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vintageflame
Learning [Harry Potter]
Title: Learning
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): OC Afton Macnair, Walden's son.
Summary: Afton, too, was learning. He was learning just how dearly he enjoyed dealing pain, creating discipline. He was learning how to be the man he would become.
Word Count: 555
Warnings: Dark, contains non-con and mild torture (if there is such a thing?)
Author's Notes: Inspired by an RP I haven't been a part of in years. This character is still living in my head.
Learning
Greta was a big woman, with breasts that lay atop of her belly. She was also bloody useless. Afton's mum gave Greta too much food (clearly, from her size) and let her take too many breaks, and overall Greta took everything for granted. The last straw for Afton, though, was when he caught Greta stealing a sip from one of his mother's potions.
He'd been polite. He'd asked her quietly to come to his room for a moment so he could speak to her in private. Still, he had seen the fear in her eyes. She was already afraid before he had done anything, before he had any reputation of doing anything.
Greta entered the bedroom first, and Afton closed and locked the door behind himself as he entered. He cast the spell to bind her, and deftly the ropes that snaked from his wand tied her spread-eagle on his bed. It was something he had practiced. He had practiced for this moment.
Greta wore a skirt, and for that Afton felt gratitude. He would not have to ruin clothes that his parents had bought for her. She was already pleading and sobbing, but her pleas had lapsed into her native language. It was something Germanic, but Afton couldn't care less about Greta's past. He carefully unzipped and stepped out of his trousers, folding them over his desk chair. Climbing onto the bed, he slipped up her dress and entered her with passionless precision.
The first time, it was really that simple. When he was done, he carved a long thin line on her inner hip with a knife, and then he proceeded to slather it with a healing salve.
The next time he caught her, she was stealing from the same potion. He again asked her to his room, but this time she froze, refusing to go. Afton carefully touched her with the tip of his wand, sending a shocking jolt through her. She stiffened. "I promise you it will be worse if you continue to disobey me."
She mewed and followed him to his bedroom.
Once again he bound her, had his way with her, cut a strip into her thigh. "When you dress, you have these as a reminder that twice I have had to discipline you. The number of scars on your thigh is yours to choose."
Afton began to monitor his mother's potions, hoping to find Greta slip, but alas, the levels were consistent with his mother's dosages. One night at dinner, though, Greta sneered at some remark Afton's father made.
That night, Afton quietly asked her to meet him in his room after the family had gone to bed. She came. He was pleased that he didn't have to bind her this time. She submitted, though she cried as he took her. He noticed the scars, puckered on her inner thigh. Perfection. Each one was a count of how many times she had needed punishment, and she would bear them forever. A third took its place.
When Afton left for Slytherin Academy, Greta bore twenty snake-like lines between her thighs, each for a misdemeanor more obscure than the previous. She was learning.
Afton, too, was learning. He was learning just how dearly he enjoyed dealing pain, creating discipline. He was learning how to be the man he would become.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): OC Afton Macnair, Walden's son.
Summary: Afton, too, was learning. He was learning just how dearly he enjoyed dealing pain, creating discipline. He was learning how to be the man he would become.
Word Count: 555
Warnings: Dark, contains non-con and mild torture (if there is such a thing?)
Author's Notes: Inspired by an RP I haven't been a part of in years. This character is still living in my head.
Learning
Greta was a big woman, with breasts that lay atop of her belly. She was also bloody useless. Afton's mum gave Greta too much food (clearly, from her size) and let her take too many breaks, and overall Greta took everything for granted. The last straw for Afton, though, was when he caught Greta stealing a sip from one of his mother's potions.
He'd been polite. He'd asked her quietly to come to his room for a moment so he could speak to her in private. Still, he had seen the fear in her eyes. She was already afraid before he had done anything, before he had any reputation of doing anything.
Greta entered the bedroom first, and Afton closed and locked the door behind himself as he entered. He cast the spell to bind her, and deftly the ropes that snaked from his wand tied her spread-eagle on his bed. It was something he had practiced. He had practiced for this moment.
Greta wore a skirt, and for that Afton felt gratitude. He would not have to ruin clothes that his parents had bought for her. She was already pleading and sobbing, but her pleas had lapsed into her native language. It was something Germanic, but Afton couldn't care less about Greta's past. He carefully unzipped and stepped out of his trousers, folding them over his desk chair. Climbing onto the bed, he slipped up her dress and entered her with passionless precision.
The first time, it was really that simple. When he was done, he carved a long thin line on her inner hip with a knife, and then he proceeded to slather it with a healing salve.
The next time he caught her, she was stealing from the same potion. He again asked her to his room, but this time she froze, refusing to go. Afton carefully touched her with the tip of his wand, sending a shocking jolt through her. She stiffened. "I promise you it will be worse if you continue to disobey me."
She mewed and followed him to his bedroom.
Once again he bound her, had his way with her, cut a strip into her thigh. "When you dress, you have these as a reminder that twice I have had to discipline you. The number of scars on your thigh is yours to choose."
Afton began to monitor his mother's potions, hoping to find Greta slip, but alas, the levels were consistent with his mother's dosages. One night at dinner, though, Greta sneered at some remark Afton's father made.
That night, Afton quietly asked her to meet him in his room after the family had gone to bed. She came. He was pleased that he didn't have to bind her this time. She submitted, though she cried as he took her. He noticed the scars, puckered on her inner thigh. Perfection. Each one was a count of how many times she had needed punishment, and she would bear them forever. A third took its place.
When Afton left for Slytherin Academy, Greta bore twenty snake-like lines between her thighs, each for a misdemeanor more obscure than the previous. She was learning.
Afton, too, was learning. He was learning just how dearly he enjoyed dealing pain, creating discipline. He was learning how to be the man he would become.