood only to fall flat on his face, but his mistress is a patient woman. She has always believed in him, and encouraged him gently. It’s taken time, but now he knows how to flex the muscles, to keep blood circulating. He also knows that if he spends some time in this position where his hips are extended it allows blood to flow into his thighs before he moves into a fully standing position.
Draco flexes his feet, ensuring that there are no pins and needles below his knees. He lifts his right leg and plants his foot on the ground. From there he is able to put weight on that leg and stand in front of Hermione. She watches him, and speaks with pride evident in her voice. “You’re such a good listener, so talented, and a master of your own body.”
He preens at the words. He loves to hear praise from his mistress, it makes him feel all warm and soft on the inside. Once he is standing, his hands reach out tentatively to the hem of the cashmere top Hermione is wearing. She gives him an encouraging smile, and raises her arms up to allow him to remove it. He carefully gathers her clothing and moves them to the dirty clothes hamper at the end of the bed. Then he moves her shoes to their spot in her closet, and returns to stand in front of his captivating wife.
“You do such a good job remembering to put things back where they belong.” Is the only acknowledgement she gives him for his effort.
She is breathtakingly beautiful, every time he sees her he is blown away by the fact that he is the one who gets to share a home and a bed with her. His wife, his lover, his mistress, his mommy… she is his whole world. Draco has devoted himself to the woman he loves, and in turn she gives him everything he needs and more. The urge to touch her and taste her is thrumming through him more and more as each moment passes.
As if sensing his desire, she speaks. “Don’t get any ideas about doing anything without permission, you’ve done very well so far, but tonight is about reminding you of the rules. Do you understand?”
“Yes Mommy, I understand.” His voice is soft, and sullen. Like a child after being told he can’t have the toy he’s asked for at the store. He feels petulant, but attempts to keep his face a smooth mask.
“Finish undressing me, and then go lie on the bed face up.” She cocks her head slightly to the side as she says it, considering something, but not elaborating any further.
Draco’s hands shake as he reaches for the clasp resting between her breasts. The bra is red lace, the kind where the cups only stretch over half of the skin there, barely containing her nipples. As the clasp pops open at his touch, her tits sway and bounce free of the flimsy fabric. Draco’s eyes hungrily follow the movement, chasing the sight of her puckered nipples as they move.
His breath is ragged and uneven; he is not used to such a slow build up to the main event, and his body aches despite not being touched. Hermione’s eyes lift to capture his gaze, standing he is now taller– but no more in charge of the situation. “Knickers, if you please.” Her smirk is impressive, and he thinks for the first time, that perhaps it is more at home on her face than on his own.
His hands come to rest on her hips, the meat of her torso, a tempting treat he wishes he could sink his teeth into. His fingers itch to trace lines across her midriff, nails dragging into the soft flesh beneath them. Instead he follows his orders, hooking his fingers into the matching lace panties and tugging them down in a tantalising display of willpower. He bends at the waist, and pushes them over her hips and thighs until they fall to the floor.
He stands tall again, satisfied that he has successfully de-robed his mistress. Thankful that he has managed to keep his hands to himself, and complete his first task. His mind is finally starting to ask questions of where the night is headed, but now he must lie down on the bed. He moves to comply, and finds himself spread eagle flat on his back in the middle of the bed.
“What a treat you’re in for tonight. In fact it starts with this delicious candy, I got it just for you.” Hermione goes to her nightstand, and removes a foil wrapped chocolate. He watches warily as she opens the truffle and presents it to him. She holds it close to his face and he opens his mouth eagerly.
Hermione has given him “special” candies before during a session. The effects have varied from mild all the way to wild, and he’s always surprised by her inventive use of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes products. He’s savouring the rich caramel flavour, and watching Hermione’s nude form as she moves around the bed. She’s securing his wrists and ankles with thick padded straps, and then attaching them to the hidden hooks on the four bedposts.
His mind goes fuzzy with the addition of the bonds, Hermione doesn’t use them often, but Draco loves when she chooses to. The feeling of being immobile and helpless is heady. His breathing picks up and he feels a tingly sensation in his groin. Before he has time to become alarmed, or crane his neck to see what is going on down there, Hermione is climbing up onto the bed beside him. She begins stroking her hand over his arms, down his chest, speaking in soothing tones.
“It’s okay, love. Nothing to worry about. You’re such a good boy, but you made a bad decision last weekend didn’t you? You drank entirely too much alcohol, and then you missed curfew. Didn’t you, my sweet little boy?” Her voice lifts and falls in a melodious way, sounding for all the world like a teacher talking to a small child. Soft and sweet, while pointing out the error of his ways.
Draco nods in agreement, understanding that he did something he wasn’t supposed to; knowing that the rules are in place to keep him safe, knowing that he can’t participate in scenes with alcohol in his system. Mommy just wants to keep him safe, he knows that.
“Yes, mommy. I made bad decisions last weekend.” His voice is faraway, like it belongs to someone else, and he recognizes vaguely that he’s in a good headspace; he’s floating under the care of the woman he loves and trusts implicitly.
“I’m going to gather a few things, and I want you to lay still with your eyes closed. No peeking.” Her tone is back to firm, brokering no arguments, and Draco relaxes against the mattress. His body sagging with relief that he isn’t in charge, and doesn’t have to make any decisions.
Distantly he hears Hermione opening the drawer to her night stand, hears her removing items and can feel the very slight dip of the mattress as she places them on the edge of the bed out of his reach. His curiosity is piqued, but not enough to tempt him to open his eyes. Whatever she has planned, he will know soon enough and he doesn’t want to ruin her carefully made plans.
After a few moments he feels the bed sink under the weight of his wife. Feels the slight movement of the bed as she crawls across it to where his hips are. “Open your eyes.”
He does, and he’s greeted by the sight of Hermione fully nude on her knees at his waist. She’s looking intently at his groin, and she’s… she’s laughing ? Confusion floods Draco, as he watches Hermione’s shoulders shake with silent mirth.
“What is it?” He asks, a note of panic rising with each word.
“Oh my poor, little, baby Draco…” She shakes her head slowly from side to side. Pity and derision in her tone. Her hand is curled, with her index finger extended towards his waist, and he feels his stomach drop.
What did the chocolate do to me?
His mind races to all of the possible scenarios, trying to remember all of the carefully negotiated kinks, and agreements they had discussed so many moons ago. His mind is blank, but his attention is drawn back to Hermione when she speaks again.
“Oh, that couldn’t please anyone . That tiny little dick is basically useless.” Her laughter continues between her words, and Draco feels his face flaming with embarrassment.
Oh, no .
He slowly lifts his head off the bed, and looks down his body to where his normally above-average size cock usually rests. Shock and dismay war for dominance as he takes in the shrivelled nub that currently resides on his pelvic bone.
“Let me just see how it feels if I rub myself against it.” Hermione’s tone is mocking, but she’s straddling him, and he feels the heat and wetness of her pussy as she rocks her hips up and down over him. His dick may be tiny, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to have her pressed against him. He can feel each movement and blood is rushing between his legs in an attempt to swell his miniature member.
“ Mmm, ” Draco moans at the sensation.
Embarrassment at his reaction and at his current state almost preventing him from allowing it to escape his mouth.
“Oh, does that feel good for you? I can hardly feel anything at all, I would feel more stimulation riding a horse than trying to ride this useless shrivelled dick.” Hermione continues thrusting her hips back and forth, sliding her wet cunt over him again and again. “I could grind on you all night and not have an orgasm. You pathetic little boy, can’t even please me…” Each word only causes him to feel more and more excited. He’s never been called pathetic, he’s never had Hermione degrade him like this, and something about it causes electricity to shoot through him, building pressure low in his stomach.
“Oh mommy, it feels good to me. You feel so good to me. So hot and wet.” He’s panting and canting his hips up in an attempt to create more friction.
“I’m surprised you can even feel me, I can barely feel you. You’re just so small, so tiny, so pitiful. Hardly even a man at all.” Hermione’s taunts continue without pause, she’s really giving it to him good, making him feel small and worthless with her words. But his body is on fire, everything still feels just as good as when he’s unaffected by magical chocolates. He can almost imagine that he’s inside of her, even though he’s only sliding between her folds. The lubrication of her slick feeling warm and welcome with each thrust between them. Draco’s close. So close. Too close.
“Mommy, gotta stop. It feels too good, you feel too good.” Draco’s voice is urgent, and he is desperate to control his hips, wishing she would stop her movements as well, before he comes without permission.
“No, I don’t think I will. I think I’m going to make you come, just like this, and prove how useless this tiny little cock is. You’re going to come without even bringing me close to orgasm.” Her hips never falter, rocking steadily over him, back and forth, not making any noises of encouragement or pleasure, only derisive words meant to make him feel bad.
It’s working though, because try as he might, he can’t stop the tsunami of pleasure that overwhelms him, and crashes over him. “ Fuuuuuck .” The word is ripped out of him, moaned loudly and lasts a long moment. He feels himself tense and pulse between Hermione’s folds, spunk spilling from him only to disappear into the very entrance of her vagina.
“Does Mommy feel good, baby? Did it feel so good to try your hardest to fill mommy up?” She’s leaning down to his face, looking into his eyes, waiting for him to calm down enough to answer her.
“Yes Mommy, yes. It felt so good. So hot and wet, and good for me.” He’s a blubbering mess, emotions swamping him as he realises how quickly he came, and how he couldn’t even get Hermione off before doing so.
“Now I’m going to sit on your face, and your mouth is going to do what your little cock couldn’t. You’re going to suck me clean, and then fuck me with your tongue. That tongue of yours is longer than this limp dick.” She continues her rant, and Draco is already moaning and moving his body against his restraints, eager to please her.
“Yes Mommy, please. I’ll do such a good job, I’ll lick and suck all of my mess up, and then I’ll fuck you, until you come. Thank you for letting me taste you. Thank you.” Draco isn’t sure what he says, his mouth is only there to serve his mistress; and he wants to wrap his lips around her, and doesn’t want to release her until she is moaning and writhing against him.
Hermione smiles down at him and then she climbs his prone body. Her knees come to a rest beside his ears and before he can say another word, she is sliding her cunt down onto his mouth and chin like it’s a chair. His wrists and ankles are chained, and he is being pleasantly suffocated by her thighs and pussy.
Draco begins slurping the sweet and salty cream dripping from between her lips; she tastes like heaven. Her natural sweetness coats his tongue and he swallows greedily, the bitter tang of his own spunk following behind rapidly. He can only move his head and tongue in the effort to bring her pleasure and he is committed to doing whatever it takes to wring an orgasm from her.
His tongue parts her lips, and he presses his nose into her clit, nodding his head slowly up and down, to apply pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves there. His tongue halfway extended into the soft, spongy heat of her opening. He curls his tongue like a straw in an attempt to fulfil his promise to suck her clean. He uses his jaw and is able to work all of the delicious juice down into his mouth and swallows convulsively with each mouthful.
Hermione begins gently rocking her hips, aiding his motions with his nose, guiding him with her hands wrapped in his hair and her thighs pressed tightly to his ears.
“Mmmmm, oh yeah baby.” She moans her encouragement and begins fucking his face in earnest. With every forward slide, his ability to breathe is gone, but he gets a brief reprieve on each backward stroke. He begins timing his breaths, and turning his head from side to side more quickly.
His nose is applying constant pressure to her clit, and his tongue is wide and flat as it swipes into her in a thrusting motion. He feels light headed with the thrill of the evening, or possibly lack of oxygen, but he knows that if he dies between Hermione’s legs, he will die a fully satisfied man. Hermione is grunting and groaning with each movement now, and her legs have begun that tell-tale shake that happens just before she unleashes an exceptionally powerful orgasm.
“Fuck yeah, that tongue and nose are doing more for me than that little dick of yours ever could, I’m gonna come I’m coming !” Hermione talks all the way up until her legs clamp down around Draco’s head, and then she’s clenching and his mouth is flooded with her pleasure, and his only option is to swallow as fast as he can, or he’s going to drown in her. Just before he thinks he might actually pass out, she loosens her grip, and slides backwards onto his chest. The movement frees his face, and he gulps in oxygen harshly, his throat and lungs burning with the effort.
Hermione reaches beside them and with a flick of her wand, Draco is released from the bindings. She wraps herself around him, carding her fingers through his hair gently, one arm around his waist. She is murmuring into the hollow between his shoulder and jaw. “Such a good boy, you’re such a good listener.” She holds him, and reminds him of all of his good attributes, bringing him back to Earth softly and slowly. Her hands moving in gentle sweeps and swirls over his chest and through his hair. Her mouth sucks kisses into the sweat of his neck, each one a reminder of how loved he is.
Draco lays there, wrapped in the arms of the woman he loves, head floating in the clouds, and he thinks to himself: I’m such a lucky bastard.
The fact that he’d broken the rules on purpose, had been craving being pushed past his normal limits, was no one’s business but his own. One last thought flickers through his brain before he falls asleep on a wave of endorphins and serotonin.
“How long till everything’s back to normal down there?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The cheeky witch chuckles into his skin, and he finds he can’t be arsed to worry too much. His wife would never forgo the pleasure she takes from riding his cock for too long…