“Daddy,” Draco whines, knowing full well he’ll get his way if he says it like that. He coats his voice with honey and uses a term he hasn’t used since he was five (legitimately, at least), and at last, his father puts down the newspaper.
He raises an aristocratic brow and waits for Draco to finish.
It’s been a month, but Draco still feels fresh out of school, out for good but pretending like he isn’t, because they’re Malfoys and tend to play it dark. He’s already pining for the sort of fun he didn’t get at Hogwarts, with the intensity he didn’t earn until far too recently. He’s been sleeping in hours more than usual, luxuriating in his vacation, eating luxuriously again and paying no heed to any lessons his parents might like to teach him, less to the thought of a job. Now it’s nearing sunset and he’s eager for his favourite part of being home: father and his games.
“Play a game with me?” Draco purrs cutely, batting his lashes far more than necessary. He holds up the folded rope in his hands, offering the plastic end to Lucius. It’s a wizarding toy, of course—one he had to rummage around in the attic a bit to find—so it’s perfectly capable (or was, last he used it) of holding itself in the air while Draco jumps over it. It’s more fun if his father helps though. Draco’s too old to play skip rope, but Lucius doesn’t protest as he takes the smooth handle.
Lucius folds his newspaper and puts it carefully on the side table next to his glass of wine. He grabs the other end of the rope before Draco can throw it across the study; Draco lets go of the toy in surprise.
“You haven’t played with this in years,” Lucius muses. “Does it still move correctly?”
“I don’t know,” Draco answers honestly. When his father holds out a hand, he steps closer, pulled close enough for their knees to brush. The leather recliner groans as Lucius leans back in it, tugging Draco’s wrist with him, so that Draco is forced to bend forward. Another abrupt tug, and Draco topples down. His knees automatically slip to either side of Lucius’ legs, rear lifting up to fit, until he’s straddling his father’s lap properly. Lucius reaches over to pull his wand out of his cane, the other arm shifting to wrap firmly around Draco’s waist. The rope falls limply between them.
A few taps of his wand, and Lucius says smoothly, “There, it should be working fine now.”
Draco chirps, “Thank you, Daddy,” and leans in to kiss Lucius’ cheek. He receives a brisk pat on the ass as a ‘you’re welcome,’ and the hand doesn’t leave after. Lucius places his cane over on the side table before moving both hands to cup Draco’s rear, kneading it lightly as Draco gasps.
“You said you wanted to play a game, Draco?” He drawls evenly, as though discussing the weather. On a particularly harsh squeeze, Draco whimpers and nods. His fingers slide up his father’s chest to rest on broad shoulders, smaller fingers twisting delicately in the dark robes. “Subtlety is definitely an admirably Slytherin trait, but if you aren’t clear with me, how am I to know what you want?” One of his hands lifts to slide under the fabric of Draco’s trousers, completely by passing his boxers. The other hand joins it quickly, and then those long fingers lazily stroke between his cheeks. Draco mewls and tries not to squirm more than would be dignified.
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” he tries to correct, lashes fluttering as his cheeks are roughly pulled apart, so that Lucius’ thumbs can trace the puckered ring of muscle around his hole. “I only want you to play with me...”
Raising a delicate eyebrow, Lucius drawls, “If you’re trying to beg for it, you aren’t doing a particularly good job. Didn’t your friends at school play with you?”
“Not like you do, Daddy,” Draco whines. There wasn’t a big enough pool; not many Slytherins returned for Eighth Year. He bites his lower lip and bats his lashes, knowing full well he’s being perfectly clear as to what he wants. Lucius is just teasing him because that’s the way Slytherins are. They could go back and forth all day; Draco’s equally stubborn. But that won’t get him what he needs so much, and it’s hard to be coy when he’s already in his father’s lap, wriggling against the hard bulge forming beneath him, while Lucius toys with his ass. Trying to sound as sensual as possible, Draco pleads, “I want you to play a dirty game with me, Daddy. I want to be your toy...”
“You’re already my toy,” Lucius purrs. He leans in to kiss Draco’s forehead chastely; Draco preens and lifts up for more. When those skilled hands slip out of Draco’s trousers, he whines; that was the sort of thing he likes... “Put your hands in front of you, pet.”
Draco obediently takes his hands away from his father’s shoulders, holding them together. The minute Lucius picks up the rope, Draco smiles; Lucius wraps it tightly around his wrists, tucking one end between them. Then he bends Draco’s hands back to his chest, wrapping the rope around his neck and binding his hands down. There’s barely enough rope left to trail down Draco’s back, grown so much taller as he has, and Lucius pulls Draco’s trousers far enough down his ass to rub the plastic handle between his cheeks. Draco gasps at the cold touch. He loves it when his father gets like this—loves when he’s chained up and collared. It highlights how much of a hold Lucius has on him, how much he trusts his father, how rough and Slytherin he’s become—and it highlights just how much Draco really is his father’s son. ...Or his father’s toy. Or pet, or whatever Lucius would like him to be.
“Are you still wearing your ring, Draco?” Lucius asks, and Draco knows immediately which ring he means. Draco nods; he’s worn it constantly since he was given it last week.
The ring is a tight metal band around the base of his cock, which refuses to let Draco come unless certain conditions are fulfilled. It loosens only if someone else comes inside him, before immediately tightening again a few minutes later. Draco’s spent a good several nights in his room figuring out all the intricacies of the spell, only to discover he needs Lucius’ help—or someone else, from a few experiments whilst out shopping, wanting a quick fix of coffee and sex with a side of satisfying curiosity on the side. He’s since learned how much the person has to come, how hard, which holes it works in. Getting enough on his face tends to work, but he doesn’t think his father’s going to do that right now, so he rubs against the bulge below him in the hopes that he’ll get a different avenue. Lucius’ cock is the most common for him, after all. Draco’s hasn’t comfortably sat down in a while, and he doesn’t plan on that changing any time soon.
Lucius’ next question is, “And you’ve been able to manage with it, even when Daddy’s busy? Have you found people willing to help?”
To which Draco replies, “Yes, Daddy. Almost everyone I ask helps.”
“Good boy,” Lucius purrs, whilst running the handle of the rope up and down Draco’s crack, parting his cheeks, rubbing his already-abused hole. Draco tries to keep his composure as he answers, trying to be better.
“But they’re never as good as you,” he croons, pouring on the honey. Lucius chuckles approvingly, idly swirling the handle around Draco’s entrance. Draco’s already stretched and lubed—he’s always ready when he seeks this. Lucius isn’t patient, and he’ll take Draco whether Draco’s prepared or not. And as much as Draco likes it rough, he often fingers himself in the morning, working in all-day lube and making sure he can take it. ...That’s for taking Lucius’ cock, though. He isn’t entirely sure about the handle. It isn’t quite as long as Lucius is, but it’s probably as thick, and it’s much less forgiving. It’s rough and solid, and when Lucius pushes the blunt end hard against Draco’s entrance, he throws his head back to gasp. With a bit more pressure, it pops inside—Draco mewls around the invasion. A few centimeters go faster than is comfortable, and Draco squeals, “Daddy!”
“I thought you wanted to play,” Lucius asks smoothly, drawing out the rope. But Draco whines at that, too. “No? You do want it in? You’ll have to tell Daddy what you want, Draco, or I might just leave you like this...”
“Ooh!” When it gets about a third of the way in, Draco really starts writhing, hunching his shoulders and dropping his head. He can’t be subtle anymore—not with the prospect of getting fucked so close. Instead he moans pleadingly, “D-daddy, please fuck me!”
The smirk immediately stretches across Lucius’ face; that’s what he was waiting for. The speed suddenly doubles, the thick handle sliding quickly up Draco’s tight channel, wrenching his walls apart and making him scream. Lucius pushes it all the way in before letting go, and Draco can feel it popping inside, the rope attached to it trailing out his ass behind it. He’s powerless to move, though, or even to touch himself—his wrists are still bound tightly to the makeshift collar Lucius’ put on him. Draco whimpers pathetically, but no amount of shifting or rubbing against Lucius’ thighs seems to move the handle—it’s firmly inside him and it’s staying there.
Lucius says, “Say the magic words, slut.”
Shivering deliciously at his favourite slur, Draco whimpers, “P-please...”
Chuckling, Lucius shakes his head and corrects, “For the rope, you stupid cunt. Do you want to play with Daddy or not?” Draco flushes; that one’s a bit different, because it’s usually reserved for when Draco fails a test or is just generally being punished, but then, Lucius has never been the cuddling kind of father. Draco rushes to correct himself, hopefully redeeming himself in his father’s eyes.
It’s been a while, but he vaguely remembers the password for the rope. He breathes shakily, “O-one... two... th-three... go!” Then he abruptly shrieks.
The handle’s started vibrating wildly inside him, much, much stronger than anything inanimate should be able to move. It isn’t shallowly swinging like it’s supposed to when it’s in the air; it’s pulsing frantically and pounding at Draco’s insides, hammering into his prostate almost immediately. Even when the scream is done, Draco’s mouth stays open, tongue sticking out, trying to gasp at the air. He throws his head back and alternatively moans and whimpers, over and over again. Lucius chuckles. The handle’s vibrating hard enough that it’s making Draco rock into his father’s lap, and his bound cock is hard within the front of his trousers, which are tugged down but still slightly covering him. As Draco trembles against him, Lucius’ bulge gets harder and harder, and Draco starts whining pathetically, “Daddy, p-please! Daddy! Yes! OH!”
Lucius splays a hand on Draco’s back, the other dipping down to squeeze Draco’s ass cheeks together around the rope disappearing inside him. Lucius grabs and kneads the flesh roughly as he pulls Draco close, forcing Draco to rut up and down into his father. Lucius grunts, “You like that, you little whore?”
“Yes, Daddy, I love it!” Draco answers immediately, because whenever Lucius asks if he likes something, Draco has to say ‘yes,’ or release becomes father off.
“I bet you do,” Lucius hisses. He’s clearly getting into it, and Draco parts his legs wider so he can press closer, his father’s housed cock so much larger and fuller than his own. He can’t properly grind into it, though—he has no control over his own body. The rope’s rocking him and doing all the work—Draco’s just struggling to get by. “Have you been looking forward to this while you were at school, Draco? You know you could’ve come to me much earlier for such fun, rather than wasting your new time away in idle dalliances...”
“I-I’m sorry,” Draco whines, trying to promise, “I... I’ll do better...”
“I know you will,” Lucius interrupts, and Draco shuts up immediately. “But you’re a naughty little boy, not pleasing your father the first time around... maybe next time, I won’t let the ring loosen unless you’ve had a whole gallon of cum...”
“Ooh,” Draco whines, “No, please, Daddy, please, I’ll be good!” He knows how wanton and raunchy he sounds, but he can’t help it. It’s already torture being restricted as much as he is; he can’t take anymore. “I’ll be in your bed every night, and I’ll please you every morning and over your desk while you work and any time you want, I swear!”
“Just please me?” Lucius growls, hands now slipping to Draco’s hips, so he can start picking Draco up and down, and the handle’s still vibrating madly inside him. “Come, Draco; we live in a town full of eager men with thick, virile cocks for you to ride. Don’t hold back on your old man, Draco—I know you’re a big enough slut to take every man on our block. Don’t you want to have all those cocks inside you, one after the other? You know how I feel about wasting that pretty ass of yours. And what do you think I spend all my time training you up for? I give you these rules for a reason, pet. Don’t you want to be a good little slave for Daddy?”
“Of course!” Draco insists, burying his face in his father’s shoulder as he’s bounced up and down in Lucius’ lap. He gets a bit of drool on Lucius’ robes, but can’t move to wipe it up. Even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to handle the coordination—the handle’s fucking him too brutally. “I f-follow all your rules, D-daddy! I make sure to swallow at least one h-helping of cum before every meal, and I’m on my knees for at l-least an hour a day...”
“Yet you’ve spent nights alone,” Lucius hisses. His breath is noticeably uneven, and his heartbeat is too fast against Draco’s ear. He’s getting close, Draco can tell. “You’re too pretty to waste—even when you’re asleep, someone should be fucking you—it’s a shame you have to ever be out of the bedroom at all—you should be chained up or caged and just fucked all the time...”
“Yes, Daddy, yes!” Draco cries. But he’s home now, and he’ll happily crawl into a cage for his father, and he’ll never sleep alone. His cock is so incredibly hard he can barely stand it, and feeling his father’s on the other side of his trousers is driving him wild. He wants to come so badly he can barely stand it.
But then he realizes, in a fit of sudden horror, that Lucius is still confined to his trousers.
Which means when he comes, it won’t be inside Draco.
Which means Draco won’t be able to come, either.
Writhing wildly, Draco suddenly starts begging, “Daddy, please! Don’t come like this!” He can’t move, though. He can’t get to the floor to try and suck his father off or get it on his face; he’s chained tight. “Please, please, put your cock in me! Fuck my ass, Daddy, please, or let me suck your big cock, please! Come on my face, oh! No!”
But Lucius doesn’t listen. He explodes as Draco frantically pleads for release, and Draco can feel it soak through Lucius’ trousers. Lucius’ head throws back, and he moans loudly, hands slipping off Draco’s hips, but the handle inside Draco doesn’t stop vibrating—it batters his prostate relentlessly, cock still tied.
Without Lucius holding him, Draco’s rocking inevitably leads to him falling backwards. He topples off his father’s lap and rolls onto the floor, unable to use his arms to stop himself. The rope between his neck to his ass holds his back straight, and Draco rolls hopelessly onto his side.
Lucius lets out a languid sigh, adjusting in his chair. His feet stretch out and his foot hits Draco, making Draco roll onto his stomach. He tries to rut into the floor even though he knows it won’t help, needing friction. His cheek is pressed into the hardwood below, ass still bare and spasming around the plastic handle firmly inside him. Draco looks up pleadingly at his father. Lucius merely chuckles.
“Oh dear, I seem to have forgotten that little detail,” he breathes silkily, even though Draco knows it’s a lie. His father never forgets anything. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Come on me again, Daddy,” Draco moans. He tries to give his father his most erotic look, chewing on his lip and blushing while his hips slap shamelessly into the wood, but he knows it must look silly. His arms are trapped beneath him, and he desperately wishes he could get them free to touch himself.
Laughing again, Lucius purrs, “I’m not so young anymore, Draco. I think that’s enough for me today.” Draco whimpers loudly, and after several torturous seconds, Lucius muses slowly, “Although... I suppose it might work if you tasted enough of it...” As Draco nods furiously Lucius idly asks, “Hm, how about it, pet? Would you like to taste some of the seed that made you...?”
“Yes, yes!” Draco practically cries. As soon as Lucius stands, Draco squeals in delight. The next second, Lucius kicks him lightly, and Draco goes rolling again, this time onto his back. The loss of friction is awful, but the handle is still ramming into his prostate, and he humps the air vainly as the overwhelming pleasure continues. Lucius steps over him, one foot to either side of Draco’s head. Draco arches up in need as his father shifts to sit down atop him, straddling him. Lucius is heavy, and Draco loves it. Lucius undoes his trousers painfully slowly, and then his large balls tumble out onto Draco’s bound hands, cock spilling over to hit Draco’s chin.
It’s coated in a sticky, fresh batch of cum, and Draco eagerly shoots his tongue out to lick it. He leans his head up off the floor and tries to take more into his mouth, even though it’s already spent and flaccid. Lucius leans forward until the thick cock is all over Draco’s face, reaching up the side of his cheek. Draco laps at it like a starving man at his first meal in months. He can’t help but moan as he does it, sucking every bit of skin he can reach and savouring the taste. Draco’s never particularly minded the taste of seed in general, but his father’s tastes the best. He craves it. It tastes vaguely like his own, but so much better...
It isn’t until Draco’s swiped the very last drop into his mouth that the ring loosens. His cock explodes instantly, and he screams, arching up into his father and coming harder than he has all year. The skipping rope fucks it all out of him, sending his hips high into the air as his own release splatters the inside of his pants. A moment later, Lucius gets off, and Draco’s still writhing.
Then Lucius taps Draco’s belly with the familiar polished, black wand, and the rope handle stops immediately. It stays firmly in Draco’s ass, but completely still. Draco’s panting for air, still seeing stars. His toes are curling inside his socks.
Lucius is already clean and pristine, as though none of this ever happened. He’s tucked back into his trousers, and they’re completely dry. He adjusts his robes thoughtfully and slips his wand back into his cane, bending down over Draco.
Draco lifts up for what he hopes is a kiss, but instead he’s yanked up by his makeshift rope-collar. Lucius pulls him to his feet, wet and ass still hanging out, still tied up. Lucius smacks his ass fondly before drawling, “Perhaps leaving that in will teach you a lesson about taunting your father with ‘playing games.’”
Draco’s head snaps around, his grey eyes scrunching up and his eyebrows knitting together. “Leaving it in? But...? ...How long...?”
Lucius raises an eyebrow, and Draco instantly flushes. He isn’t supposed to question his father, not if he wants to play again soon, and he hangs his head in resignation. Another, much harder pat to his very abused ass makes Draco yelp, and he immediately races out of the room, still bound. The rope handle continually shifts inside him as he moves, and it’s almost as awkward as not having the use of his hands or arms.
But, he supposes, that’s what he gets for being a naughty boy.