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"Please, don't stop!"
"I decide when we stop."
Draco didn't tell Harry he thought he was a fucking pussy, but his eyes must have shown it. He was so disappointed, so unsatisfied, that he went right out of his mental space of devotion into anger. He'd waited weeks for this session. For this?
Harry was going soft on him. And Draco had no need of a soft Harry.
"For the love of..." sighed Harry. He made a jerky gesture with his hand, and patterns appeared in the air, like on the projectors at St Mungo's. "Your heart rate, blood pressure and brain oxygenation are not where they should be."
"Are you taking my fucking vitals?"
"No, of course, I just hit you randomly and keep my fingers crossed that you don't die!"
Draco struggled in his bonds and uttered his safe word in rage so that he could scramble for his clothes. "You're insufferable!"
"And you are in no condition to get dressed and walk out. Sit back down," ordered Harry as he removed the black glove he'd used to fist him.
"Go fuck yourself."
Harry grabbed his shoulders and sat him down on the bed forcibly, shoving him. "Sit. Down. You're naked, bruised, bloody, disorientated, and you're mine for at least a few more minutes."
Draco, angry as he was, was unable to look away from his gaze, somehow green and black at the same time, irascible and burning. "I need to come. And I need you to hit me to come."
"I decide what you need."
Draco wasn't that far from hitting him.
"I don't intend to edge you. I've been trying to make you come for a while, if you haven't noticed. Violence is obviously not the right approach for you at the moment."
"What do you suggest? Holding my hand and wanking me off with rose petals?"
Harry straddled his thighs and physically pushed him down, lying on top of him and trapping Draco between his body and the mattress. His breathing, slow and heavy against Draco's face, calmed his fury a little, that and his weight, which he let rest unrestrained on Draco, particularly on his ribcage. He had no choice: he no longer had the freedom to breathe as he wished, and had to decide what to put his energy into. "You're cocky today." Harry's hand came to cup his face, his thumb grazed his cheek, and that made Draco's heart rate rise a little more as he expected a slap.
"Did you use your safe word to undo the bondage in a hurry, or because you want the scene to end?"
A little more composed, and reluctant to let his dom's heavy, naked body get away from him, Draco replied slowly, even though he felt like a scolded child: "To undo the bondage in a hurry." His cock continued to twitch against Harry's thigh, warmed by his body heat pressed against him.
"Good. Who am I?"
Draco gritted his teeth, but reluctantly recognised, like a muscle memory: "My master. My dom."
"I want a full sentence."
"You are my dom and master."
"Who are you?"
"I'm only your slave."
"Do you mean it when you say I own you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Good boy." Harry surprised him by kissing his forehead. "You turn me on. I enjoyed having my whole hand up your tight little ass. Did you like that?"
"I - it wasn't enough."
"Mmh. What should I have done? Use two hands? Put a monster toy in you? Tear you apart?"
"Yes."
"No. You were overstimulated and pushed to your limits. Blocked. You wouldn't have come even if I'd gone over the top. What are you thinking?"
"You're too... You're too gentle with me."
Harry smiled. "Am I? I'll tell you what we're going to do this month, slave, and you'll tell me if you still don't feel like I own you rigidly enough. I'm going to text you throughout the day. I'll tell you what to eat, what to do, what to think. Except when it comes to answering my questions, you'll have two dialogue options: ‘yes, Master, it's done’, or ask me for permission to do something. If you want to get up, you ask my permission. If you want to scratch your itchy arm, you ask my permission. If you want to go to the toilet, you ask my permission."
Draco just blinked, aroused - Harry wasn't asking for his opinion anyway.
"I have a feeling you need to be put in the right frame of mind for this, though. You've been far too defiant lately."
Harry stood up - Draco no longer felt on edge, though he was still horny and, indeed, bruised.
"You're sleeping in my room tonight," said Harry.
To be honest, Draco felt disappointed. Why should he? He hadn't done anything to deserve it. Their relationship just wasn't working any more. He wasn't getting the rush from Harry that he needed.
But Draco hurried after him on all fours. He walked fast.
Harry opened his room and, as naturally as he would have lifted the blanket as an invitation to get into bed, he opened the door to a very small metal cage, with thick, rather widely spaced bars, wider than it was high. The floor was lined with Harry's clothes, rolled into a ball, which Draco recognised as his old renovation and sports clothes after spotting a grey jogging suit he hadn't seen on him for a long time - hoodies, tracksuits, socks, torn and soiled with paint, dirt or sweat.
Draco had a second to decide whether to enter on all fours or by sliding onto his back. In either case, the cage wasn't big enough for him to fit in other than rolling on himself, knees pressed to his chest.
He chose to crawl in on his back, imagining, with his heart pounding and barely suppressing a smile, that he was expected to sleep there all night.
Harry closed the cage and Draco heard the sound of a heavy padlock being locked.
Harry went without explanation to his bathroom, making himself comfortable for the night. Draco touched his surroundings, checking to see what part of his body could stick out: his hands and wrists, to grip the bars or wrap around them, the tips of his feet, nothing else. His legs pressed against his chest forced him not to panic and breathe too hard, at the risk of feeling as if his ribcage was constricted.
Draco waited for a lesson, an explanation, a demand for reassurance, but nothing came. Harry opened the window to let in a draught, pleasant in the room if you slept under the thick duvet of his king-size bed, and lay down.
There was a flicker of light and the sound of pages being turned, then nothing but the light of street lamps and the sound of distant cars.
Draco's cock continued to be hard for a long time, before boredom and discomfort overtook excitement. He wanted to whine, alone at the foot of the bed, unable even to watch Harry. His back ached, and he could feel acutely the bruises and flesh that pressed against the bars or the floor. And he was cold. He had to wriggle to pull Harry's jumper out from under him to cover himself, inhaling his sweaty scent as he did so. Without the cover, however, his shoulder blades were in direct contact with the cold, hard metal floor.
Rummaging through the fabrics, he found several old boxer shorts that had long been in a state fit for the dustbin, but which were Harry's, smelled of Harry, and for no reason, hungry for their comfort, Draco brought them against his face, rubbing them against his cheeks. They smelt like Harry after a run, like his cock when it was leaking. He managed to fall asleep with them against his nose.
He woke up from the cold, or from discomfort, or from having to pee, or from some form of panic, or from cramps, but it was still dark and dark and dark, and Harry was snoring peacefully in his big, warm, comfortable bed, so Draco went back to sleep again and again.
He woke up well before Harry in the early hours of the morning, and could not fall asleep again, weary and in pain. He barely restrained himself from whimpering for fear of disturbing Harry.
When his master awoke, he yawned, stretched, rolled over in bed and went straight to the adjoining bathroom. The sound of his piss splashing into the bowl made Draco's stomach hurt even more, but he resisted.
Harry went downstairs and returned much later, smelling of a hearty savoury breakfast, his remaining coffee in his hand. Draco suddenly had the distinct impression of being a naughty pup knowingly ignored by his master because he got too excited when someone came to see him right away.
"Have you calmed down since last night?" Harry asked out of the blue.
"Yes, sir!" Draco rushed out. He was a little bit angry at him for ignoring him for so long, but he had to admit it - he felt calm. His head was clear despite his aching body. And the weak anger that had run through him during the night was replaced by relief and gratitude that Harry had finally spoken to him.
"Fine. You haven't pissed? Don't you want to?"
Harry passed a water bottle through the bars and put it to his mouth, encouraging him to drink. Draco obeyed for as long as his thirst demanded, but stopped when he feared his bladder would get the better of him. Harry didn't insist that he finish the bottle. "I... yes, I do, Master."
"Go on, then."
"In... I..."
Harry waited a moment, but Draco continued to refuse, silently. No. Not that. "You need to piss. You haven't done it since last night," remarked Harry calmly, without complaining about his disobedience. He sat carelessly on the cage, as if Draco were a piece of furniture.
No. He was already sweating, and trapped, Harry's dirty underwear pressed against his face. He wasn't going to piss himself on top of it.
"I won't let you get an infection from disobeying me, baby."
Draco tried, briefly, but nothing came out of his cock, despite how hard his legs pressed against his stomach. The mental block was too strong.
"Very well."
Harry knelt in front of the cage, leaning one hand on one of the bars, and brought a handful of lube against Draco's exposed hole.
Then, without warning or preparation, he shoved his fat cock, dripping with lube, up Draco's ass.
Draco screamed in agony.
He hiccuped with Harry's relentless thrusts, Harry who didn't speak, didn't comment, grunting his pleasure as he would have using a fleshlight. He didn't even have the comfort of feeling Harry's skin, his warmth, his body, jammed on the other side of the cage. There was only his cock, everywhere, cruel, tearing him in half.
Draco gasped in horror as he realised that surprise and pain had caused him to leak. At first he thought, inexplicably, that the wetness on his chest was blood - because he associated pain with blood - before realising that his bladder was inexorably emptying, without his permission, under the onslaught of Harry's domination.
"Harry! Harry, I'm..."
"Pissing yourself?" he replied without any surprise or concern.
He sped up his thrusts, and Draco's whole brain was devoted again to tearing, to possession, as if a baseball bat was being rammed up his arse all the way to his belly.
Harry slowed as he neared orgasm, and Draco thought, with distance, that a bigger width had had much less effect on him the night before.
Harry came in his ass, pulled out. Semen dripped down his buttocks. Draco became aware of the piss that had trickled down to his shoulders and neck, torn between the desire to cry and that which made his cock twitch. He had rarely felt so used. Worse than an object, worse than an animal, worse than a prisoner.
While Harry was no longer inside him, he continued to whimper and cry out weakly, flustered, overstimulated, humiliated, horny as hell.
Harry left him alone for a while. Maybe. Draco had no idea where he was. He had closed his eyes, and his ears were ringing.
When his piss had dried on his naked body, he felt the cage expand. At first he thought he'd hallucinated, but his legs parted from his torso enough for Harry to slide a hand over his cock. He pulled his foreskin back and jerked him off, firmly, silently. A steady rhythm, not a maddeningly frustrating one. Draco wept with relief in his surrender.
He came so hard.
Harry opened the lock on the cage and helped him, without saying a word, to get out. Draco could still move and his joints weren't killing him, so he supposed a little magic was helping. Harry grabbed him by the arm, fastened his dog collar around his neck and pulled the leash impatiently. Draco crawled as fast as he could through the large bedroom, to the bathroom... to the bath, where Harry dragged him by his leash. He slipped on the wet enamel and caught himself.
Harry undid the collar and turned on the shower. He sprayed him. The water was icy cold. Draco jerked violently, gritting his teeth and moaning pitifully, trying to hide from the spray, but there was nowhere to hide. He was so at ease in his own head, though, that it didn't even occur to him to protest or swear at Harry. He accepted his fate, as silent as his master.
Harry washed him thoroughly and, at the very end, rinsed him with lukewarm water. He threw him a towel and Draco hastily wiped himself dry, not knowing what to expect.
If Harry had waited just a little longer, his cock would have gone rock hard, he knew that. But Harry didn't wait: he slipped a ring under his balls, fastened his little plastic cockcage, and the tiny but indestructible padlock.
Without letting Draco get dressed, he dragged him over to his bed, still pitifully wrapped in his towel.
And there, he warmed him with his body, holding him close. Draco shivered in bed, shocked by the temperature, the gentleness, Harry's tenderness, his earth-shaking orgasm, his own calm, deep, silent submission.
The weeks that followed were... interesting. Disciplined. Dripping with sweet subservience.
Draco underestimated Harry's investment in the long scene. He received hundreds of messages from him each day, and night and day, Harry took no more than twenty seconds to reply to his own. Even away from him, Draco had rarely felt so... cared for. Surrounded.
He'd never realised how devoted he was, and how much Harry had hold of him, until he'd mindlessly consented to skip a meal, to put on a corset under his work shirt or to wake up at four in the morning to go for a fucking run just because it pleased Harry. He'd do anything. He would do anything if he was the one to ask. Harry was in his head, everywhere. He was going to liquefy the next time they saw each other.
On a day when Draco had been on his feet all day, attending one court hearing after another, Harry refused to allow him to sit down when he asked for permission. His new shoes hurt, his legs ached. He stared at his sofa, feeling naughty. How would Harry know, anyway? He texted Yes sir and sat down.
His mobile vibrated. Go and get a wooden spoon from your kitchen.
Draco replied Yes sir, sighed and stood up, wincing when the tight leather of his shoes immediately returned to his mind, even worse now that he'd had a rest. He picked up the requested object.
Get naked but keep your shoes on. Put your treadmill on.
Draco opened his mouth in outrage, but complied.
Put it on at the fastest speed you can keep up with by walking.
Draco groaned pitifully. It hurt, he was ridiculous, his caged cock was bouncing against his balls, and he had a bloody spoon in his hand.
Hit your ass with the spoon as you walk. Hard.
Draco stared at the screen of his phone a little too long for Harry's liking.
Have you lost the ability to read?
Draco bit his lip and frowned. It was a punishment. Suspicious, he replied No, sir. How did you know?
It's my job to know. It's your job to do what you're told. Don't worry your pretty little head.
Draco replied a submissive Yes, sir, and did as he was told.
Were there any cameras? Spells? Where? How long had they been there? How had Harry put them on? What else had he seen?
Was he using top secret Auror techniques?
Had other people ever seen these images? Compromising images? He imagined Harry playfully showing a best-of compilation - like the Muggle comedy videos on the telly - to his friends. Draco in the shower, Draco naked, Draco putting on his pink underwear full of bows and underwires that Harry sent him and chose for him every morning, Draco blowing a dildo and crying 'Harry, Harry, Harry' as he fucked himself on it. Merlin.
Does that hurt enough?
I can do it a bit longer, sir.
That means you're not hitting hard enough.
Draco bit his lip, and hit harder.
He didn't think Harry was too soft after that month.