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Draco Malfoy in the Hogwarts Dungeons with Devil's Snare
Title: Ensnared
Author:joanwilder (RaeWhit)
Character: Draco Malfoy
Location: Dungeons
Object: Devil's Snare
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Object penetration, auto-erotic asphyxiation
Word Count: 1770
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe belong to J.K. Rowling and her book and film companies.
Author's Notes: Auto-erotic asphyxiation, as a sexual practice, should only be performed with a partner, and with full knowledge of the potential lethalness of the practice. It should never be attempted alone. Death can and has occurred.
No plants were harmed in the writing of this story. :)
Ensnared
Draco Malfoy'd never had any use for Muggles, or anything Muggle, for that matter. Until he'd wandered into Muggle London one Saturday, tired of waiting for his mother in the Alley.
And that was where he'd found it…The Magazine. In a seedy-looking shop with dirty windows, in a place he'd've never set foot, had it not been for the leather-wear hanging in the window. He'd taken a cautious step inside, then been drawn, like a fly to honey, to the section in the back, where a crooked neon sign hanging above the bookshelves advertised "Sexual Graphics."
He'd taken one look at what was there, and his mouth had gone dry, his heart hammered in his chest, and his cock firmly and insistently cast its vote then, that he head straight back to the Alley, change some Galleons, then come back and buy…everything.
Sure, he had wizarding pornography—what normal seventeen year old wizard didn't? Draco had it all—and what he didn't have, he commandeered from any Slytherin who was stupid enough to let him see it. And sometimes, Draco'd leaf through it, then go find the owner and force a demonstration—all part of the perks of being 'King of Slytherin.'
So, for him to find something new and stimulating wasn't anything to blink at. He'd taken his treasure and squirreled himself away in an isolated spot in the dungeons, so he could take his time…stroking himself as he read his way through, memorizing toys and kinks and positions, thinking how he could purchase this…adapt that…subjugate whomever, if necessary.
But the best find ever, he'd discovered on a single page…a single picture, with a bolded warning in bright red letters superimposed atop the image. "DANGER—DO NOT TRY THIS WITHOUT A PARTNER PRESENT!"
And so, of course, Draco had.
At first he'd attempted it with a rope, and had shot his load higher on the wall than he ever had, not to mention the incredible feeling like he was about to fly, an adrenaline rush he'd only ever felt as he streaked after the Snitch.
He'd thought about it for days, and had tried a leather strap, then chains, even Slytherin ties, knotted end-to-end. But finally, he'd hit on the perfect magical item. He'd been sure the moment he'd thought of it, in fact, and had set out straight away on his quest to make it happen. It hadn't been a simple item to purchase, but his contacts in Knockturn Alley had come through, as they always did, with a few extra Galleons to grease their palms and a bit of fear thrown in for good measure.
Now that he had it, Draco saved the 'experience' for special occasions, namely when his lust for someone or something couldn't be realized, for one reason or another. It wasn't often that he was denied what he wanted, so to dull the rage and frustration, he'd slink low in his chair, brazenly rub his cock through his robes as he muttered to himself, "Oh yeah, tonight."
Prefects had their privileges, so Draco had a special one of his own, represented by a tarnished skeleton key. He rolled it over and over in his palm as he took the stairs: down, down, down to the lowest dungeons, along a dimly lit corridor which ended with 'his room.'
He slipped the key into the lock, then whispered the password as he turned it, "Draco's den." The door open, Draco lifted his wand and muttered, "Lumos," then with a backward glance down the corridor, he stepped into the room and shut himself in.
Not really a room…more like a large broom closet. Its only furniture was an upright wooden chair, cushioned for comfort, but large enough to look a bit throne-like. The legs were long enough that when Draco sat, his feet didn't touch the floor, and the flat broad armrests were ideal for attaching all manner of restraints. There was an eerie blue light that suffused the space, even when Draco wasn't there—it was needed, of course, because the special occupant of the room needed this barest of illumination to live, along with the dampness of the dungeon itself.
In long square boxes arranged on the floor around the chair was a tangled mass of silvery stalks and stems. They lay limply on the floor, but as Draco began to undress, they rustled, a shimmer of movement as the Devil's Snare seemed to sense his presence.
Smiling, Draco hung his robes on the hook, then watched the gradual awakening of the plant as he undid his shirt buttons and flies. This was a special variety of the lethal plant, one that was trainable, with the aid of special nutrients and charms. It lay quiescent until directed to strike, then struck with a vengeance, stopping only when Draco triggered his 'safe' spell—a specially chosen word, of course.
The trick, the dangerous game that Draco played every single time, was the timing—to get the single word out before speaking became impossible.
When he sat and murmured the 'start' word, and the creepers began to slither across the floor, Draco did what he always did—he closed his eyes as he took his cock in hand, wet with lube, unable to repress the shudder as the slow-moving vines began to wrap around his legs, binding them to the chair.
He felt a thrill at the thought that this might be the time---he'd wait too long, his orgasm so strong that he'd not get the word out, and then it would be too late. His face would be blue as he gurgled against the lack of oxygen, even as he jerked in the chair, shooting come in an impressive arc, his head spinning as the lights went out. He wondered how long it'd take them to find him, and imagined the horrified looks on their faces…. Just the thought put a leer on his face.
Jolted back to the present by the tendrils now wrapping his thighs to the seat, waist to the chair-back, Draco rolled his head and groaned, as he rotated his wrist in a well-practiced motion—pull up, over the head, draw down, just the right amount of friction, a bit of pressure at the base, before beginning again. The fragrance of the oil mingled with the earthy smell of the room; he felt a bit of it drip between his thighs, and smiled in grim anticipation, just a moment before the tip of a creeper followed the ointment and slipped along the crack of his arse, then unobtrusively through the tight ring of muscle. Draco gasped as it nudged that spot, causing him to jerk upwards into his hand a little harder, a little faster.
Part of the enchantment kept Draco's right hand and forearm free, but that was the only part. The Snare crept upwards, spreading across his chest, then slowed, almost as if it were pacing itself with Draco's hand.
As he felt the cool fingers of the vines encircle his neck, his heart speeded up in anticipation. He pumped on with his fist, pushing against the chair with his buttocks, every motion of his body only making the Devil's Snare tighten more. It was exquisite, being bound as he was—Draco reveled in the helplessness he felt, the feeling only heightening his arousal as he deftly worked his hand.
His neck was now fixed to the chair-back, the vine tugging so that Draco's head was tilted toward the ceiling as it began to squeeze. His breath ragged and wheezing, Draco wanked harder, feeling the tightening in his balls, signaling that he was almost at the edge. There were rivulets of sweat running from his hair into his eyes, making him blink rapidly and thrash his head from side to side, but his jailor allowed him little movement.
The Devil's Snare continued to circle his throat, coil upon coil, the tips of it threading into Draco's hair, as the rings on his throat constricted…squeezed…and squeezed some more.
Draco was desperate to come, and now almost desperate to breathe. He saw a twinkling of lights as the room spun, the heat in his groin and lower belly making him feel as if he were about to combust. He gave one last struggle against his binding, pumping himself for all he was worth, experiencing a jolt of indescribable euphoria as he literally saw stars when the vines around his neck compressed his windpipe, jerking his chin up even higher.
He bucked in the chair as his orgasm exploded; there was little give in the creepers, but Draco vaguely imagined that he heard them moan in protest. Up once…up twice…up three times…he surged forward and upward in the chair, as he came, shooting spunk to his chest and his chin, though little of it touched his skin, crisscrossed as it was by the Snare.
As it always happened, Draco, even in the midst of his stupor, was slightly amazed at the force of his climax. Who would've ever thought that being strangled could feel so good?
Oh…he realized foggily, as his mind snagged on the word 'strangled'; there was something he had to do now, he told himself dreamily, as he seemed to lose the ability to see, and a roaring grew louder in his ears. It was the movement of the vine, still nudging his insides, that brought him back to himself.
"Pwaaaaaaver," Draco wheezed out.
When nothing happened, he tried again.
"Paaaaaastah," he gasped, feeling the first hint of panic.
Focusing his mind and wetting his lips, Draco took a short circumscribed breath that really didn't give him any air. But he was motivated—no, terrified, in fact, as he tried one last time.
"Pot-ter!" he barked out in a breathless cough, then almost sobbed with relief as he felt the immediate relaxation of the Snare around his throat.
He was still semi-erect, sticky cock in hand, as he sat, waiting for the Devil's Snare to completely release him. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt it slither out of his arse, then unwrap from around his bollocks.
Finally free, but still dizzy and weak, Draco sat listlessly in the chair, fondling himself as he thought how lucky he'd been to find that Muggle shop.
He thumbed over the slit of his glans as he smiled. Muggles were cowards, he scoffed as he reached further down to fondle his balls.
Do not try this without a partner present.
Draco laughed out loud. The Devil's Snare, sliding back to the floor, seemed to whisper in agreement.
FIN
Title: Ensnared
Author:
joanwilder (RaeWhit)Character: Draco Malfoy
Location: Dungeons
Object: Devil's Snare
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Object penetration, auto-erotic asphyxiation
Word Count: 1770
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe belong to J.K. Rowling and her book and film companies.
Author's Notes: Auto-erotic asphyxiation, as a sexual practice, should only be performed with a partner, and with full knowledge of the potential lethalness of the practice. It should never be attempted alone. Death can and has occurred.
No plants were harmed in the writing of this story. :)
Draco Malfoy'd never had any use for Muggles, or anything Muggle, for that matter. Until he'd wandered into Muggle London one Saturday, tired of waiting for his mother in the Alley.
And that was where he'd found it…The Magazine. In a seedy-looking shop with dirty windows, in a place he'd've never set foot, had it not been for the leather-wear hanging in the window. He'd taken a cautious step inside, then been drawn, like a fly to honey, to the section in the back, where a crooked neon sign hanging above the bookshelves advertised "Sexual Graphics."
He'd taken one look at what was there, and his mouth had gone dry, his heart hammered in his chest, and his cock firmly and insistently cast its vote then, that he head straight back to the Alley, change some Galleons, then come back and buy…everything.
Sure, he had wizarding pornography—what normal seventeen year old wizard didn't? Draco had it all—and what he didn't have, he commandeered from any Slytherin who was stupid enough to let him see it. And sometimes, Draco'd leaf through it, then go find the owner and force a demonstration—all part of the perks of being 'King of Slytherin.'
So, for him to find something new and stimulating wasn't anything to blink at. He'd taken his treasure and squirreled himself away in an isolated spot in the dungeons, so he could take his time…stroking himself as he read his way through, memorizing toys and kinks and positions, thinking how he could purchase this…adapt that…subjugate whomever, if necessary.
But the best find ever, he'd discovered on a single page…a single picture, with a bolded warning in bright red letters superimposed atop the image. "DANGER—DO NOT TRY THIS WITHOUT A PARTNER PRESENT!"
And so, of course, Draco had.
At first he'd attempted it with a rope, and had shot his load higher on the wall than he ever had, not to mention the incredible feeling like he was about to fly, an adrenaline rush he'd only ever felt as he streaked after the Snitch.
He'd thought about it for days, and had tried a leather strap, then chains, even Slytherin ties, knotted end-to-end. But finally, he'd hit on the perfect magical item. He'd been sure the moment he'd thought of it, in fact, and had set out straight away on his quest to make it happen. It hadn't been a simple item to purchase, but his contacts in Knockturn Alley had come through, as they always did, with a few extra Galleons to grease their palms and a bit of fear thrown in for good measure.
Now that he had it, Draco saved the 'experience' for special occasions, namely when his lust for someone or something couldn't be realized, for one reason or another. It wasn't often that he was denied what he wanted, so to dull the rage and frustration, he'd slink low in his chair, brazenly rub his cock through his robes as he muttered to himself, "Oh yeah, tonight."
Prefects had their privileges, so Draco had a special one of his own, represented by a tarnished skeleton key. He rolled it over and over in his palm as he took the stairs: down, down, down to the lowest dungeons, along a dimly lit corridor which ended with 'his room.'
He slipped the key into the lock, then whispered the password as he turned it, "Draco's den." The door open, Draco lifted his wand and muttered, "Lumos," then with a backward glance down the corridor, he stepped into the room and shut himself in.
Not really a room…more like a large broom closet. Its only furniture was an upright wooden chair, cushioned for comfort, but large enough to look a bit throne-like. The legs were long enough that when Draco sat, his feet didn't touch the floor, and the flat broad armrests were ideal for attaching all manner of restraints. There was an eerie blue light that suffused the space, even when Draco wasn't there—it was needed, of course, because the special occupant of the room needed this barest of illumination to live, along with the dampness of the dungeon itself.
In long square boxes arranged on the floor around the chair was a tangled mass of silvery stalks and stems. They lay limply on the floor, but as Draco began to undress, they rustled, a shimmer of movement as the Devil's Snare seemed to sense his presence.
Smiling, Draco hung his robes on the hook, then watched the gradual awakening of the plant as he undid his shirt buttons and flies. This was a special variety of the lethal plant, one that was trainable, with the aid of special nutrients and charms. It lay quiescent until directed to strike, then struck with a vengeance, stopping only when Draco triggered his 'safe' spell—a specially chosen word, of course.
The trick, the dangerous game that Draco played every single time, was the timing—to get the single word out before speaking became impossible.
When he sat and murmured the 'start' word, and the creepers began to slither across the floor, Draco did what he always did—he closed his eyes as he took his cock in hand, wet with lube, unable to repress the shudder as the slow-moving vines began to wrap around his legs, binding them to the chair.
He felt a thrill at the thought that this might be the time---he'd wait too long, his orgasm so strong that he'd not get the word out, and then it would be too late. His face would be blue as he gurgled against the lack of oxygen, even as he jerked in the chair, shooting come in an impressive arc, his head spinning as the lights went out. He wondered how long it'd take them to find him, and imagined the horrified looks on their faces…. Just the thought put a leer on his face.
Jolted back to the present by the tendrils now wrapping his thighs to the seat, waist to the chair-back, Draco rolled his head and groaned, as he rotated his wrist in a well-practiced motion—pull up, over the head, draw down, just the right amount of friction, a bit of pressure at the base, before beginning again. The fragrance of the oil mingled with the earthy smell of the room; he felt a bit of it drip between his thighs, and smiled in grim anticipation, just a moment before the tip of a creeper followed the ointment and slipped along the crack of his arse, then unobtrusively through the tight ring of muscle. Draco gasped as it nudged that spot, causing him to jerk upwards into his hand a little harder, a little faster.
Part of the enchantment kept Draco's right hand and forearm free, but that was the only part. The Snare crept upwards, spreading across his chest, then slowed, almost as if it were pacing itself with Draco's hand.
As he felt the cool fingers of the vines encircle his neck, his heart speeded up in anticipation. He pumped on with his fist, pushing against the chair with his buttocks, every motion of his body only making the Devil's Snare tighten more. It was exquisite, being bound as he was—Draco reveled in the helplessness he felt, the feeling only heightening his arousal as he deftly worked his hand.
His neck was now fixed to the chair-back, the vine tugging so that Draco's head was tilted toward the ceiling as it began to squeeze. His breath ragged and wheezing, Draco wanked harder, feeling the tightening in his balls, signaling that he was almost at the edge. There were rivulets of sweat running from his hair into his eyes, making him blink rapidly and thrash his head from side to side, but his jailor allowed him little movement.
The Devil's Snare continued to circle his throat, coil upon coil, the tips of it threading into Draco's hair, as the rings on his throat constricted…squeezed…and squeezed some more.
Draco was desperate to come, and now almost desperate to breathe. He saw a twinkling of lights as the room spun, the heat in his groin and lower belly making him feel as if he were about to combust. He gave one last struggle against his binding, pumping himself for all he was worth, experiencing a jolt of indescribable euphoria as he literally saw stars when the vines around his neck compressed his windpipe, jerking his chin up even higher.
He bucked in the chair as his orgasm exploded; there was little give in the creepers, but Draco vaguely imagined that he heard them moan in protest. Up once…up twice…up three times…he surged forward and upward in the chair, as he came, shooting spunk to his chest and his chin, though little of it touched his skin, crisscrossed as it was by the Snare.
As it always happened, Draco, even in the midst of his stupor, was slightly amazed at the force of his climax. Who would've ever thought that being strangled could feel so good?
Oh…he realized foggily, as his mind snagged on the word 'strangled'; there was something he had to do now, he told himself dreamily, as he seemed to lose the ability to see, and a roaring grew louder in his ears. It was the movement of the vine, still nudging his insides, that brought him back to himself.
"Pwaaaaaaver," Draco wheezed out.
When nothing happened, he tried again.
"Paaaaaastah," he gasped, feeling the first hint of panic.
Focusing his mind and wetting his lips, Draco took a short circumscribed breath that really didn't give him any air. But he was motivated—no, terrified, in fact, as he tried one last time.
"Pot-ter!" he barked out in a breathless cough, then almost sobbed with relief as he felt the immediate relaxation of the Snare around his throat.
He was still semi-erect, sticky cock in hand, as he sat, waiting for the Devil's Snare to completely release him. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt it slither out of his arse, then unwrap from around his bollocks.
Finally free, but still dizzy and weak, Draco sat listlessly in the chair, fondling himself as he thought how lucky he'd been to find that Muggle shop.
He thumbed over the slit of his glans as he smiled. Muggles were cowards, he scoffed as he reached further down to fondle his balls.
Do not try this without a partner present.
Draco laughed out loud. The Devil's Snare, sliding back to the floor, seemed to whisper in agreement.
FIN