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“Master?” He stood there awkwardly, his hands clasped in front of him. His expression is schooled into perfect fear, respect, and worship, as a good pet ought to appear.
Voldemort look at him and takes hold of his chin, turning his head this way and that for inspection. He lets him, knowing better than to resist. Resistance only caused him to fall in favor. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay with his master forever. He wanted to serve him forever. He wanted to be his forever.
The inspection continues for another minute, his chin released so that his master can look at the rest of him. He turns when commanded, then sits in the ornate, elevated cushion by his master’s side when he’s told to. Perfect obedience.
He’s then ignored for a good hour. Maybe more. He’s not sure, because his master had told him to sleep, and suddenly he’d become very tired indeed. His eyes had slipped closed with one last upward glance at his master, and then he’d slept peacefully, dreaming dreams of his master and how he’d always stay with him.
He wakes up some time later as the last of the people scuttle out of the room with bow, a bow that continues until they’ve backed out completely and the doors shut in front of them.
“Come here.”
He gets up as commanded and stands in front of his master, one step lower than the man he worshipped as lord.
“On my lap.”
This command is followed with a bit more eagerness as he straddles him.
“Disrobe.”
Immediately, his loosely tied robe, which was more of a silken bathrobe, really, pools to the ground. His master smiles and flicks one of his nipples, causing him to mewl. He wants to suck on his master’s neck, make sure that no one else dares to try and take his master away. But he won’t, because a good pet doesn’t mark his master unless given permission. So instead he stares intently at the pale skin and dreams of how beautiful it would look if his master’s skin held his mark, how happy he’d be to see the darkened skin in stark contrast with the rest of the perfect alabaster surface.
His master, as observant as ever, notes his transfiction with his neck and smirks.
“You may mark me.”
He leans forward reverently and licks his chosen bit of skin, knowing that he would only be allowed the one, at least for now. He kisses it sweetly, adoringly, and then sucks, drawing some of his master’s perfect skin upwards. He nibbles, licks, and sucks, his gaze alternating between staring at the mark that was forming and looking up at his master.
It’s as he’s marking him that he feels the first finger breach him. He vaguely recalls that this breach used to make him balk, cause him discomfort. Now he can only moan pitifully, wishing for more as it slides in and out. His silent wishes are granted as a second finger joins it, stretching him further, causing him to almost forget about the task he had set about to doing before he manages to refocus, though his mind is constantly distracted by the gentle stretch inside him, the way his master’s fingers scissor about and spread him.
By the time the third makes its way into him, he’s moaning more than marking, his voice making sweet cries of pleasure. His hips rock back and forth, small motions, but enough to let him pretend that his master was deeper inside than he really is.
“Relax.”
And then he becomes limp against his master, holding his breath as he stays as relaxed as he can. And then he feels it. His master, nudging against his entrance. He does his best to accept him, take him in, staying as relaxed as he can despite his impatience.
And then his master is pushing in, making him gasp and tense despite himself before he can relax again. His master slides in slowly as he sinks down, taking his master in more and more, deeper and deeper. He ignores the ache he feels, knowing that it will go away and that doing this will make his master happy. And so he spreads his legs and takes his master in as deep as he can. He pants when he’s done, face flushed from the excursion- his master was the furthest thing from small. In fact, when he presses a hand to his lower abdomen, he could feel the slightest outline of his master. He moans as he runs his hand along the slight bump, loving how full his master made him feel.
His master lets him adjust for a moment, the discomfort of being stretched so wide eventually fading enough so that he’s just left with the satisfaction of being filled. And then his master starts to move.
The lord’s thrusts aren’t gentle. They’re hard and fast, hammering into him as he cries out, clutching at the armrests so that he doesn’t do anything his master hasn’t given him permission to do. He can feel it, the way his master causes his stomach to become rounded every time he pushes in, and he loves every last moment of it, relishing the pleasure it gives him.
His master is so large that he doesn’t even have to try to hit the spot inside him that makes him whimper, and he’s left with no option but to try and hold out until he’s told he can cum, trying to wait for the command. But it gets harder and harder as the hall is filled with the sound of flesh striking flesh.
All too soon, it’s too much, the feeling of having his master inside him, moving inside him, making it impossible for him to hold it off any longer. He cries out as he cums, getting the fluid on himself and his master. His master doesn’t scold him but instead moves faster, fucking him so hard he almost sees stars because of how the pleasure never ends, his length hardening again.
His eyes are teary from overstimulation, but still his master is ruthless, his silent pleas for time to recover ignored in favor of having his inner walls be battered over and over until he doesn’t think he can take it anymore, and then some.
Finally, finally his master stops, pushing in as deep inside of him as possible and filling him, the thickness of his cock enough to stop any of it from spilling out. The moment he feels the heat enter him, he can’t take it anymore, but he does his best, despite feeling almost dizzy from the pleasure, looking up at his master, begging for permission.
“Cum for me.”
And finally, he almost sobs as he also finishes, going back to once more mouth his mark. He no longer had the strength to do anything else than place open-mouth kisses on it, moaning as his stomach begins to ache from how full he feels. He rubs his stomach, feeling the slight bulge grow from the amount of cum that’s filling him. He whines from the discomfort, shifts to make himself feel better, but the pressure inside grows steadily. His master places a hand on the growing swell of his stomach, rubbing it almost comfortingly, and instantly his attention is diverted from the discomfort of being so full and to the attention his master gives him.
“You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” The question doesn’t need an answer but he whines anyways, then kisses him lightly and worshipfully in response. The flow inside of him had finally stopped, but he was so full, filled with his master’s seed, and it made him feel proud to have been able to take everything he’d been given. A finger skims along the stretched rim of his entrance, then comes up to his lips. He parts them and sucks on his master’s finger. “You didn’t let any of it out this time.”
He glows from the praise, licking the finger before his master removes it and rewards him with a kiss. He returns the kiss eagerly, wanting more of his master’s affection and love so distracted by it that he doesn’t realize his master is pulling out until it’s too late and there’s nothing he can do, his eyes tearing up as his master’s seed slips out of him in a steady flow, before it’s stopped by something pushing into his abused entrance, blocking the flow so that he doesn’t have to give up his master’s love. And when his master stops kissing him, he’s no longer on the verge of tears but instead half asleep in content, his stomach still slightly inflated from all the cum that’s been placed inside.
His master chuckles, causing him to stir, but then he’s being carried out of the room in his master’s arms, naked and on display for anyone who they pass to see. But he’s too content and sleepy to care, so used to his master’s lack of regard for how he might be perceived that he also finds it hard to put much thought to it. After all, if his master didn’t care, then why should he? He existed for his master.
It’s the last thought he has before he falls asleep, still in his master’s arms.
--
Voldemort looked down at his pet, his expression one of victory. If only Dumbledore could see his precious Golden Boy now. Harry Potter, reduced to the Dark Lord’s sex slave, who was so used to existing solely for his master that he didn’t even know his own name anymore. He leaves him on the bed before leaving the room, the gilded cage that he kept the boy in. He didn’t even need to put a guard on him anymore, the boy had been taught so well.
If the Order could see what had happened now, they’d be outraged.
No one would have thought it possible years ago, but he had proven that it was possible to train the Boy Who Lived to be perfectly obedient.