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The first thing Harry realised was the fact he was lying on a cold hard surface. The second thing he realised was that he was currently lying down naked, on a cold hard surface.

His first coherent thought being; shit.

His mind begun whirling, thoughts speeding a thousand miles a minute. Why am I naked? Am I in danger? How did I end up here? Where is here?

He suddenly became aware of the shuffles of clothing near him, and opened his eyes slowly, not daring to move. His gaze immediately fell to the multiple people in black robes standing in front of him, in white masks. Death eaters.

His mind screamed at him to run, fight, do something, but his body was frozen in fear and shock. His heart speed up and was hammering so loudly in his ribcage he wouldn't be surprised if they could hear it. The moment the death eaters noticed him watching them, a few seemed to jeer at him.

Wanting to sink through the floor, he examined the men gathered in front of him in a mixture of shock and fear. Never had he imagined anyone could feel this embarrassed, exposed and helpless. Why wasn't he dead already? Surely it would be safer to make sure he was out of the way immediately? He paused in thought. No, they probably wanted to torture him first. He shuddered, suddenly feeling ill.

No, no, this had to be a dream. In a moment he would wake up in his bed in Gryffindor tower, grudgingly get up to go to class. He and Ron would slack off and Hermione would nag them to be more studious, and everything would be normal. He vaguely wondered if he should close his eyes now to help with waking up from this nightmare. 

“Finally awake, Potter?” An intimidating voice drawled from behind him.

Realising he had yet to move he scrambled to sit up, covering himself as best as he could. He heard some snigger at his pointless efforts. He slowly turned his head to find the source of the voice not wanting to take his eyes off the death eaters; and found himself sitting on the ground in front of a chair. No, this was a throne.

Perched at the edge of the throne, peering down at him was a tall, slim man who looked to be in his twenties. His entire appearance screamed power and pure-blood, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. His mind whirred trying to figure out why he was so sure he should recognise this man.

Then, he noticed the red eyes studying him in amusement. 

His mind quickly put the pieces together. This was Tom Riddle. Voldemort. In human form. The feeling of dread and hopelessness that had been building slowly finally reached its peak. No, this could still be a dream. He remembered before, he got out of his nightmares by telling himself over and over, "its a dream, its just a dream." But right now that wasn't working; why wasn't it working this can't be real please don't be real. The cold feeling of fear washed over him fully as he realised the situation. 

There was no getting out of this. He was trapped. Defenceless on the floor, wandless, naked, surrounded by death eaters and in front of Voldemort himself.

“Stand up,”

It was spoken in a bored tone of voice but there was no doubt in Harry's mind it was an stern order, one which promised consequences should he not listen. Voldemort had his wand pointed lazily at Harry, eyes daring him to disobey.


Harry realised he had two choices now. He could fight, defy them, and probably get tortured longer or harder for it; but he would at least keep some dignity. 

Or, he could obey; he would possibly be punished less, but it would just amuse them all, him giving in so easily and quickly.

For now, he decided to follow along with any orders, the torture this was leading up too did not look good and he did not want to aggravate these possible murderers that surrounded him. The floor was chilly and cold on his posterior anyway, he longed to get off it.

He was facing Voldemort, whose' gaze was raking over Harry's lithe form. He tried his best not to give him the pleasure of seeing him flush or shy away, so he forced his face to stay blank, and his body stiff, refusing to react.

Voldemort seemed to notice his stubbornness and smirked “Turn around and face the others,”

He cursed Voldemort in his head, but a cold feeling was settling in his stomach. What was going to happen next? As he turned he noticed most of the death eaters had removed their masks, and to his horror, a few were staring at him with what could only be described as hungry, lustful gazes. Of course, there where still some who simply looked bored or amused.

“So, Harry Potter, the Saviour of the wizarding world. The chosen one. Here you are now, defenceless and surrounded. What shall you do?”

He could hear the sinister smile in Voldemorts' voice, and nearly rolled his eyes but just managed to stop himself. 

The moment cold hands touched his arm he made to jump away from surprise, but another came forward grabbing his hip, and pulled him backwards.

For a moment he was disorientated, but then to his horror, realised he was sitting in Voldemorts' lap, his back pressed against the black robes the man favoured. He quickly made to get up but the Dark Lords hands grabbed his wrists, and forced them upwards.

Harry heard vague mumbling, a spell, and then Voldemort released his wrists. He tried to pull his arms back down, only to his horror find them magically locked into place above his head. There was no getting away from this...monster now.

His panic began to build again, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when hot breath ghosted across his ear.

“Now now, none of that; relax. I think you may even enjoy this,” his voice was low, nearly seductive- no, don't even think like that Harry, clear your mind, don't think of anything. He chastised himself and closed his eyes, pretending he was anywhere but here. He evened out his breathing and tried to imagine Hogwarts to calm himself. 

Hands began lightly trailing down his chest, then back up again, light, teasing, feather touches, and he nearly tensed up. The mans fingertips danced across his chest, seemingly at random, and Harry nearly squirmed from the ticklish feeling this created. 'What on earth is he doing ? Luring me into a false sense of security? ' Harry wondered. Those long fingers now were focusing in and around his nipples, and he couldn't imagine why, before one hand reached up and twisted his left one. Harry felt a spark shoot through his body and what on earth was that

A small noise forced its way out of Harrys' throat and he squirmed slightly in Voldemorts' lap, before forcing himself non-reactive. 

Good lord this cannot be happening. He was fairly sure he knew what this could be now. Any situation where he would imagine being captured by Voldemort, this was certainly the last possible thing he would imagine happening. He should be dead, or in pain, not in Voldemorts lap being...touched like this.

He felt rather than heard the Dark Lord chuckle, Toms hard chest vibrating lightly against his back.

The hands where back, trailing down his sides, back up, across his chest, briefly landing teasing touches to his now hardened nubs. He tried so hard to block the feelings, make his mind blank, but the sheer shock of the situation kept bringing his mind back. Was this actually happening? And hell, he'd never touched his nipples before and never heard of them feeling like this when touched. It burned when pinched but otherwise send small pulses through his body from his nipples down to his crotch. Those long elegant fingers trailed along his ribcage, before lightly circling the area around his nipples, refusing to go closer. 

“Open your eyes,” The voice was back beside his ear, making him shiver at the small jolt that went through him at the authority in that tone. Shiver in disgust he told his mind harshly. The mans' warm breath tickled his ear, the husky tone only fuelling the pleasure that was pooling in his crotch.

A hand grabbed his jaw to direct it upwards. His eyes flickered open automatically, and then immediately wished they hadn't.

Some of the Death eaters assembled had taken themselves out of their robes, and where touching themselves slowly; others where subtly rubbing themselves through their robes. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that a few of them, those not interested had left while he was...distracted.

“Just look at how you are affecting them,” Voldemort practically purred into his ear, his chin now resting on Harrys' shoulder. He tried his best not to flinch when he felt teeth graze his ear lobe, but had to withhold a small whimper when he begun sucking and licking, a tongue curling around the edge of his ear. He never would have pegged his ears as a sensitive or erogenous zone but was proved wrong, as he practically writhed in the mans' grasp under the attention he was reciving.

To Harrys' horror, his body began reacting much, much more strongly. He begged his body to stop, stop feeling what Voldemort was doing to him, but it was useless. His cock which had been settled at half hard was now becoming more erect. It wasn't long before it was curved upwards towards his stomach, demanding attention.

'What the hell is wrong with me?' He thought 'I can't possibly be enjoying this, why am I not even trying to fight? A spell. It must be. There’s no other explanation' He tried to reassure himself, before being brought back to reality by a deep chuckle near his ear.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Harry,” Hearing his name in that tone of voice, from that man induced a full body shiver in Harry, disgust, obviously. There was no way it could have been pleasure. Definitely not.

He tried to subtly bend his knees up towards his chest, hiding himself from those watching. Naturally, Voldemort noticed and took action.

The man tutted “We can't have that,” and grabbed hold of his ankles. Harry shuddered from the strong grasp. The man brought them upwards and apart, settling his feet on the arm rests on either side of the throne. He heard another vague whisper and his legs where now stuck like this, wide open and bent at the knees, displaying him for all to see.

He was completely exposed, there was no way to hide. He could struggle all he wanted but he was stuck in this position, only able to move a few centimetres in each direction. To his shame, this only aroused him more, as he tried feebly to bring his legs together, his efforts gaining amused chuckles from beside his ear, and he was nearly possitive he heard a moan from somewhere in front of him.

The way his legs were open showed not only his now throbbing erection, but also a hint of his small, wrinkled arsehole between his cheeks. He felt completely vulnerable, his heart still beating like he was running a marathon. Would they now take turns with him? Would they kill him afterwards? Or was he now going to become some toy for their sexual pleasure and amusement, never see the light of day again?

He was brought of of his morbid thoughts by Voldemorts' teasing voice.

“That must be rather frustrating Harry,” he murmured, head now resting on Harry's' shoulder. Before he could wonder what the man meant he noticed Tom was looking down at his weeping cock, which had yet to be touched. “Do you require some assistance, Harry?”

The fact that this was the Dark Lord himself speaking in such a gentle tone, despite being teasing was nearly ridiculous. If anything he would have expected Voldemort and his Death eaters to be rough, unforgiving, but not this. It was unbearable, and arousing, if slightly embarrassing.

The hands were now trailing down his sides, nails dragging lightly creating a delicious sensation. Harry bashed down the instinct to squirm in Voldemorts' lap. Slowly the hands travelled lower and Harry found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Closer....closer....

The hands passed his now dripping cock, and slowly started gently caressing the creases between his thighs, pointedly ignoring his cock and balls. they trailed along the gap between his legs and crotch, slowly, and so close to his cock that it was nearly unbearable. Harry's breath started to come faster, like small quiet gasps. His eyes were now scrunched shut both against scrutiny and in pleasure. He was sure he must have looked utterly pathetic. Stuck, exposed in the Dark Lords lap, panting and writhing at such little attention to his body. His cock was jutting upwards and dripping pre-come onto his stomach despite having yet to be touched. 

When those large hands suddenly pulled apart his arse cheeks he jumped slightly, although all this did was make him grind into the figure behind him.

He noticed with slight horror and some strange sense of smug satisfaction that Voldemort was just as affected by this. He could feel the man’s own warm arousal through his robes, pressing into his lower back.

When he moved Voldemort let out a sort of gasp, or maybe just a small inhale. For some odd, crazy reason Harry found himself wondering if he should do it again, perhaps it would be better than just sitting, taking everything that came his way; but he restrained that urge. Why on earth would I think about making him feel good?

One of Voldemort's hands was now softly caressing his face, tracing the back of his knuckles down his cheek. It tickled slightly, and he found his head moving away from the touch of its own accord. The man simply followed, still lightly touching around his face, mapping it out as though fascinated.

His other hand was now in front of his view, and he flicked his wrist. Suddenly, in his hand was a feather.

Harry's stomach dropped, and he now was anxious again. How long would this teasing go on for?

Before he could think anything else the feather was on his nipples, circling the outer edge. His breath caught in his throat and his mind went blank and he found himself only feeling.

It trailed from one side of the chest to the other, his breath hitched every time it flicked over the nubs of his slightly red nipples, sending light electric pulses down his chest and to his twitching cock. He continued at a slow, leisurely pace, but eventually began trailing down his stomach. The man swished the feather back and forth, circling areas of skin that make Harry react strongest. Being unused to touches like these, Harry was unbearably sensitive, and these light teasing touches were driving him mad. He'd only ever even touched himself a few times. 

He also couldn't help but gasp and squirm at the ticklish feeling the feathers brought. Voldemort groaned softly next to his ear as harry grinded backwards, trying to get away from the blasted torturous feather.

But of course, Voldemort found himself liking this reaction, and continued, but moved onto his side. Harry dully noticed that another feather had been summoned and was at his other side, and he had nowhere to squirm too, trapped in between the torturous, light and teasing touches.

Although they tickled he didn't find himself wanting to laugh, no, he found himself fighting back moans.

His body continued moving back against the man against his will, but he found himself no longer caring. The teasing sensations made it impossible to stay still, and his arse grinded back and forth in the lap of the man teasing him.

He felt teeth nip at his neck, and he unconsciously tilted his head to the side to allow better access. He felt his neck being tasted. A wet tongue trailed along the skin, nipping and sucking and fuck that felt good. Harry's breath was slowly becoming heavier, and his cock more desperate to be touched, pre-cum now dripping down the shaft, and smearing across his stomach where his cock lay, lightly rubbing back and forth against it when he grinding back into the man.

It was infuriating.

One feather was suddenly gone and a hand forced his neck forward, while the other moved down, again, trailing on past his painful erection, and found itself between his cheeks. His eyes fluttered open of their own accord and he felt himself entranced, watching what was happening to him. It was slowly trailing up and down the small space between his arsehole and balls.

He mewled slightly and bucked, trying to get it to touch more intimate areas, anything to get him off. Of course, the man only huffed a deep laugh and continued avoiding where Harry desperately wanted to be touched. His cock was beginning to ache, and his mind was in a hazy state of pure lust. The feather continued but now in circles and god that was so much worse. His hips were constantly moving now, and he couldn't stop it if he tried. His eyes fluttered shut again. Nothing else existed to him at the moment. Only him and Tom.

The thumb on the hand that was gripping his jaw began moving, caressing his cheek, and moving towards his mouth. It traced the outer edges of his lips, before gently moving between his moist lips, settling against the tip of his tongue. His tongue pressed against the invading appendage, and he heard a noise of approval beside his ear, which oddly enough made him feel amazing.

“Open your eyes Harry.” A soft spoken command broke through the mist of arousal, but he kept them closed. There was a noise of disapproval and the thumb was out of his mouth, hand gripping his jaw a tad harder now, keeping it firmly in place. 

“Open them, Harry,”

The man had now stopped doing anything, and Harry found his hips thrusting more desperately, looking for some kind of touch. He waited a few moments, squirming lightly in the man's hold. When it became clear he wasn't about to grant Harry that wish, he opened his eyes.

The Death eaters were still there. He could see some had no shame, and were now stroking themselves in full view of the others. A few were more subtle, and palming themselves through the robes.

A whine escaped his throat before he could stop it, but he was rewarded for his co-operation when the man began his ministrations again, but finally moving lower.

The feather was suddenly flicked across his arsehole.

He gasped loudly at the sudden intensity and hot arousal that shot through him at this tiny movement. Voldemort seemed amused by this reaction and continued trailing the feather up and down the crease between his butt cheeks, each time lightly teasing the outer ring.

He waited until another moan escaped Harry's throat before fully focusing in on the wrinkled hole. The arousal that was shooting through him was shocking, he was never thought it possible to feel this much pleasure. Harry was panting now, and trying to move his legs apart to get more of this amazing feeling but he was reminded of the invisible bonds keeping his legs in place and nearly whined.

It was torture, pure, blissful torture. He refused to lower himself to begging but he was growing more and more desperate for a more intense touch.

Whiny moans and pants continued escaping him at regular intervals, and he could feel Voldemort shifting beneath him, the man's arousal still hot and hard against his back, and he wondered how the man could stand not touching himself.

“Tell me what you want,” A husky voice whispered into his ear, and he shuddered in response.

His resolve at not begging was slowly slipping away, and after a few more moments of gasping and squirming he gave in because he needed to cum now.

“Please...” He spoke it so softly he wondered if he had even said it, but the light vibration against his back as Voldemort laughed slightly confirmed that he was, in fact heard.

“Louder, Harry, so they can hear you” He spoke softly and gently, voice so kind sounding Harry almost couldn't stand it. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to enjoy this in any way, shape or form, and yet here he was, naked and aroused, panting and gasping for more in the Dark Lords lap.

The feather disappeared from his arsehole. Before he could mewl in displeasure at the loss, it trailed ever so slowly up his red swollen cock. 

And god, he could have screamed at the sensations that flooded through him. Instead he writhed wildly in the man's lap, and emitted a loud gasp which melted into a moan half way through. The sensations were flooding his mind, and his hips had begun grinding forward and back rhythmically, trying to get more of that delicious pressure on his cock which was now an angry red at lack of attention.

He was sure he must have looked so utterly desperate now, sweaty, naked in Voldemort's lap.

The feather moved up, and lightly circled the head of his cock, moving slowly round and around and to hell with not begging.

Please, please please please,”

He whispered a mantra of begs. He was lost in pleasure, completely giving in to the situation. He was sure the man could have asked him to take the dark mark right now and he would say yes, just as long as he could cum.

He felt the man shudder behind him, and it oddly pleased him. The feather was now trailing lazily up and down his cock, only just the lightest of touches. But it did occasionly flick across the head of his cock which always drew a loud moan from him. Harry was still chanting "please," but the man took a few more moments to speak.

“What do you want me to do Harry?”

He bucked upwards as the feather continuously circled his head again and half screamed, drawing a quiet moan from Voldemort.

Oh god, please, just, please... fuck,

The feather was now abandoned for the man's hand, which was spreading his pre-cum down the length. And fuck, a hand was a hundred times better than the blasted feather. He'd never felt anything this wonderful. Those few times were he'd touched himself seemed like a chore, and he's always felt shy or ashamed after. It never seemed worth the time or trouble getting off. But this. Now he could understand why people perused relationships or sex. The man behind him was only barely touching his prick and it was the most wonderful thing he'd felt. 

 Harry dully noted was was holding his breath now as the hand froze near the base. Tom seemed to be waiting.

He slowly opened his eyes again. Suddenly re-aware they were not alone, he studied the death eaters quickly.

Many were still stroking themselves slowly, and the sight made his cock twitch. The fact they were so freely being touched and yet he was stuck like this was maddening, but arousing as hell.

“Please, let me cum,” his voice was a mere whisper, pleaded.

His stomach jumped as the man's other hand went down to his dusky pucker, and slowly pushed in one finger. He gasped at the new sensation. It felt odd, and stung slightly, but in his hazy state he couldn't bring himself to care.

He noticed the finger wasn't dry. He must have lubed it up while he was...otherwise occupied.

The finger wriggled slightly and fucking hell, he could feel everything, and it only added to his arousal. A few moments passed of this when a shot of pure pleasure ran through his body and he loudly gasped, mouth and eyes wide as the finger probed and hit a spot that had him seeing stars. His pupils were blown wide now, green nearly completely eaten by the black of his pupils. He felt his eyes were slightly moist with tears of pleasure. Harry was frozen for a long moment, basking in the new sensation, before he began squirming again, body demanding more. 

He took loud shuddery breathers, but as the finger pressed against that spot again he dissolved back into gasps and moans.

Merlin, look at you. So helpless, writhing in my lap.” Voldemorts voice was low and husky. “You're being so good now, see? There was no point in resisting. I can give you so much pleasure.

The last word was practically purred in his ear and he mewed in response. This seemed to please Voldemort and he lightly stroked his cock in response.

Only moments later he felt his orgasm approach.

“Oh god, fuck, yes-” he gasped.

The hand on his cock moved to the base, and squeezed. His orgasm was right there, he was teetering on the edge for a few absolutly blissful moments, before coming back down. Tom was stopping him from cumming.

He could have sobbed.

“Please, please, let me,” He bucked and writhed as much as he could in his magical binds, trying to get some kind of friction or movement that might push him over. He continued his mantra of pleas before the man spoke.

“You want to cum?” Toms voice was teasing, but also heavy with his own arousal.

“yes! yes yes yes yes-” He continued babbling wildly, now thrashing his head from side to side, the pleasure so intense he needed to move more, his head being the only thing free.

And then all at once Voldemort let go and began stroking hard. Up and down his flushed cock rythmically, no longer light and teasing but grasping firmly. His other hand which was lightly teasing near his prostate now began circling solidly and directly onto it, sending small electric like signals of pleasure through him.

It happened so suddenly he couldn't even make a noise, just gulped in air, and came so strongly he could only see white. He had stilled in the man's hold, but after a few seconds he let out a low, loud moan, and slowly moved his hips through his orgasm. And hell, he was so filled with pleasure it verged on the line of pain. He could think of nothing, only pleasure and Tom. His hips rocked hard through the orgasm, and he felt a wet warmth spread near his backside, accompanied by Tom's husky groan of pleasure, and he knew the man came too.

He was sure he was shooting out thick streams of cum all over his chest and possibly face, but in that moment he couldn't care. He couldn't care about anything. He just felt.

A whispered voice cut through his pleasure just at the end of his orgasm. He knew he was about to pass out.

“Good boy.”

And then, he felt himself falling into unconsciousness.