Good Boy.

The more he struggles the tighter the ropes seem to get. Like devil’s snare. He’s bound and helpless and more aroused than he’s ever been in his life. The ropes wind and snake intricately around his chest and torso, criss crossing round his back and hips as if he were some divine flesh and blood maypole.

Ankles secured to the bar between the chair legs, holding his feet so that the tips of his toes are barely touching the floor, keeping his legs bent in such a way that meant that no matter how hard he tried, he could never get enough leverage to work himself free.

And here he sits, tied, gagged and utterly at his captor’s mercy as the dark haired Gryffindor circles him, watching him struggle with a gleam in his eye.

“Maybe now you’ll be more agreeable?” He purrs, stopping behind Draco and kneeling to push another bead on the long string of white orbs into the tight ring of muscle at Draco’s entrance.

Draco gasps and mumbles through his gag and squirms about happily on his chair, feeling the ropes round his wrists tug and pull his arms further up his back until his biceps throb with the most delicious ache. He tries to turn back to look Harry in the eye but his restraints hold him securely in place and all he can do it nod in response as he feels another bead being pushed inside his anus.

He hears is a small chuckle behind him and then feels a pair of warm hands on him, one in his hair, grasping and tugging, the other moving down his back, round his ribs and down to grasp his already leaking cock. Then the familiar soft coo that always managed to make him fall to pieces.

“Good boy.”