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A Room of One's Own

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Draco Malfoy was not often ambivalent about anything. When something was so, it was just so, and when it was time to change his mind, he changed it. Indecision was not a place he liked to visit. But he couldn't decide how he felt about the dungeon in his own house.

Granted, he'd spent most of his youth in a dungeon, but that was at Hogwarts and while perhaps the rooms that housed Slytherin once had been a place of captivity and punishment, the hundreds of years since then had long since cleansed the space, though the label was useful in keeping other students out of their space. Besides, in June it was a damn sight cooler down there than up in the Gryffindor Tower, and he knew that for a fact.

The Malfoy Manor dungeons, on the other hand, appeared to have had more recent use. All the acoutrements were still hanging on the walls and there was even a small room with bars on the windows and door. Draco had a vague memory of having found this room when he was quite small, no more than three or four, and Father telling him very sternly that he was not to go there again because it was an adult room and when he took Draco on his tour of the Manor when he was seventeen all would be revealed. But when he got to Hogwarts his dorm rekindled those early memories (the musky cellar smell, the ironwork all around) and he recalled it so often that it became a stale thought, an idee fixe.

Thing was, he never got that tour from his father. All Lucius left him with were the dynamic plans of the Manor, which only showed that there were no charms, no spells, no magic of any kind in the room. Which was decidedly odd—why use physical objects for restraint and torture when there were Body-binding spells and curses like Cruciatus? Certainly they didn't need the room as it was, and the space might have been better used as a root cellar, to store all those vegetables that Ginny insisted on growing and canning and what-all. A proper dungeon didn't have a place in the Malfoy Manor he wanted to live in.

And yet . . . and yet even once the Manor was rebuilt and redecorated after the war, he couldn't bring himself to just get rid of the room entirely. They did take the bars and door off the small cell and turn it over to food storage, but the main room remained. Draco didn't know what sort of things may or may not have happened in that room, but he was just superstitious enough to feel that a simple redecoration wouldn't be enough to cleanse it. Sometimes, when Ginny was gone for the night or when they'd had a fight, he would go down to the dungeon and sit on the cool stone floor in the middle of the room and it would make him feel calm and self-assured, the same way that Ginny herself did.

Well, it wouldn't do any harm to keep it a little bit longer.


The first time it happened, it was one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of things, a did-that-really-happen? They were in the kitchen and she was teasing him about something and when he retorted she laughed and flicked the kitchen towel, which hit him square on the arse with a loud CRACK.

He stopped laughing; he couldn't even breathe. And other parts of his body were reacting with an interest that seemed inappropriate. He turned and grabbed Ginny, kissing her with much less passion than he'd suddenly felt, which bought him enough time to breathe again before she noticed. Of course, Ginny did notice, but that was because she was Ginny.

So the second time, he knew, was her paying attention and then deciding she was going to do something about it, mostly because Ginny could never, ever let anything lie, could never leave well enough alone, a trait that created as many problems as it solved. They were out running errands on Diagon Alley of a Saturday afternoon and he could tell Ginny was feeling amorous. They'd had sex that very morning but sometimes sex satisfied her and sometimes it just made her want more sex, and heaven forfend that Ginny be shy about asking for sex, even in public places.

They were walking by some shop or another and he said something obnoxious about the all-too-matching robes of another couple walking toward them and she laughed, but she also had her "that wasn't a very nice thing to say" expression that she'd inherited from Molly (although he'd never be the one to tell her that as after all he did like having sex with her). Then suddenly she moved her hand from around his waist and smacked him, firmly, on the arse.

To anyone else, it would look like your garden variety PDA, he knew, but as he looked at her in surprise he saw the heat in her eyes and realized that she'd meant that, that she'd been paying attention.

"I think we should go home now," she said huskily.

After that it was a rapid descent from a few slaps to a real spanking to paddling to, well, other things. They went down to the dungeon together, looked through what was there to get rid of some things and decide on others to buy, made the space their own and cleansed it of any earlier connotations. They read books they found in their own library, looked for others, moved them into the dungeon as well. They talked about clothing, made important decisions. They were playing with fire, but it felt like the safest fire ever.


Draco woke up reluctantly. He was bleary, heavy-headed from the wine at dinner the night before, wine that had apparently got away with him, as he recalled he and Pansy ribbing Ron a bit more than usual. Ginny of course didn't appreciate this, which led to a quarrel that nearly banished him to his own lonely bedroom. Sure, it had a connecting door, but Draco hated sleeping there and fully intended that room to hold only his clothes and the occasional guest, though he had to admit it was better than some couch or the shed if he had to be banished.

But he'd pled alcohol, peer pressure, opportunity and general stupidity on his part and dodged the bullet, and they didn't go to bed angry, though he'd done a lot of groveling and knew that he'd have to "behave", as Ginny put it, in future. This sounded incredibly boring, but possibly amusement could come in the form of noting opportunities and filing quips not used into his brain for sharing with Pansy later.

So to say he was surprised to see Ginny sitting on the settee at the foot of her bed in the Violet Dress would be putting it mildly. "I see you've finally decided to wake up," she said.

He rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Late enough," she replied. She swung her legs around and stood up, then walked over to the window to throw the curtains open with more vigor than Draco felt was truly necessary, such that the sunshine hit him full in the face. He put up his arm to shield his eyes.

"Get clean. I want you downstairs and ready in fifteen minutes." She turned to walk out, but hesitated in the door. "There's Pepper-Up on the bedside table. You'll need it." And with that, she swept out of the room.

Draco sat up in bed and gulped down the thick potion as quickly as he could. One of the decisions they'd made early on was that stereotypical black leather catsuits weren't going to work for them. Ginny found them too hot to work in, and black wasn't really her color; she hated heels and they didn't do much for Draco anyway. But the Dress drove him mad—the bodice with its tight waist and simple halter, the super-short full skirt that lay so nicely on her arse and showed off her long, lovely legs, and the ornate Romanesque flat-soled sandals that snaked up her calves. She was a gladiator, and it worked; combined her need to feel close to the earth with his need to worship something. They'd got several of them in different colors because Draco Malfoy, code breaker, needed that sort of thing; the color was a code for what kind of session Ginny had in mind. And royal purple?

Oh, yes, he was in for it.

He cleaned up, quickly but thoroughly, and tore down the stairs to get to the dungeon in time. She wasn't there, not that he could see anyway, so he knelt in the middle of the room, between the two ankle cuffs fitted into the floor, glad that it didn't take more than anticipation to get him as hard as he should be. Then he heard a voice behind him.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Ginny asked.

Draco stiffened as Ginny walked around him. His eyes focussed on the golden straps that curled around her calves.

"You never used to have a problem asking for what you want," she continued. "But provoking me in front of our friends, that is a new thing. Look at me, Draco."

He cast his eyes up to meet hers.

"Did you think I would just pull you over my knee and spank you in front of everyone?" she asked. "Or did you hope that I would?"

Draco gasped, his eyes widening for just a moment, and Ginny knew her words had hit home.

Ginny put her hand under his chin, leaning down so that her face was barely an inch from his. "Well, there's no one else here, Draco, so I'm going to do much more than spank you." She kissed him then, moving her hand around to the back of his head and nearly bending him backward with the force of it.

She stepped away, walking over to the wall and looking over the implements she found there. "Up against the table," she said, and he stood quickly, walking over to the waist-high table that sat against the wall and bracing his arms against it. Ginny looked him over as she walked toward the table. Ginny had healed Draco since they were last in this room, so his pale, almost translucent skin was nearly free of bruises. She didn't know what turned her on more, this fresh surface or seeing the evidence of her efforts days later, but she did know that such a clean surface required very clear marks.

"Twelve," she said, and he nodded. She raised the cane in her hand, seeing Draco flinch ever so slightly as it sang through the air before hitting his arse.

"One!" Draco counted.

Working slowly and deliberately, Ginny struck Draco with the cane. Draco kept counting, swaying at each strike of the cane, until she landed the final hit in the sensitive crease at the top of the leg and he hissed, "Twelve!"

Ginny stepped back to regard her work. Thanks to long practice, the red lines the cane left across Draco's arse and thighs were evenly spaced and parallel, and a film of sweat made his skin glow. Ginny felt warmed up, herself, and ready to move on. She put the cane back in its place and retrieved the crop they had only recently begun to use. "Move to the center of the room and lock yourself in," she commanded.

He rose, rubbing his cheeks a little before squatting to fasten his ankles into the padded cuffs that kept him standing with his feet shoulder's width apart. He straightened, placing his wrists in the similarly padded manacles hanging from chains above his head, then looked up at Ginny. "Oh," he said, seeing the crop.

"Would you rather I practice on someone else?" she asked.

"Certainly not," he replied.

"There you go then. Here, hold this," she said, putting the crop in his teeth. She pulled the manacles closer, fastening them, then went to the far wall to pull some but not all of the slack out of the chains. Draco's arms were fixed wide apart above his head but there was enough play for him to swing a bit as the whip struck, which Ginny found pleasing. She took the crop back.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he replied.

Ginny stood directly behind him and swung the crop a few times across his back, getting the feel of the thing. The first strikes were light crisscrosses on his lower back just above the cane marks, but as she moved up his back she put more strength into it, until by his shoulder blades she was striking quite hard indeed. She set up a rhythm, an even swish-swish as she hit him backhand and forehand, and Draco began to move in time. Used to counting, he let out a low "huh" as each blow landed on his back and while he swung away from the crop when it hit him, he always leaned back for the next strike.

After about five minutes of this she stopped, putting a hand at his hip to still him, then running a hand over the welts she had made. Better, but practice makes perfect. She slid around him, running her hand and the tip of the crop against his skin as she did. He was even more breathless than she was, his body working to suck more oxygen into his lungs, and his skin was growing pink, flushed all over. Nuzzling into his neck she whispered, "You're beautiful like this."

"So are you," he replied, leaning his head against her and mouthing her hair.

Ginny smiled, moving back just enough to place the crop between Draco's teeth again. She ran her hands along his unmarked chest, rolling his nipples between her thumbs and forefingers to harden them, and he moaned, watching her. His breath was beginning to even and he was trembling slightly; the break had gone on long enough. She took the crop back from his mouth, placing a kiss on his neck before moving back.

While Draco's back was a place to warm up and practice her swing, she wanted to perfect her aim on his chest. She started with six strikes crisscrossing low on his stomach, just above his still-hard cock, to reestablish her rhythm to Draco. Then she moved up, her tongue hanging at the corner of her mouth as she aimed for his nipples. After eight tries, some low, some high, some wide, Ginny took a deep breath and exhaled as much of her frustration as she could, relaxing.

Then she took Draco by surprise with two quick strikes that finally hit their mark, the tip of the crop landing squarely on each of his nipples, and he cried out, swinging in his chains. She didn't relent, setting up a faster rhythm of harder strokes, moving down his torso, swinging the crop so the tip licked around his waist and hit his back, working down his thighs, and tears started to fall down his cheeks. Every time he cried out, every time she felt the crop hit his body, a jolt went straight to her pussy, until she was so wet she thought she would drip on the floor. She moved the crop back up to hit his nipples again on the 49th and 50th stroke before putting the crop down.

Ginny leaned back against the table, rubbing her aching arm. Draco continued to sway in his chains, but his legs were still holding him up, his knees still strong. As he tried to catch his breath he began to whimper just a little. Ginny picked up the crop and slid back on the table until her back was against the wall. She slipped one hand between her legs. "Draco, look at me."

He raised his head, though she was sure that he was staring between her open legs rather than into her eyes. "See what you do to me?" she asked. "I had to stop and get myself off." She pushed her shoulders against the wall, arching her back so that her pussy was more lewdly displayed. "You make such lovely noises when I whip you," she said, rubbing her clit harder with her middle finger. "But since I don't have access to your talented tongue I suppose I'll have to use this." She slid the slim end of the crop into her pussy and Draco moaned, swinging forward in his restraints. "And your tears, Draco, darling, you know I can't stop whipping you until you cry." She rubbed even harder, thinking of those tears, moving the crop to find that sensitive place and then she was coming, shouting his name as her muscles clenched.

She slumped against the wall, catching her breath and removing the crop. "Poor Draco, do you want to get off?" she asked.

"Please?" he asked, softly. "Please, Ginny?"

She hopped off the table, amazed that Draco's legs were still sound because hers certainly didn't feel so, and walked back over to the wall hung with implements. "You've been so good, I'll give you a treat," she said, picking up the martinet she had affectionately labeled "kitten o'nine tails" because the soft leather straps did little more than sting, and with a light touch just tickled. It drove Draco crazy at the start of a session because it teased without delivering; if she used it for long enough he would beg her to whip him properly. But at the end of a harder session like this one, it meant only one thing.

He saw it in her hands, and a triumphant glint sparked in his tired eyes. "Oh, god," Draco said. "Please."

Ginny smiled, lifting the strips up to Draco's lips for him to kiss. She let it fall across his stomach, then ran it over his abused chest, scratching the hard red nipples. She stepped back and put more effort into her strokes, concentrating on his chest and stomach, then moving around him, striking his hip and side, his back, his arse still smarting from the caning. He leaned into that, too, sticking his arse back lewdly for more punishment. She provided, aiming the strands between his cheeks, hitting his arsehole and perineum and he moaned low in the back of his throat. Carefully, she hit lower, so the ends of the whip brushed his balls and he cried out, yet tried to move his arse further back, spread his legs more.

She walked back around to his front, striking him all the while. Draco rose up, standing taller in his restraints. She ran a hand down his chest and stomach, then grabbed his cock, squeezing hard at the base, and he gasped. Stepping back, she whipped his chest and stomach again and then, finally, she landed a gentle, teasing blow on his cock.

"Yes!" he cried out.

She concentrated on his cock now, randomly changing her direction and strength, deliberately not allowing him to fall into a rhythm. He was begging her, babbling "please Ginny please" and she replied, "Come for me, darling, don't hold back, you've done so well today." He twitched restlessly in his restraints, his eyes fixed on the whip hitting his cock, and then finally, finally he was coming, the orgasm shaking through his body.

Ginny threw the martinet on the table in front of them and reached up to release his arms, then braced herself to catch him as his legs gave way. She eased them both onto the floor, unhooking the ankle cuffs as he clung to her, watching through unfocussed eyes. Then she pulled him close, sideways against her chest, cradling his head in her hands as her legs wrapped around him and his arms went around her back.

"Thank you," she whispered to him.

"Thank you," he replied. "Only you could turn masturbating into another way to torture me."

"Aww, did you want to go down on me?" At his nod, she kissed his temple and said, "Well, maybe after lunch. I just couldn't wait for you."

Draco burrowed deeper into her arms. "I like it when you practice on me. I don't know what will happen." They were silent for a moment, and then he said, low, "Did you mean that, about spanking me in front of other people?"

"Yes, but we'll have to find the right time and place."

He pulled back to look up at Ginny. "Like a club?" he asked, smiling a little.

"We'll see." She leaned down and kissed him. "Let me worry about that."

Draco nodded, laying his head back down on Ginny's chest. The cool stone floor felt good against his bruised body, and as she stroked his hair he sighed, breathing in the musty air of their dungeon.