Harry's Pet

Thematic Round Four Prompt 5 - Cage
Summary: Harry Potter has defeated Voldemort and is awarded a slave as a thank you by the Ministry of magic. Draco however, is not so happy about it.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scolastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Warnings BDSM, language, spanking

(5,401 words approx)

Thanks Kim and TQA for betaing ~ This story has grown in the telling and there are now three parts.

Harry’s Pet II – Draco’s Folly



Draco could not move. This was far worse than being tied to the bed. Oh it was comfortable enough to lie in, his new cage, but he hated it. He felt unloved and ignored and very, very foolish. His cock was still rock hard though, despite the fact that he had been well spanked so his arse was red and radiating heat. The soft leather cuffs that he perpetually wore these days were almost a part of him, but the fact that all his limbs were secured behind him so that he was effectively hog-tied; that was a new development. He sucked hard at the cock-shaped gag that he wore and it released a small amount of liquid that trickled coolly down his throat. This time it tasted like pumpkin juice. He didn’t hate the gag itself - it felt quite nice in his mouth, comforting - but the fact that he was wearing it, meant that he was going to be alone for quite some time.

The cage was on a stand; it had been built specially for him, so Master said. He could not stretch out fully in it; instead he was restricted so much that he had to be curled up when he was inside. The bars were wide enough for a hand and arm to be inserted; which might have meant that he could reach outside when he wanted, but, as his hands were behind his back now that he was in residence, really meant that his Master could reach any part of him that he might wish to, whenever he wished. Of course, even though Draco was being punished, Master liked to stroke and caress his body and, even though he was being punished, Draco loved it when his Master touched him. Being disciplined, after all, even whilst he struggled against it, really, really turned him on. But then, who knew that Perfect Potter could come up with such clever, perverted, ingenious punishments?

He had got it really wrong in his first few weeks with Master, hadn’t he? He looked back on his naivety with chagrin; he had been such a fool. He had thought that Harry Potter, archetypal Gryffindor, would be easy to manipulate, that Draco would soon be the one in control. He had been so wrong that it had been almost laughable.

The day after Harry had collared him, he had counted it a great success that he had persuaded his new Master to let him wear clothes. At least, initially he had.

“Weasley gets embarrassed when he sees me naked, Master,” he had simpered, opening his eyes as wide as he could and batting his long silky lashes in Harry’s direction.

Harry had considered him quite carefully for a moment or two, and finally agreed that he did think that Ron might feel a little uncomfortable with Draco’s nudity. He had praised Draco for suggesting it and thanked him by kissing him so thoroughly that had almost passed out with the bliss of it.

Shortly after, Harry had produced a red silk sarong. It tied at Draco’s hips and sat low on his body; the fabric ended just above his knees and it fell open from knee to thigh whenever Draco sat down or knelt. The split ensured that Harry could have access to any part of Draco that he might wish to fondle, and the red silk fabric moving sensually against Draco’s hard member usually ensured that his cock hardened even more.

Draco moved differently when wearing it. His hips tended to sway from side to side. He didn’t usually wear it for long, since it so aroused his Master, that it was often vanished within moments of him putting it on, and Draco would find himself crushed under the weight of his solid, strong, Quidditch-playing Master, and ravished.

Red, it seemed, was Harry’s favourite colour, and the contrast of the bright shimmering fabric and Draco’s creamy white skin and silken blonde hair, was fast became one of his favourite aesthetic feasts; he often ensured that Draco’s bare torso and neck were scattered with bites to complement the sarong. Draco, who had always preferred Slytherin green, and who did still love it because it was, after all, the colour of his Master’s eyes, found that red was fast becoming his second-favourite colour.

The sarong was in no way what Draco had been expecting though, when he had suggested clothing, and he had almost baulked at wearing it. But the flash of red in Harry’s eyes when he had tied it around Draco’s hips ensured that he held his silence. The issue of clothing should have warned him, really it should. But Draco had carried on regardless, hadn’t he?

He hated kneeling beside his Master whilst they ate. It was either that though, or sit on Harry’s lap, which was even more undignified. Draco didn’t mind so much if they ate alone, as quite often then Harry would tie him to the bed and use their meal as part of a sexual game, dribbling asparagus tips soaked in butter around Draco’s mouth before feeding it to him, or avocado soaked with vinegar or oil and then licking the residue from his chin and his lips and following whatever morsel Draco had just devoured into his mouth with his tongue. Draco was never allowed to feed himself. Every single item of food that went into Draco’s mouth became part of a game. Harry would cut things up very small and then tease and torment Draco with whatever it was. He rarely used implements either, to feed his slave, instead utilizing his fingers, which Draco quickly learned to worship with his tongue.

But when Weasley was there, Draco hated that fact that he would have to kneel with his hands tied behind him, whilst the ginger one looked on.

So he pleaded, and persuaded. “Please Master, please? May I sit at the table? I promise I’ll be good, I promise that I will not forget whom I belong to.” He had peered up at his Master then, through lowered lashes and let his teeth nibble seductively at his full lower lip and Harry had agreed. Draco had rejoiced, at least until the next mealtime he had.

He had been alone most of the afternoon, and had sat in his Master’s bedroom reading a book. Harry had let him have free range of the vast library. He was allowed to read anything other than books on dark magic. Not that it mattered anyway, he had thought bitterly, as his wand had been broken by the Ministry and there was no way he was able to cast magic any longer. He didn’t have the wandless abilities that Harry had, and the only thing he could still manage was Occlumency. He continued doggedly with that, however, sending out thoughts of love and awe for his Master, whilst scheming to change things for his own benefit behind his projected wall of thought.

He had headed down for dinner at the allotted time, with his head full of thoughts of sitting opposite Harry, holding hands with him across the table, maybe reaching his leg out underneath the tablecloth and wiggling his toes in Harry’s lap. But when he had arrived, there was, as usual, just one chair and Harry was seated already, waiting for him. Draco had felt quite disgruntled, but his Master had risen and waited until Draco had walked over to him. Sometimes he insisted that Draco had to crawl in his presence, but currently he didn’t seem to be requiring that.

On the floor, by Harry’s feet, there was a very strange object. In some ways it resembled a stool, albeit one with just one leg and a funny sort of stand at the bottom. But in the centre of the seat there was a wooden object standing proud. This was about five inches long and about the width of a penis. Draco looked at it idly as he reached his Master’s side.

“Hello, Pet,” Harry had purred. Harry’s voice did something to Draco’s nether regions; it was as dark as coffee, as smooth as warm treacle and, when he spoke in this tone, he caused Draco’s cock to harden instantly. Harry had turned towards him then and grasped him gently around the hips, Draco felt himself automatically tilt his cock towards his Master, seeking release. But Harry just smiled.

“I have arranged a seat for you, Pet, just as you requested,” he said, green eyes flashing red for a second and causing Draco to shiver. His Master looked down at the object at their feet and it stood itself to attention instantly. Harry kissed him and, as he did, he gently pushed his slave’s hips down so that the well-lubricated wooden peg in the centre of the stool slid inside him. Draco’s eyes grew wide and, if his Master had not fiercely claimed his mouth again at that point, he was sure that his jaw would have dropped open with surprise.

He had never felt so full before. Harry had not yet used a plug on him, so this was the first time that Draco had anything inside him that was so hard and unyielding. He couldn’t help himself: he yelped. But Harry was still kissing him, insistently, masterfully. Draco writhed, stuffed full of an unyielding wooden object which pressed against his prostate, his mouth being claimed by his Master, his hair was threaded through Harry’s fingers, grasped tightly in his hand. His head was tilted, forced backwards and held tight, immobile; his nipple was being pinched hard. Draco had never felt so owned, so dominated, as he did just then, and he lost control of himself, and came, hard, all over the sarong.

Harry grinned down at him, evilly, possessively. “Mine,” he whispered against Draco’s neck, “all mine.” Draco shivered, overcome with need and something a little colder, a little less welcome. He shivered with unease.

That was the first time he realised, really understood, how helpless he had become. He could not seem to fight against Harry; in fact, the more Harry dominated him, humiliated him, the more his body seemed to crave such treatment. He spent the whole time these days in a state of almost-constant arousal, which seemed to leave him completely at the mercy of the man who now owned him.

He had come twice more during that meal and Harry had played with him, savoured his body, whilst he was held, pinned like a butterfly his hands tied behind him as usual, out of his Master’s way. After the third orgasm in a row, he had found himself plucked from his perch and bent over the table whilst Harry breached him from behind, quite happily sending dishes and leftover food flying in every direction whilst he found his release, cock buried deep in Draco’s arse. He had been so exhausted after the fourth orgasm that Harry had had to carry him to the bedroom and place him gently on the bed, before chaining him up for the night. He had whispered into Draco’s ear before sleep had claimed him, “Clever boy, I did enjoy that. Well done for suggesting it, Pet!”

Draco sat on that stool from then on whenever they ate. It was quite a bit lower than Harry’s chair, serving to emphasise Draco’s status. He could still reach the table at which they sat - not that there was ever a plate for him, as he always shared titbits of Harry’s own meal - but he would always appear smaller than any other diner, making him seem weaker, less important than they were.

He didn’t mind the wooden cock inside him; hell, if he were honest, then he loved the plug inside his arse! But he hated having to lower himself onto it in front of others. So, once again, he tried to outwit Harry by being the first to the table whenever any of Harry’s friends came to dinner, because it was always Harry’s friends, never his. But Harry would insist that he rose and took coats, supplied drinks and generally waited on everyone. Smiling delightedly as Draco moved back and forth, clad in nothing more than his collar and cuffs, arse wiggling in his red sarong.

Then, when every one else was seated, he would return to the table and lower himself tentatively onto the wooden knob. It was quite a tricky task, because the stool was fairly precarious until stabilised by the addition of Draco’s own limbs, and he would not be able to stop himself from letting out a little groan as the plug breached the tight muscles around his anus.

He should have known then, really he should, that nothing that he did, said or thought, got past his new Master. But then he had made the mistake of insulting Harry’s friends.

Of course he hadn’t said anything out loud, he wasn’t that stupid.

He had been sitting at the table, watching Harry interact with Granger and Weasley. They had come to dinner most evenings in those first few weeks and both had seemingly got used to him by then. Mostly, they ignored him, but that night Harry was ignoring him too. So he had thought things, the stupid sort of things that he used to say once upon a time, about Weasley being a ginger bastard and Granger being a Mudblood. The thoughts were barely expressed before Harry had whirled towards him and Draco quailed beneath the hot green gaze. Until now, Harry had always looked upon him with kindness, amongst other things; there was usually hunger in his eyes, appreciation and sometimes a tinge of what looked like awe. He had gazed at Draco calculatingly, or triumphantly or with heartbreaking tenderness.

But, never before, had he seen such anger in those eyes and never, never directed at him.

For the first time since Granger had told him about the horcruxes, Draco had felt real fear; he had cringed before his Master’s anger and, if he had not been fixed so firmly in place, he would have thrown himself at Harry’s feet and begged forgiveness there and then.

When Harry spoke, his voice was as cold as sorrow. “Slave,” he hissed, “go to my room, strip naked and wait for me on your knees by the bed. Do not go anywhere else, do not move, I shall be up later.”

Draco felt sick, his legs were shaking. He prised himself from his stool with great difficulty and stood to leave. Harry said just one word to him as he turned towards the door.

“Crawl!”

When Harry had finally come into the bedroom, Draco had been in a terrible state. He was picturing days of Cruciatus, beatings and endless pain. He had sobbed for what seemed like hours and the tears had dried on his cheeks and his throat was sore. His eyes were puffy and his breath caught as he felt his Master’s presence, but Harry had just walked calmly to the bed and sat on it.

“Come here, Pet,” he said quietly, tapping the side of his leg. Heart full of dread, Draco had crawled over to kneel at his Master’s feet. He was trembling violently, bracing himself for pain.

“It’s alright, Draco,” Harry murmured, gently laying a hand on Draco’s hair, “I will not hurt you very much,” and, as Draco gasped, “I will spank you, that’s all. You deserve it. I have been very patient with you, after all, allowing you your wishes, well,” and here he grinned, but gently, kindly, “as far as they suit me, I have. But you need to remember that you belong to me now, to submit to my will in everything because, Pet, I will never let you go.

“I treasure my possessions and I look after them, I will treat you well, always, but you must submit to me completely. If you do not do this willingly, then I will have to break you, and that would be a shame because I like the fire inside you, Pet.”

Draco sat and listened to his Master’s words with every ounce of his being. Master had never called him Draco before; he had given him orders, indulged in light conversation and fucked him and seduced him several times a day, but never since that first night had he spoken to Draco like this and this time Draco listened with everything that he had, as he needed to know, to truly understand how things were.

“You need to realise, that there is no alternative for you, other than belonging to me,” Harry continued, each word that he spoke falling like stones in Draco’s heart.

“I know that you are not evil, were never a true Death Eater. But the Wizarding World needed a scapegoat and you, my Pet, are it. If you tried to leave me, tried to run away, you would be hunted down and returned. You have no magic, nowhere to go. Even your friends cannot help you, do you understand?

“I have a lot of darkness inside me, Draco, and it is your lot in life to provide me with relief. I have fought hard against it; I see it sometimes, on the edge of my vision, threatening my soul.

“Fucking you, playing with you, having you beside me keeps me sane. I need you and I will treasure you, but you must always remember that you are mine.

“I can see that you are upset, distressed, right now so I am going to give you a choice tonight, just this once. You have tried to manipulate me constantly, you wanted to be in charge but you have no power in this relationship, Pet. I am the Master here, and I will not let you hurt or insult my friends, no, not even in your head.” He gently tapped Draco’s brow with his forefinger. “You must be punished Pet, and you will be, but it will not be more than you can stand. It will almost be pleasurable for you, I think. But tonight, you are distressed and I do not want to hurt you right now, so your choice is that you can come and snuggle on my bed and I will hold you and comfort you, but your punishment tomorrow will be more prolonged or I can punish you now and it will all be over.” He ran a finger down Draco’s cheek, following the track of a tear; finally reaching his slave’s chin, he gently tilted it so that he could look into his eyes.

Draco shuddered. He finally realised the truth of his situation. He had no power here at all, did he? He was trapped, enslaved. He was bound to Harry Potter, would belong to Harry Potter for the rest of his days.

But Harry was not really cruel, was he? Draco’s fate could have been so much worse. He was generous and loving, and tonight, why tonight he was allowing Draco to choose what was to happen to him. The last few hours had already been torture for Draco; he had finally realised, for himself, what he had become. Until now, it had seemed like a game, a weird sort of game at which he was unlikely to win, but in which he had thought he had some control. But there was no escape, no rescue. If Harry were to kill him, to torture him to death, Draco doubted that anyone would care very much.

He also realised that, in the last few weeks, he had come to adore the man at whose feet he knelt, to rely on him, to trust him. If Harry said he would not hurt Draco more than he could stand, then he was telling the truth. But right now, tonight, Draco needed comfort. He needed to be loved.

“Please don’t punish me tonight,” Draco whispered in a shaky voice, “Please Master, I am frightened.”

And Harry had smiled, leant down and gathered Draco in a warm embrace.

He had allowed him to go to the bathroom alone, to wash and prepare for bed alone and that night, just for once, he had not chained Draco’s wrists, merely snuggled beside him and held him close.

Later, as he had lain in Harry’s arms, he had felt safe and he had thought long and hard about what had happened to him.

This strange man-boy had bewitched him, enchanted him. When Draco had been younger, before his father had been sent to Azkaban, Lucius had made him read Muggle psychology books; better to understand, what his father called, the insidiousness of the enemy. Draco thought that Harry had used psychology to ensnare him, whether he was aware of it or not.

Harry had kept him away from anyone else that might offer him comfort, ensured that he fed and drank only from his Master’s hand, and forbid him to touch his own body, often even denying him the use of his own hands by tying them firmly behind his back. He treated Draco as if he were subservient, insisted he be naked or scantily clad, and in a constant state of enhanced arousal. Now Draco was ensnared. His training, Harry’s dominance, had appealed to something inside Draco and he could not resist. He did submit when Harry fucked him, seduced him. He only had to see his Master, hear his voice, and his cock stood to attention, like Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell for feeding time.

But now he needed to submit in all other areas too. He had always wanted Harry, had always wanted to belong to him, but he had tried to be in control. He now knew that no such control existed for him, or ever could as far as Harry was concerned. All the time that he had thought that he was being so clever, so in control, Harry had known, hadn’t he? He had known the thoughts, the manipulations that Draco had tried to hide. He had always known and that is why he had turned Draco’s manipulations against him, dressing him in the sarong, making him sit on the peg stool.

Tonight Draco had been honest. He had told Harry how he was feeling and Harry had comforted him, given him more freedom than he had ever allowed him before. Draco decided that he would have to let go of his fears, and truly submit all of himself; no more pretence, no more lies.

Harry, whom Draco had thought to be sleeping, turned to him then and placed a kiss on his head. “Clever Pet,” he said, “My gorgeous little Pet, I adore you, I will never let you go, I will never leave you, you are mine to treasure forever, do you understand?”

Draco had to bite back a sob. He had never quite trusted anyone like this before. He had always had to be the one in charge. He had manipulated his parents into showering him with gifts, he had taken things belonging to his friends and ordered them about, but in the end, one by one, they had all left him. But Harry had promised he would never go away, and Draco knew it to be true. So he buried his head against his Master’s chest and he nodded his understanding and whispered his acquiescence.

Then still held close in strong comforting arms safe and protected he drifted off to sleep.


In the morning when Draco awoke he was still untied, the first time since he had arrived he had slept with his limbs free and unfettered. Master was lying beside him, propped on one arm, watching his slave wake up.

“Hello poppet,” he said, running his hand down Draco’s torso and gently grasping his cock which hardened instantly at his at his touch.

“I am sorry Pet,” he whispered gently, “It is time for your punishment now, but I promise you that it will not be as bad as you fear. In the chest of drawers, there are some gloves, top drawer, on the left, fetch me one, a leather one.”

Draco got out of bed. He was shaking again, terrified. He wanted to go to the loo and then he wanted to run away, but he did neither he did as he had been told. “On your knees Pet,” Master said. Draco lowered himself and began to crawl; he could feel his Master’s eyes upon him, watching the wiggle of his arse as he moved slowly, sensuously across the bedroom floor. Finally he reached the chest of drawers. He began to sit up and put out a hand to open the one that he had been directed to, but was stopped again by a simple command, “No Pet, use your mouth.”

Draco knelt and opened his mouth, he had to open it quite wide to be able to get the knob inside his lips, but he managed. He slowly pulled the drawer open, the sigh it made as it slid wide, echoing the one that his Master made as he watched him. Draco felt a thrill run through him as he heard his Master’s pleasure and completely unbidden he used his tongue to search through the gloves until he found a soft brown leather one. Grasping it in his teeth he removed it and closed the drawer again with his head, then slowly and carefully he made his way back to the bed, with the glove held in his mouth.

He felt slightly better now, the pressure on his bladder had eased and Draco realised that Harry must have used the same spell that Hermione had used. But whilst Hermione had wielded it clumsily, Harry used it like a caress. He chanced a look at his Master’s face as he crawled towards him and shuddered again, but this time it was not in fear; it was with the realisation that Harry was hungry for him, that merely by obeying without question he had generated that look of tenderness, of possessiveness.

Harry patted his lap and Draco arranged himself where his Master indicated, releasing the glove as soon as Harry’s hand came to take it from him. Harry was breathing quite hard now, his cock was hard against Draco’s stomach, Draco’s cock hung full and heavy against Harry’s thigh. Harry had put the glove on his hand and was running it over Draco’s buttocks. It was soft and velvety and Harry continued to caress him with it, encircling his arse cheeks and inserting several fingers inside his anus, fucking him with velvet fingers. Draco groaned, the sensuality of the moment causing his cock to harden so much that it began to weep.

Then that which was soft and smooth became hard and rough and Draco shuddered again. Once more Harry stroked his buttocks and then Draco felt the rush of air as Harry rapidly lifted his hand and brought it down hard on Draco’s unprotected backside. Draco screamed and clutched at the bedcover as Harry delivered four more smacks in quick succession. The earlier stroking had served only to sensitise him, arouse him, so that every nerve ending tingled. When Harry brought the magically hardened glove again and again to the tenderised area, it was almost as if he was seared with fire. After five hits, Harry stopped. “That was for the manipulation that you have been doing, you will do this no more.

Now, I will punish you for the insults to my friends; you will not think such things of them, ever again. In future when I spank you I will make you count, but this time it is too new, so I will do the counting for you.”

By the time Harry had counted to ten, Draco was weeping openly, sobbing, begging his Master to stop, trying to get away from the pain, from the iron hand that was beating him.

“Sshh,” Harry said, pulling him into a sitting position, opening his own legs slightly so that his arse was cushioned. Harry rocked him gently, crooning until the sobs had finished and the tears stopped flowing.

He stroked Draco’s hair, “You were such a good boy, so brave, so clever for me,” he was saying as he wiped away the tears with a glove that was again soft as cotton wool.

Then he tilted Draco forward and swiftly tied his hands behind his back, “Just the final bit of your punishment, love, and then it will all be over,” Harry said with tenderness. He inserted his gloved hand into Draco’s mouth and, almost as if by reflex, Draco began to suck. All at once his mouth was full, stoppered by a gag, which felt smooth and soothing to Draco’s tongue. He couldn’t help himself, he sucked at it and his mouth was filled at once with ice-cold water, it felt so wonderful sliding down his sore throat.

Then Harry picked him up as if he were thistledown and carried him across the room to where a new item of furniture was standing. Draco’s eyes widened when he saw that it was a cage, a large, ornate metal cage with wide bars and soft cushions covering the base, a cage for him. The next thing that he knew was that he was no longer in Harry’s arms. Instead, he was inside the cage, on those soft cushions. His legs were pulled tight behind him and fastened to his hands and Harry was stroking his hair and looking tenderly into his eyes.

“You will stay here for a while Pet,” he murmured in the softest of tones, “And when I do come back and let you out, you will crawl to me again, and this time when you offer to wear my collar you will mean it with all of your heart.”

Draco wanted to shout that he meant it already; he wanted to reach out and touch Harry’s hair in return but his mouth was quieted, his hands restrained. All he could do was try to express with his eyes how he felt. But from the way that Harry looked at him it was as if he already knew.

He cupped Draco’s cheek tenderly and whispered, “Later my love, later.”

And then he left.

Now, here he was, several hours later, waiting for his Master to return. He was so very aroused and yet felt so tranquil. He could do nothing, could he? He had no say in what was to happen to him, it was a release, it was strangely liberating and for the first time, in a very long time, Draco Malfoy felt at peace.


It was later, much later when Harry returned. He opened the cage door and removed Draco’s bonds and the gag, but he was so stiff from his long confinement that he could not move. So Harry transported him to the bed, where he lay him down amidst a pile of pillows.

“Well done, my precious love,” he told him. “I am so proud of you!” Draco’s heart swelled at such praise, he had made his Master proud of him. He tried to rise, to kneel, but Harry gently pushed him down again, “But Master,” he said, “I..I need to kneel, to submit myself to you.”

“No you don’t,” Harry replied, “I know how you feel; I can see it in your thoughts, feel it in my heart.” Then he kissed Draco gently, sat him up against the soft pillows and fed him soup and chunks of white crusty bread. It did not take long for Draco to feel full, satiated. Then Harry released the ring that had ensured that Draco could not come and, with a few short strokes, brought him to completion. Afterwards he carried him to the bathroom and placed him in hot, rose-scented water and washed his aching body lovingly as if he were the finest porcelain.

Finally, he returned Draco to the bed and cuddled beside him, whispering endearments and words of love, kissing him gently telling him how beautiful he looked in the candlelight and together, holding tight to each other, they slowly drifted off to sleep.

In the corner of the room, the cage sat alone, bars glinting in the half-light, empty and unused. At least for now.

TBC