Archive of Our Own

Fourteen-year-old omega Harry Potter had never liked summer break. While other kids talked about beaches and lazy afternoons, he dreaded the way the heat clung to his skin, the way his thin cotton shirts stuck to his back. But this summer was different—this summer, he couldn’t stop thinking about the soft, dark curls between his thighs, how they thickened when he got nervous, how they made his stomach twist with something he couldn’t name.

Tom Riddle watched him from the doorway, fingers tapping against the frame. He was Harry’s alpha guardian—technically—though the word always tasted wrong in Harry’s mouth, thick and cloying. The man moved like smoke, soundless, until suddenly he wasn’t across the room anymore but right beside the bed, eyes dark and unreadable. "You’ve been distracted," he said, not a question. His voice was too calm, the kind of calm that made Harry’s pulse stutter.

Harry swallowed. The sheets under his fingers were soft, expensive—everything in this house was—but they might as well have been sandpaper now. He could feel the weight of Tom’s gaze tracing the line of his throat, the dip of his collarbones, lower. His thighs pressed together instinctively, but that only made it worse, the rough friction of his curls against his own skin sending a jolt through him.

Tom’s hand settled on his knee. The touch was light, almost casual, but Harry went rigid. "You’re hiding something," Tom murmured, thumb brushing the inside of Harry’s thigh, slow, deliberate. The air in the room felt thick, syrupy, and Harry couldn’t look away even as shame burned through him. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, wanted to disappear, but his body wouldn’t obey.

Then Tom’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Harry’s shorts, and the world tilted. The fabric slid down his hips too easily, pooling around his ankles like a surrender. Harry’s breath hitched, his skin prickling under the sudden exposure. He twisted, instinct driving him to roll away—but Tom’s grip on his knee tightened, nails biting just shy of pain. "None of that," Tom murmured, voice slick as oil. "You know why I’m here."

Harry’s hands flew to cover himself, but Tom caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with effortless strength. The mattress dipped as Tom leaned over him, close enough that Harry could smell the bergamot and iron of his cologne. "I’m going to have to check," Tom said, voice low, almost conversational, as if discussing the weather. "No alpha wants an omega with a used pussy."

A whimper tore from Harry’s throat before he could stop it. "I—I haven’t—" His legs thrashed uselessly, toes curling into the sheets. "Please, Tom, you don’t have to—" The plea dissolved into a gasp as Tom’s free hand slid down his belly, fingers skimming the wiry curls between his thighs. The touch was clinical, detached, but Harry’s body arched like a live wire, heat flooding his face.

Tom’s lips curled, not quite a smile. "Shh, It has to be done." His fingers parted the folds of Harry’s pussy with deliberate slowness, the pad of his thumb pressing against Harry’s outer lips—plush and flushed pink under the coarse curls—and Harry’s breath stuttered. He could feel them, swollen and sensitive under Tom’s touch, the way they trembled when Tom traced the seam where slick had already begun to gather.

The pads of Tom’s fingers were cool against Harry’s feverish skin, slipping lower to skim the delicate inner lips, darker than the rest of him, already puffy with blood. Harry whimpered, hips jerking when Tom’s thumb caught on the hooded swell of his clitoris—just a graze, barely there, but it sent a sharp, electric jolt through his nerves. His thighs trembled, muscles locking tight, but Tom only tutted, pressing him flat again with a palm to his belly. "You’re making this difficult," he murmured, though his voice was thick, uneven.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but the darkness behind his lids only made the sensations sharper—the drag of Tom’s fingertips parting him, the wet sound of slick gathering between his folds. His inner labia clung together, swollen and flushed, resisting the intrusion until Tom’s nail scraped lightly up the seam, forcing them apart. A sob caught in Harry’s throat. The air against his exposed clit was too much, the thin skin there hypersensitive, throbbing with every frantic heartbeat.

Tom exhaled sharply through his nose. "Look at you," he muttered, thumb circling the slick rim of Harry’s entrance, smearing the fluid that beaded there. The pad of his finger dipped inside his pussy—just the barest pressure—and Harry’s back arched off the bed, a ragged cry tearing from his lips. The stretch burned, unfamiliar, his body clenching instinctively around the intrusion. "I—I haven’t—" Harry gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets. "You don’t need to—the hymen, it doesn’t—"

Tom’s fingers stilled. His smile was slow, deliberate, the kind of expression that made Harry’s stomach drop. "Oh?" The word curled in the air between them, heavy with implication. His finger pressed deeper, not quite inside, just enough to make Harry’s breath hitch. "And how would you know what’s necessary, little omega?" The pet name dripped mockery, sugar-coated venom.

Harry’s throat worked around nothing. "I—I read," Tom’s fingers stilled against Harry’s slick entrance. His finger pressing just enough to make the boy’s breath hitch. “You read,” Tom repeated, voice dripping with amusement, though his eyes remained dark, unreadable. “And what, exactly, did you read, Harry?” The question was soft, almost conversational, but Harry felt it like a blade against his throat. He could lie—he should lie—but Tom’s fingers were still there, parted just enough to feel the flutter of Harry’s pulse where he was hottest, most exposed.

“I—I know it’s not—” Harry’s voice cracked, his hips twitching when Tom’s finger circled his entrance again, smearing the slick that had gathered there. “It’s not like that,” he managed, cheeks burning. “The hymen doesn’t—doesn’t prove anything. It can tear from—from anything, it’s—” A whine escaped him as Tom’s other hand slid down to grip his thigh, spreading him wider, the cool air hitting his wet folds.

Tom hummed, low and considering, his gaze fixed between Harry’s legs. “How convenient,” he murmured, fingers tracing the swollen lips of Harry’s pussy, teasing the rim where his slick glistened. “But I think I need to check anyway.” Then his thumbs pressed inward, just enough to stretch the tight ring of muscle, and Harry’s back arched off the bed with a broken cry. The stretch burned—not from pain, but from sheer, overwhelming exposure, the kind that made his skin feel too tight, his nerves raw.

“No—!” Harry gasped, thighs trembling as Tom spread his opening wider, the cool air hitting his most intimate flesh. His vaginal canal, flushed and glistening, twitched under the scrutiny, clenching around nothing. Tom’s breath hitched, a sharp inhale Harry had never heard before, and then—worse—the alpha leaned in, his nose almost brushing the damp curls as he examined him. Harry could feel the heat of Tom’s exhale against his folds, the wet sound of his own body betraying him with every slick pulse.

“Look at you,” Tom murmured, voice thick with something Harry couldn’t name. His thumbs pressed deeper, spreading Harry’s entrance obscenely wider, the delicate pink walls inside clenching helplessly. “So tight. So untouched.” He dragged a fingertip along the inner rim, smearing the slick that leaked from Harry’s hole, and Harry sobbed, hips jerking. The sensation was unbearable—the drag of Tom’s skin against his hypersensitive flesh, the way his body clenched around nothing, desperate for something to fill the ache.

Harry’s hands scrabbled at the sheets, his vision blurring with tears. “Please,” he whimpered, though he didn’t know what he was begging for—for Tom to stop, or to keep going, or to finally, finally press inside and end the torture. Tom chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied, and Harry’s stomach twisted.

The alpha’s fingers slowed, spreading Harry’s folds wider, exposing the taut, translucent membrane just inside his entrance. Tom’s breath caught—an uncharacteristic lapse—and Harry felt the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to pulse with something predatory. The hymen glistened under the low light, unbroken, a fragile barrier that Harry had never thought twice about until now. Tom traced the edge with a single fingertip, feather-light, and Harry shuddered, his thighs trembling.

“There it is,” Tom murmured, almost reverent. His thumb circled the rim of Harry’s hole, pressing just enough to make the membrane stretch taut, the delicate skin flushing pink under the pressure. Harry choked on a sob, his hips jerking involuntarily—he didn’t know if he was trying to pull away or press closer, only that every nerve in his body was alight, raw with sensation. Tom’s eyes burned, fixed on the proof of Harry’s virginity, his fingers stilling as if savoring the moment.

Then, without warning, Tom’s thumb pressed harder, the pad of it rubbing slow, maddening circles over Harry’s hymen—not enough to relieve the ache, just enough to make his hips jerk and his breath come in ragged, wet gasps. The membrane stretched under the pressure, thin as a spider’s web, and Harry’s fingers clawed at the sheets, his spine arching off the bed. “T-Tom—!” he sobbed, voice cracking as the alpha flicked the delicate skin with his nail, sending a sharp, electric jolt through Harry’s nerves. His pussy clenched around nothing, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath him, and Tom’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on Harry’s thigh.

“So sensitive,” Tom murmured, his voice rougher now, thick with something Harry didn’t recognize. He dragged his fingertip back and forth over the hymen, watching the way Harry’s body spasmed, the way his hole fluttered helplessly around the intrusion that wasn’t even inside him yet. “I expected—” Tom’s teeth flashed in a sharp, humorless grin, “—well, let’s just say I didn’t think you’d still be this untouched.” His thumb pressed down again, harder this time, and Harry cried out, his vision whiting out for a second as the pleasure-pain shot through him like lightning.

Harry’s thighs trembled violently, his entire body strung tight as a bowstring. “I told you—!” he gasped, tears spilling down his cheeks as Tom’s fingers continued their torment, rubbing and flicking at his hymen like it was some kind of toy. “I told you I—I hadn’t—!” His protest dissolved into a high-pitched whine as Tom’s nail scraped over the taut membrane again, sending another jolt of sensation straight to his clit. His hips jerked involuntarily, his pussy pulsing with slick, and Tom’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilating further.

Tom leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear, his breath hot against his skin. “And yet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mock surprise, “here you are acting like a slut.” His fingers pressed inward again, stretching Harry’s entrance obscenely wide, his thumb rubbing slow, torturous circles on the hymen. Harry’s breath hitched, his body bowing off the bed as Tom’s fingers worked him open, kneading the plush lips of his pussy with deliberate, maddening pressure. The wet sound of his own slick filled the room, punctuated by Harry’s choked whimpers.

Tom’s fingers moved with practiced precision, squeezing Harry’s outer labia between his knuckles, rolling the swollen flesh until Harry’s thighs trembled. Then, with a slow, deliberate drag, he rubbed Harry’s slit from mons to premium, smearing the slick that leaked from his hole. Harry’s back arched, his nails digging into the sheets as Tom’s thumb pressed below his clitorial hood, circling just enough to tease but not enough to relieve the throbbing ache. His pussy clenched around nothing, his inner walls fluttering under Tom’s scrutiny. “Soft,” Tom murmured, almost to himself, as if cataloging Harry’s reactions. “So soft. And so—” His thumb dipped lower, catching Harry’s hole with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch—“sensitive.”

Harry bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his hips jerking when Tom’s fingers parted his folds again, spreading him open. The alpha’s breath was warm against his inner thigh, his nose brushing the wiry curls as he examined Harry’s exposed flesh. “Tell me, Harry,” Tom murmured, his voice slick with something darkly amused, “has anyone else touched you here?” His thumb pressed against Harry’s entrance, not pushing in, just resting there, a silent threat. “Has another alpha ever spread you open like this? Made you drip—” He dragged his finger through Harry’s slick, holding it up between them, glistening under the dim light—“like this?”

Harry’s stomach lurched. His mouth opened, but no sound came out—just a shuddering breath as Tom’s fingertip returned, circling his hole with infuriating lightness. The pressure was unbearable, the way his body clenched desperately around nothing, his slick dripping onto the sheets beneath him. Tom’s gaze burned into him, waiting, patient in a way that made Harry’s skin prickle.

“N-no,” Harry managed, his voice cracking as Tom’s thumbs started massaging his labia again, pressing into the plush flesh with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers trembled against Harry’s trembling thighs, spreading him wider still—so wide Harry could feel the air kissing his innermost flesh, the slickness pooling beneath him on the sheets. Tom’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on Harry’s twitching hole, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of Harry’s arousal, thick and heady in the humid air between them.

Tom’s fingers stilled, pressing just enough against Harry’s swollen labia to make his breath hitch. "Tell me," Tom murmured, voice slick with amusement, "do you like this?" His thumb circled Harry’s hymen slowly, deliberately, the touch feather-light but devastatingly precise. Harry’s hips jerked, his thighs trembling as the sensation arced through him—too much and not enough all at once. "No—" he gasped, but his body betrayed him, his folds clenching around nothing, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath him.

Tom’s laugh was dark, satisfied. "Liar." He pressed deeper, his fingertip skating over the taut membrane, teasing the rim of Harry’s entrance until the boy’s back arched off the bed. "You love having your pussy rubbed and played with," Tom observed, dragging his fingers through Harry’s slick and holding them up to the light. "See how wet you are? You're dripping."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation burning through him. His clit throbbed—he could feel it pulsing against the air, swollen and sensitive—but the shame was worse, the way his body betrayed him, slicking up like some desperate, wanton omega. Tom’s fingers circled his hole again, pressing just enough to make Harry gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily. "N-no," he stammered, but the protest was weak, his thighs trembling as Tom’s thumb dragged another slow circle around his entrance, smearing his own slick back against him.

Tom’s breath ghosted over his wet folds, hot and intimate. "You don’t even know what you want, do you?" he murmured, fingers parting Harry’s labia with slow, deliberate precision. The air hit Harry’s exposed clit, making him jerk, but Tom pinned his hips down with a firm hand. "Look at you—so eager." His thumb swiped through Harry’s slick again, gathering it on his fingertips before pressing it back against Harry’s entrance, smearing the wetness in tight circles. The friction was maddening—not enough to push inside, just enough to make Harry’s thighs shake.

Harry whimpered, his fingers twisting in the sheets. "Stop—" The word dissolved into a gasp as Tom’s thumb pressed harder, rubbing insistently against his hymen, the thin membrane stretching under the pressure. His body arched, his clit throbbing—pain and pleasure twisting together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Tom leaned in, his lips brushing Harry’s ear. "You don’t *want* me to stop," he murmured, fingers still working Harry’s hymen with slow, deliberate strokes. His thumb circled Harry’s folds, pressing just enough to make the boy’s breath hitch—not breaching, never breaching, just teasing the swollen rim until Harry’s hips jerked helplessly. "Your pussy wants it." His fingertip skimmed Harry’s hymen again, pressing just enough to stretch the fragile skin taut. "Look how it flutters."

Harry whimpered, his vision blurring with tears. He could feel it—the way his body clenched around nothing, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath him. Tom’s fingers were relentless, tracing his folds, dipping into his slick, spreading him obscenely wide while Harry trembled. Then—cruelest of all—Tom pressed his thumb *down*, right against Harry’s hymen, rubbing slow, torturous circles until Harry’s back arched off the bed with a broken cry.

Tom’s breath hitched. His fingers stilled, pressing just enough to make the membrane stretch thinner—Harry’s gasp was sharp, wet—but then, with a slow exhale, Tom pulled back. His thumb lingered for a heartbeat, smearing Harry’s slick across his inner thigh before withdrawing entirely. The sudden absence of touch was worse than the torment. Harry’s body clenched, empty, aching, his folds quivering with the ghost of sensation.

"You’ve been good," Tom murmured, voice thick with something that made Harry’s pulse stutter. His fingers traced the curve of Harry’s hipbone, possessive, lingering. "So tight. So untouched." The praise slithered under Harry’s skin, hot and shameful. "You deserve a reward, little omega." His thumb brushed the crest of Harry’s pubic bone, feather-light, and Harry shuddered, his thighs twitching.

The words dripped into the silence between them, syrupy and deliberate. "No alpha cock has been inside this sweet pussy," Tom continued, his fingers skating lower, skimming Harry’s trembling inner thighs. "You’ve kept it pristine." The pleased edge in his voice sent a jolt through Harry’s nerves—wrong, wrong, but his traitorous body pulsed, slick gathering between his legs. Tom’s lips curled, pleased. "Would you like me to finally touch your clitty?"

Harry’s breath hitched, his throat working around nothing. Tom’s fingers pressed against his slit again, spreading his folds wider—too much, too exposed—and Harry could feel the wet drag of his own slick against his thighs, the way his swollen clit pulsed under the alpha’s scrutiny. “No,” he whispered, but his hips jerked when Tom’s thumb brushed the hooded peak, sending a sharp, electric jolt through his nerves.

Tom chuckled, low and dark. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, fingertips trailing up Harry’s inner thigh, avoiding the one place Harry both feared and craved his touch. “But you’re body’s not saying no.” His thumb circled the swollen bud of Harry’s clit without quite touching it, hovering close enough that Harry could feel the heat of his skin. The air between them thickened, charged with something Harry didn’t have the words for—only the ache, the desperate, humiliating need coiling tighter in his belly.

Harry’s fingers twisted in the sheets, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “I—I *am* saying no,” he protested, but the words dissolved into a whimper as Tom’s thumb finally, *finally* brushed his clit—just a graze, barely there, but it sent a bolt of white-hot sensation up his spine. Harry squeals, his back arching violently off the bed, his toes curling into the mattress as his entire body jerked like a puppet on a string. His eyes rolled back, vision blurring at the edges, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Tom’s laughter was dark, satisfied, his fingers tracing the swollen bud with maddening precision. “There it is,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Your pleasure button—over a thousand nerves, all designed to make you feel *good*.” His thumb circled Harry’s clit again, slower this time, dragging the hood back to expose the sensitive peak to the cool air. Harry’s hips bucked wildly, a broken sob tearing from his throat as the stimulation arced through him like lightning.

Tom watched him with detached fascination, his fingers never stopping their torment—slow circles, then sharp flicks, then dragging the pad of his thumb over Harry’s clit in a way that made his thighs tremble. “See how your body reacts?” Tom mused, his other hand pressing Harry’s hip down into the mattress to still his thrashing. “You can’t even control yourself.” Harry’s breath hitched, his clit pulsing under Tom’s touch, swollen and slick with arousal. Every nerve felt raw, oversensitive, but Tom didn’t stop—he rubbed faster now, his fingers wet with Harry’s own slick, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.

Harry’s vision blurred at the edges, his mouth falling open around silent, shuddering gasps. He could feel it building—something terrifying, inevitable—coiling tighter in his belly with every merciless stroke of Tom’s fingers. His hips jerked, seeking friction, seeking escape, but Tom’s grip only tightened, pinning him in place as his thumb circled Harry’s clit faster—too fast, too rough—the skin there chafing under the relentless drag.

“Ah—ah—!” The sounds punched out of Harry’s throat in staccato bursts, his thighs trembling violently as his body arched off the bed, his back bowing like a drawn string. His clit throbbed under Tom’s ministrations, swollen and hypersensitive, the pleasure tipping into something sharper, almost painful. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his breath coming in ragged, wet hitches.

Tom’s breath was hot against his ear, his voice thick with dark amusement. “That’s it,” he murmured, fingers twisting against Harry’s clit with deliberate cruelty. “Show me how much you like having your clitty rubbed, little omega.” His thumb pressed down harder, grinding slow, torturous circles that sent sparks of white-hot pleasure shooting up Harry’s spine. His hips bucked wildly, his pussy clenching around nothing, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath him.

“P-please—!” Harry sobbed, his voice cracking. He didn’t know what he was begging for—for Tom to stop, to slow down, to never stop—only that the pleasure was too much, the pressure building inside him like a storm. His clit pulsed under Tom’s touch, swollen and aching, the sensation unbearable. “I—I can’t—!”

Tom’s laugh was low, satisfied. “You can,” he murmured, his fingers never stopping their torment. “And you will.” His thumb flicked Harry’s clit sharply, once, twice—and Harry’s vision whited out, his entire body locking tight as a scream tore from his throat. Tom starts flicking Harry's clit faster and harder, over and over, relentless—Harry's body jerks like a live wire, his thighs trembling violently, heels digging into the mattress as he arches off the bed. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, fingers twisting in the sheets, knuckles white as his hips roll uncontrollably against Tom’s merciless fingers.

"Oh Merlin—oh Merlin—!" Harry sobs, his voice cracking on every syllable, his clit throbbing under Tom’s ruthless strokes, the pleasure so sharp it borders on agony. His pussy clenches around nothing, slick gushing onto the sheets beneath him, his body convulsing with every flick of Tom’s thumb.

Tom laughs, dark and delighted, watching Harry unravel beneath him. "Look at what a slutty little omega you are," he murmurs, fingers never slowing, his touch cruel in its precision. "So desperate. So *pathetic*." His thumb grinds against Harry’s clit in tight circles, pressing down just enough to make Harry scream, his back bowing off the mattress as his orgasm crashes over him—violent, overwhelming, tearing through him like lightning.

Harry’s entire spasms, as he squirts—violent, unexpected arcs of fluid soaking Tom’s fingers, the sheets, his own trembling thighs. His vision whites out completely, his body arching off the bed like a live wire as wave after wave crashes over him, relentless and terrifying in their intensity. He doesn’t understand what’s happening—only that his pussy keeps clenching, pulsing, squirting more slick than he knew his body could hold, and the pleasure is so sharp it borders on agony.

Tom’s laugh is low, delighted, his fingers never stopping their ruthless assault even as Harry’s hips jerk uncontrollably. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with dark amusement, thumb circling Harry’s swollen clit faster, harder. “Squirting like a whore, just from having your little pussy touched for the first time.” His fingers drag through the mess Harry’s made, smearing the slick across his inner thighs, pressing it back against his quivering folds. “Such a good little pleasure slut.”

Harry sobs, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his body shuddering through another violent arc of release. “I—I d-don’t—!” His voice cracks, breathless, his hips jerking as Tom’s thumb grinds against his oversensitive clit, sending another jolt of pleasure-pain through his nerves. The sensation is unbearable—too much, too intense—and he doesn’t know if he’s begging for Tom to stop or to never stop. His thighs tremble violently, his pussy clenching around nothing, slick dripping onto the ruined sheets beneath him.

Tom leans in, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. “You don’t even know what’s happening to you, do you?” His thumb presses down harder, circling Harry’s clit with cruel precision, and Harry wails, his back bowing off the bed as another surge of pleasure tears through him. “Your body knows,” Tom murmurs, fingers sliding lower, pressing against Harry’s fluttering entrance. “It knows exactly what it wants.” His fingertip presses in—just the tip, just enough to make Harry’s breath hitch—and Harry’s entire body locks tight, his pussy pulsing around the intrusion, slick gushing between his thighs.

The alpha then does something unexpected—his fingers close around Harry’s clit and pulls, stretching the swollen bud taut while his thumb rubs hard circles against his hymen. The dual sensation is too much—Harry’s scream tears through the room, raw and desperate, his body arching off the bed like a bowstring snapped in half. His vision whites out completely, his clit throbbing under Tom’s relentless grip, the pleasure-pain ricocheting through his nerves like wildfire. His pussy clenches violently around nothing, slick gushing in thick, shuddering pulses—he can feel it, the way his body convulses, the way his thighs tremble like leaves in a storm—and then, mercifully, everything goes black.

When Harry comes to, his body feels limp, boneless, his limbs sprawled across the bed like a discarded doll. His pussy pulses with an aftershock of sensitivity, the swollen folds glistening with slick under the dim light. He stares down at himself, breath hitching—his labia are parted obscenely, the inner flesh flushed deep red, still twitching with involuntary tremors. The air feels cool against his exposed clit, still protruding from its hood, swollen to nearly twice its usual size and so sensitive that even the faintest brush of fabric would send sharp jolts of sensation through him.

Suddenly he hears a noise—the soft scrape of wood against wood—and Harry turns his head just enough to see Tom standing by the dresser, his long fingers pulling something from the top drawer. A clear, very thin, translucent cup catches the dim light, its smooth surface glistening faintly as Tom turns it between his fingers with deliberate consideration. The sight makes Harry’s stomach clench, his breath hitching as his still-sensitive body trembles against the sheets. The cup looks innocuous enough—like something medical, sterile—but the way Tom’s thumb traces its rim makes Harry’s pulse stutter with dread.

Tom’s gaze flicks back to him, darkly amused, as if he can read the panic coiling tight in Harry’s gut. “Don’t look so frightened,” he murmurs, stepping closer, the cup catching the light like a threat. “This is for your own good.” His thumb presses against the rim, testing its flexibility, and Harry’s breath hitches—it’s soft, pliant, like silicone. “A chastity cup,” Tom explains, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Custom-fitted. To ensure your hymen remains intact.”

Harry’s throat works uselessly. His thighs twitch, instinctively trying to close, but Tom’s knee slots between them before he can, pinning him open. The alpha leans down, the cup hovering just above Harry’s swollen, dripping pussy. “It’s breathable,” Tom murmurs, dragging the rim through Harry’s slick, coating it with his arousal. “Flexible enough to move with you—but tight enough that nothing can slip inside.” His fingertip presses the center of the cup inward, demonstrating how the material bows but doesn’t break.

Harry's throat tightened as Tom's fingers spread his slick along the rim of the cup with slow, methodical strokes. The alpha’s touch was clinical—almost reverent—as if preparing some sacred vessel rather than sealing Harry’s trembling body away. "P-please," Harry choked out, his voice raw from earlier screams. His fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles bleached white. "Don’t—don’t put that on me. I’ll—I’ll be good, I swear—"

Tom’s smile was a knife wrapped in silk. "Oh, I know you will," he murmured, pressing the cup’s rim against Harry’s inner thigh, letting him feel the cool, unforgiving material. "That’s precisely why this is necessary." The cup hovered over Harry’s exposed pussy, his swollen folds glistening under the low light, his clit still throbbing from the earlier assault. A bead of slick dripped onto the sheets beneath him, and Tom tutted, dragging the cup through it like a painter mixing colors.

Harry’s breath hitched as Tom’s fingers pressed his labia wider, exposing his flushed entrance, the fragile hymen still visibly taut. The alpha’s thumb brushed the rim of the cup one last time before pressing it firmly against Harry’s pussy. The silicone sealed with a soft *pop*, molding instantly to the contours of his swollen flesh. Harry gasped—the pressure was constant, unyielding, the cup’s center indenting just enough to press against his clit without granting relief. His hips jerked involuntarily, but Tom held him down, his grip like iron.

“There,” Tom murmured, smoothing his palms over Harry’s trembling thighs as the cup adhered snugly to his folds. The silicone clung with an obscene suction, pressing Harry’s labia flat against his body while the molded indentation over his clit pulsed with every frantic heartbeat. Harry whimpered, his fingers twisting in the sheets—already he could feel the unbearable pressure, the way the cup’s rim dug into his sensitive flesh with every shallow breath.

Tom leaned back, admiring his handiwork. The clear material left nothing to the imagination—Harry’s flushed skin, his swollen clit straining against the silicone indentation, the way his outer lips stretched taut under the cup’s pressure. The delicate pink folds of Harry’s inner labia were still visible beneath the barrier, twitching with involuntary tremors every time his pulse spiked. Tom traced a fingertip along the cup’s edge where it met Harry’s pubic mound, his nail scraping lightly through the wiry curls. The alpha inhaled sharply through his nose—Harry’s arousal still lingered in the air, musky and thick despite the containment. "Look at you," Tom murmured, pressing down just enough to make the silicone flex against Harry’s clit. The boy jerked, a punched-out whimper escaping his throat as the pressure teased his oversensitive flesh. "Even locked away, your pussy begs for attention."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation burning through him. The cup didn’t just trap his slick—it amplified every sensation, the silicone clinging to his engorged outer lips like a second skin. He could feel the way his inner labia fluttered against the barrier, desperate for friction that wouldn’t come. His clitoral hood was stretched taut, the swollen peak beneath it pulsing with each frantic heartbeat. Tom’s thumb brushed the cup’s indented center, and Harry’s back arched off the bed—the indirect stimulation somehow worse than direct contact, his nerves screaming for relief that never came.

"You see how your body reacts?" Tom’s voice dripped with mocking reverence as he tapped the silicone right above Harry’s trapped clit. The vibration shot through Harry’s pelvis like lightning, his thighs trembling violently. "Your outer lips are so engorged they’re pressing against the cup," the alpha observed, dragging a fingernail along the visible outline of Harry’s labia majora. The hair there was damp with sweat, the skin beneath flushed deep red. "And your inner lips—" Tom’s finger traced the shadow of Harry’s labia minora beneath the silicone, following the delicate, uneven folds that even now twitched with involuntary need. "They’re still fluttering. Like a hungry little mouth."

Harry sobbed, his fingers clawing at the sheets. The cup’s indentation pressed just enough against his clitoral hood to keep him teetering on the edge—every shift of his hips, every shuddering breath, sent fresh waves of torturous pleasure through his oversensitive nerves. He could feel his own slick pooling inside the cup, warm and shameful, the silicone growing slick with it. Tom’s chuckle was dark as he leaned in, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. "Don’t worry, precious," he murmured, fingertips skating along the cup’s rim where it dug into Harry’s pubic bone. "I’ll let you out eventually." His teeth grazed Harry’s earlobe. "When school’s out."

Harry’s breath hitched as Tom’s fingers traced the perimeter of the cup one last time, the silicone pulling obscenely at his skin when the alpha finally withdrew his touch. Every nerve still burned—his clit pulsed against the molded indentation, swollen and desperate, his labia twitching with involuntary tremors beneath the suffocating barrier. The air felt cool against his flushed thighs, but beneath the cup, heat radiated, slick pooling in thick, humiliating waves.

Tom straightened, surveying Harry’s trembling body with detached satisfaction. "The sensitivity will fade," he remarked, fingertips tracing the rim of the silicone cup where it dug into Harry’s pubic bone. "Give it an hour and your cunt won’t feel like it’s been rubbed raw with sandpaper." His thumb pressed down experimentally on the indented center, and Harry whimpered—the pressure radiated through his swollen clit like a live wire, his thighs jerking involuntarily. Tom smirked. "See? Already less dramatic."

Harry bit his lip until it bled, his fingers twisting in the sheets. The cup felt like a brand, the unrelenting pressure against his oversensitive flesh making every breath agonizing. He could feel his own slick pooling inside the silicone prison, warm and viscous, the trapped moisture amplifying every throb of his swollen clit.

Tom’s fingers traced the seal where the cup met Harry’s pubic bone, his nail scraping just hard enough to make Harry jerk. “Such a pretty little cage,” he mused, pressing down until the silicone flexed inward. Harry’s back arched off the bed with a broken gasp—the indirect stimulation was worse than direct touch, his nerves screaming for relief that never came.

The alpha straightened, rolling his shoulders with casual grace. “Stand up,” he commanded, stepping back to give Harry space. Harry’s legs trembled as he pushed himself upright, the cup shifting with the movement—the suction tightened, pulling his labia taut, the molded indentation pressing mercilessly against his clit. He gasped, his knees nearly buckling. Tom’s smirk was knife-sharp. “Walk.”

Each step sent jolts of torturous pleasure up Harry’s spine—the silicone rubbed against his engorged folds, the trapped slick sloshing obscenely inside the cup. His thighs shook, his breath coming in ragged hitches as he took another stumbling step forward.

Tom caught his elbow when he swayed, his grip deceptively gentle. “Good boy,” he purred, his thumb stroking the inside of Harry’s wrist. “Now you know… it’s not your decision who gets this cunt.” His free hand pressed flat against the cup, the pressure making Harry whimper—his clit throbbed beneath the silicone, the trapped slick warming against his skin.

Harry squeezed his thighs together instinctively, but the cup forced them apart slightly, the rim digging into his inner thighs with every shuffle forward. The seal held firm, the suction tugging at his pubic hair with every step. His breath hitched when Tom’s fingers traced the visible outline of his labia through the clear material, the alpha’s nails catching on the raised edges where Harry’s flesh strained against the barrier.

“Look at yourself,” Tom murmured, steering Harry toward the full-length mirror in the corner. The reflection was obscene—his flushed chest heaving, the cup glistening with condensation from his trapped heat, his inner thighs sticky with dried slick. The indentation over his clit pulsed visibly with his heartbeat. Tom’s palm settled over it, pressing just enough to make Harry’s knees buckle. “Every alpha at Hogwarts will smell it,” he whispered against Harry’s ear. “The way your pussy weeps behind its little cage.”

Harry’s fingers scrabbled uselessly at the cup’s edge—his nails caught on the silicone, but it didn’t budge. Tom chuckled darkly, catching his wrists. “Try to take it off,” he mused, “and I’ll replace it with steel.” His teeth grazed Harry’s shoulder. “Now bend over. Let’s see how well it holds when you’re on your knees.”

Harry proceeds to lower himself to the floor, his knees pressing into the plush carpet as he bends forward. He’s face down and ass up, presenting himself obscenely for Tom’s inspection. His fingers clutch at the carpet, knuckles whitening as the silicone cup shifts with the movement, suction tightening around his swollen folds. He can feel the slick inside sloshing, the cup’s indentation pressing mercilessly against his clit, sending fresh jolts of torturous pleasure through his body. The position leaves him utterly exposed—his thighs quiver, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the cool air licks at his sweat-slicked skin. The humiliation burns hotter than the arousal.

“P-please,” Harry whimpers, voice cracking under the weight of his shame. His forehead presses against the carpet, fingers twisting into the fibers. “Can’t we—can’t we be done now?” His plea is muffled, desperate, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his forced climax. The cup holds him open, his pussy still twitching beneath the silicone barrier, his clit pulsing raw and oversensitive. Every movement sends another wave of unbearable sensation ricocheting through him—he can’t tell if it’s pleasure or pain anymore, only that it won’t stop.

Tom’s fingers trail down the curve of Harry’s spine, slow and deliberate, before gripping his hips roughly. The alpha exhales, amused, as his gaze lingers on Harry’s exposed backside—the plush swell of his ass, the delicate crease where thigh met cheek, and there, nestled between trembling flesh: Harry’s puckered pink asshole, clenching reflexively under the scrutiny. It’s a tight little star of flushed skin, twitching with every ragged breath Harry takes, glistening faintly with sweat in the dim light. Tom clicks his tongue. "Spread," he murmurs, thumb digging into the soft meat of Harry’s left cheek to emphasize the command.

Harry confused and scared does as he’s told, his fingers shaking as they press into the soft flesh of his own asscheeks, spreading himself wider. The movement makes the cup shift against his swollen folds, the silicone suction tightening obscenely around his pussy—he chokes back a whimper, his clit throbbing beneath the pressure. Tom’s fingertip traces the rim of Harry’s puckered hole, slow and deliberate, and Harry jerks violently at the unfamiliar touch.

"Mm." Tom’s hum is considering, darkly amused, as his nail scrapes lightly over the tight furl of muscle. Harry’s breath hitches—the sound is obscenely loud in the quiet room, the wet *click* of Tom’s tongue against his teeth deliberate. "Should I seal this as well?" Tom muses, pressing the pad of his thumb against Harry’s fluttering asshole. The boy goes rigid, his fingers digging into his own flesh hard enough to bruise.

"No—p-please—" Harry’s voice cracks, raw with panic. The silicone cup shifts against his swollen pussy as he trembles, slick pooling hot and shameful beneath the barrier. His asshole clenches instinctively around nothing, the unfamiliar threat of intrusion making his stomach knot. Tom’s thumb presses harder, not breaching, just teasing—just enough to make Harry whimper as the pressure burns at the tight ring of muscle.

Tom exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, his other hand smoothing possessively over the curve of Harry’s ass. "So tight," he murmurs, dragging his thumb in slow circles. Harry shudders, his thighs quivering—the dual sensation of the cup’s relentless pressure on his clit and Tom’s thumb rubbing against his untouched asshole sends conflicting signals through his nerves. His breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, fingers twisting harder into his own flesh. "P-please," Harry whimpers again, his voice cracking under the weight of humiliation. "Not—not there. It’s—it’s not proper—"

Tom’s chuckle is low, darkly amused, as he presses the pad of his thumb harder against Harry’s clenched rim. The boy jerks, hips bucking involuntarily, but the alpha’s grip tightens, holding him firmly in place. "Proper?" Tom repeats, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Darling, you’re bent over with your cunt locked in silicone and your asshole fluttering for me. Do you really think *proper* still applies?" His nail scrapes lightly over Harry’s puckered entrance, the faintest hint of pressure before withdrawing—just enough to make Harry gasp, his thighs trembling violently.

The silicone cup shifts obscenely with every ragged breath Harry takes, suction pulling at his swollen folds as Tom's thumb presses insistently against his clenched hole. A bead of sweat slides down Harry's spine—his entire body feels feverish, oversensitive, his nerves alight with conflicting signals. The cup's indentation rubs against his throbbing clit with every slight movement, the trapped slick inside warming uncomfortably against his skin. Tom's nail drags another slow circle around his rim, the pressure just shy of breaching, and Harry's fingers spasm against his own asscheeks.

"Such a pretty little virgin hole," Tom murmurs, his breath hot against Harry's damp skin. The alpha's other hand strokes possessively over the curve of Harry's hip, fingertips tracing the delicate arch of his pelvic bone. "Still untouched. Still *pure*." His thumb presses harder, the tight ring of muscle yielding slightly under the relentless pressure—Harry whimpers, his thighs shaking violently as the stretch burns. The sensation is foreign, unbearable, his body instinctively resisting even as Tom's fingertip teases at the threshold.

Harry's vision blurs—his breath comes in shallow, panicked bursts, his fingers clawing uselessly at the carpet as Tom suddenly presses him flat, the alpha's full weight pinning him down. The silicone cup digs mercilessly into his swollen pussy with the movement, suction tightening around his folds as Tom's clothed erection grinds against his exposed ass. Harry chokes on a yelp—the rough friction of fabric against his bare skin burns, his thighs trembling violently as Tom's hips snap forward in a brutal thrust.

"Shh," Tom murmurs into the nape of Harry's neck, his breath hot against sweat-slick skin. The alpha's fingers twist into Harry's hair, forcing his cheek flush against the carpet as he rocks against him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. The seam of Tom's trousers rubs obscenely over Harry's clenched hole, the pressure just shy of breaching—Harry's toes curl, his body arching instinctively away, but Tom's grip tightens, dragging him back into each thrust.

Harry whimpers—the cup shifts with every movement, the silicone pressing relentlessly against his clit as Tom’s clothed erection grinds against his ass. The friction burns, but worse is the way his body betrays him, slick pooling beneath the cup despite the humiliation. Tom’s breath is hot against his nape as the alpha presses closer, his teeth grazing Harry’s shoulder.

“Still wet,” Tom murmurs, his free hand sliding between Harry’s thighs to tap the cup’s underside. The silicone makes a soft, obscene *tap* against Harry’s swollen folds. “Even locked away, your cunt drips for me.” His fingers trace the cup’s rim where it digs into Harry’s pubic bone, pressing just enough to make Harry jerk—his clit throbs beneath the barrier, the trapped slick warming shamefully against his skin.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, but Tom’s grip tightens in his hair, forcing his head back. Then Tom shifts to his knees, dragging Harry’s hips up off the carpet with one brutal tug—Harry’s stomach scrapes against the fibers, his ass suddenly tilted high, the silicone cup shifting obscenely against his swollen folds as Tom’s clothed erection grinds between his cheeks.

Tom’s hips snap forward with a sharp *thwap* of fabric against flesh—Harry’s ass jiggles violently from the impact, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. The alpha’s trousers drag against Harry’s clenched hole with each thrust, the rough material rubbing his rim raw. Harry chokes on a gasp—his thighs tremble, his clit pulsing against the cup’s unyielding indentation as Tom’s pace quickens. The mirror across the room reflects it all: Harry’s flushed face, his swollen lips bitten red, his ass bouncing with every snap of Tom’s hips. The illusion is sickeningly convincing—with Tom’s clothed erection rutting between his cheeks and Harry’s body jerking helplessly, anyone glancing in would swear he was being fucked proper.

Harry’s fingers scrabble against the carpet, his knuckles white as his hips are jolted forward again and again. The cup shifts mercilessly with each movement, suction tightening around his folds until his swollen clit feels like it’s being crushed beneath the silicone. Tom’s breath is ragged against his nape, his grip bruising on Harry’s hips—the alpha’s thrusts grow erratic, his clothed cock dragging harder over Harry’s twitching hole. The mirror catches it all: Harry’s tear-streaked face, his mouth slack with humiliation, the way his ass ripples obscenely every time Tom slams into him. His own reflection mocks him—the illusion of penetration so complete he can almost feel the stretch, his body reacting as if he’s truly being breached.

Then Tom’s hand fists in Harry’s hair, wrenching his head up—forcing him to watch in the mirror as the alpha’s hips piston forward, fabric catching Harry’s rim with each thrust. “See how pretty you look?” Tom growls, his voice thick with arousal. The reflection shows Harry’s legs spread wide, his ass jiggling obscenely with every snap of Tom’s hips, the silicone cup glistening between his thighs. A fresh wave of slick seeps from Harry’s trapped pussy, the suction making the cup pulse visibly against his swollen folds.

Tom’s free hand grips Harry’s hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into soft flesh as he grinds forward in one final, brutal thrust. Harry feels the alpha shudder against him—hot dampness seeps through the fabric pressing against his ass, Tom’s groan vibrating against his spine. The alpha’s breath comes in ragged bursts against Harry’s nape, his grip slackening slightly as he stills.

Harry’s entire body trembles—his thighs stick together with sweat, the silicone cup suctioned obscenely to his pussy, its indentation still pressing mercilessly against his throbbing clit. The trapped slick inside has grown uncomfortably warm, his swollen folds twitching with involuntary spasms beneath the barrier. Tom’s weight pins him firmly to the carpet, his damp trousers sticking to Harry’s bare skin where they press against his ass.

“Look at how out of control you are,” Tom murmurs, tilting Harry’s chin toward the mirror with bruising fingers. The reflection is devastating—Harry’s lips bitten raw, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, his body limp and pliant beneath Tom’s. The alpha’s hand slides possessively down Harry’s flank, pausing to tap the silicone cup with deliberate cruelty. “Even untouched, your body begs for it.”

Harry whimpers as Tom shifts—the movement drags the alpha’s damp trousers against his oversensitive skin, the rough fabric chafing his raw rim. Tom’s fingers trace the cup’s edge where it digs into Harry’s pubic bone, his nail scraping lightly through wiry curls. “Remeber. You’ll wear this all school year” he murmurs, pressing down just enough to make the silicone flex against Harry’s clit. The boy jerks, a punched-out gasp escaping his throat.

Tom rises gracefully, straightening his clothes with effortless poise while Harry remains sprawled on the carpet, his legs trembling too violently to stand. The alpha glances down, his lips curling in satisfaction at the way the silicone cup clings obscenely to Harry’s flushed pussy, slick still pooling beneath its indented center. He crouches suddenly, fingers gripping Harry’s chin with bruising force. "Your asshole stays unsealed," he murmurs, thumb tracing Harry’s bitten lower lip. "But make no mistake—I'll *know* if another alpha braches it." His nails dig into Harry’s jaw, forcing his gaze up.

Harry's breath hitches—Tom's eyes burn with terrifying certainty, the kind that suggests magic, or something worse. The alpha's fingers trail down Harry's throat, over his heaving chest, coming to rest just above the cup’s edge. "If another alpha fucks it. You and that alpha will be punished" Tom continues softly, pressing his thumb into Harry’s mons until the silicone flexes obscenely against his trapped clit. Harry jerks, a wounded noise escaping his throat as Tom leans in, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. "His balls will be removed. Slowly." The words drip like poison. "And your little cunt?" Tom’s hand slides lower, tapping the cup twice—the sound is obscenely loud. "Spanked raw. Your clitty numbed for a year." His teeth graze Harry’s earlobe. "No relief. Just emptiness."

Harry whimpers, shaking his head violently—his thighs press together instinctively, but the cup forces them apart slightly, the silicone rim digging into his sensitive skin. “I—I won’t—my ass, it’s—it’ll stay—*virginal*,” he chokes out, the word thick with humiliation. His fingers scrabble against the carpet, slick with sweat, as he tries to push himself up on trembling elbows. Tom’s fingers curl into his hair, yanking him back down with a cruel twist. “You say that now,” the alpha murmurs, his breath hot against Harry’s nape, “but your body begs for cock.” His thumb presses against Harry’s lower lip, smearing spit across his chin. “Both your holes are hungry for a good pounding.”

A fresh wave of shame crashes over Harry—his ass *had* twitched, clenching around nothing as Tom’s clothed cock had rutted against it. The mirror across the room shows everything: his flushed face, his swollen lips, the way his rim still pulses visibly, pink and exposed. Tom’s fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his head back further. “See?” The alpha’s voice is velvet-dark, his thumb pressing down on Harry’s lower lip until his mouth falls open. “Your body knows its nothing more then pleasure vessel.”

Harry’s breath comes in shallow gasps as Tom suddenly releases him, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The alpha’s gaze lingers on the silicone cup suctioned obscenely to Harry’s pussy, the trapped slick glistening beneath the clear material. Every throb of Harry’s swollen clit is visible, his labia pressed flush against the barrier. Tom’s tongue clicks softly. “Stand.”

Harry’s knees wobble as he pushes himself up, the cup shifting torturously with the movement—his thighs shake violently, the suction pulling at his pubic hair with each unsteady step. Tom watches with predatory amusement as Harry stumbles, his hands instinctively flying to cover himself before remembering that modesty is now a moot point. His fingers hover uselessly in the air, his face burning.

Tom reaches out, catching Harry’s wrist in a bruising grip. “Hands at your sides,” he murmurs, dragging Harry closer until their bodies nearly touch. The alpha’s free hand skates down Harry’s flank, coming to rest on the curve of his hip—his thumb presses into the divot of Harry’s pelvis, right above the cup’s rim. “Open your mouth.”

Harry’s lips part instinctively, his breath hitching as Tom leans in—the first brush of lips is startlingly soft, closed-mouth and almost chaste. Tom tilts his head slightly, aligning their mouths with careful precision, his exhale warm against Harry’s skin. The second kiss lingers, Tom’s lips pressing firmer, coaxing Harry’s to yield. Harry trembles, his fingers twitching at his sides—he’s never been kissed like this before, never with such deliberate, calculated tenderness.

Tom’s tongue traces the seam of Harry’s lips, slow and exploratory, the tip barely breaching before retreating. The alpha’s fingers tighten on Harry’s hip, his other hand rising to cradle the base of Harry’s skull—his thumb strokes the delicate skin behind Harry’s ear as he deepens the kiss, tongue slipping past Harry’s teeth in a slick, unhurried slide. The sensation is dizzying—Tom’s tongue moves with agonizing precision, curling against Harry’s in slow, sinuous arcs, every glide calculated to make Harry’s knees weaken.

Harry whimpers, his body swaying forward—Tom catches him effortlessly, his palm flattening against the small of Harry’s back to steady him. The alpha’s mouth is relentless, his tongue tracing the roof of Harry’s mouth in teasing circles before retreating, only to return with another languid stroke. Harry’s fingers clutch uselessly at Tom’s sleeves, his breath coming in ragged hitches through his nose—the kiss is overwhelming, the slow, slick slide of Tom’s tongue against his own sending sparks skittering down his spine.

Tom breaks away suddenly, his teeth catching Harry’s lower lip in a sharp nip before releasing him. Harry gasps, his chest heaving—his lips feel swollen, tingling from the dual assault of tenderness and teeth. Tom’s thumb swipes across Harry’s damp lower lip, his smirk knife-sharp. “Have you ever been kissed like that?” he murmurs, pressing his thumb against Harry’s tongue—the boy chokes, his tongue curling instinctively around the intrusion. “Did you enjoy my tongue in your mouth?”

Harry’s pulse rabbity in his throat—his entire body thrums with oversensitivity, the silicone cup still suctioned obscenely to his pussy, his trapped slick pooling thick beneath its indented center. Tom’s thumb presses deeper into his mouth, dragging against his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes. The taste of salt and alpha musk coats Harry’s palate, making his stomach twist. He gags slightly, his tongue twitching against the intrusion, but Tom’s fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his head back further. “Answer,” Tom murmurs, his voice velvet-dark.

Harry’s breath hitches—his lips stretch around Tom’s thumb, spit slicking the alpha’s knuckles as he struggles to form words. “N-no,” he manages, his voice raw. “N-never been—” His words dissolve into a whimper as Tom’s thumb presses down on his tongue, the pressure just shy of choking. The alpha’s smirk widens, his free hand sliding down to tap the silicone cup twice—the vibrations reverberate through Harry’s swollen clit, making his thighs jerk violently.

Tom leans in, his breath hot against Harry’s spit-slick lips. “And did you like it?” His thumb presses harder, forcing Harry’s jaw wider—the boy’s throat works around the intrusion, his tongue twitching helplessly. The silicone cup shifts obscenely against Harry’s pussy with every shallow breath, the trapped slick inside pulsing visibly against the barrier. Tom’s free hand skates lower, gripping Harry’s asscheek with bruising force—his fingers dig into the soft flesh, kneading roughly as he squeezes. The movement jostles the cup, suction tightening around Harry’s swollen folds with a wet squelch. Harry jerks, his thighs trembling violently—Tom’s other hand joins, both palms pressing Harry’s cheeks apart with brutal efficiency. The alpha’s thumbs bracket Harry’s clenched hole, spreading him obscenely wide as he hums in approval.

Harry makes a strangled noise, saliva dribbling down his chin. The alpha’s fingers tighten on his asscheeks—Tom’s smirk is razor-sharp, his breath hot against Harry’s spit-slick lips. “Did you like the kiss?” he repeats, pressing Harry’s cheeks apart until his rim flutters obscenely. The silicone cup shifts with every ragged breath Harry takes, suction pulling at his folds—his clit throbs beneath the barrier, trapped slick dripping thick beneath its indented center.

Harry’s lips tremble around the word. “N-no,” he chokes out, spit slicking his chin. The mirror reflects the obscene tableau—Tom’s long fingers gripping Harry’s spread asscheeks, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just shy of his twitching hole. The alpha exhales a laugh against Harry’s nape, his breath hot. “Liar,” Tom murmurs, dragging his tongue up the damp column of Harry’s throat. The mirror catches every detail: Harry’s sweat skin, his plump cheeks, and his twitching anus—Tom’s smirk widens as Harry’s hips jerk involuntarily when he presses deeper between Harry’s legs, spreading him obscenely wider. “Look at yourself,” Tom purrs, fingers tightening. “Your hole flutters like a Knockturn Alley whore’s.”

Harry’s stomach lurches—his thighs shake violently as Tom suddenly lifts him by the hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. The alpha’s grip is bruising, lifting Harry effortlessly until his toes barely skim the carpet. Tom’s likes the veiw—Harry’s bare thighs trembling, the silicone cup suctioned obscenely to his pussy, the way his asshole clenches visibly in the mirror’s reflection. Tom smirks, fingers tightening on Harry’s hips—then he *bounces* him sharply, making Harry’s ass jiggle obscenely. The impact echoes through the room—Harry’s breath punches out of him, his thighs slapping together with each brutal bounce, the silicone cup shifting torturously against his swollen folds.

Tom watches, mesmerized, as Harry’s body jerks with each movement—his ass cheeks ripple obscenely, his hole fluttering pink and exposed. The alpha’s grip tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh of his hips as he bounces Harry harder—his thighs slap together violently, the silicone cup suctioning tighter with each impact. Harry’s weight being supported by Tom’s hands on his hips and the tips of his toes. Harry’s breath comes in ragged bursts, his legs kicking weakly, toes barely brushing the carpet. This was humilating, Tom using Harry’s body like a toy for his own entertainment.

"Look at your asscheeks bounce," Tom murmurs, dragging Harry’s hips higher—his ass jiggles obscenely with the motion, the slap of flesh echoing through the room. Tom’s fingers tighten, lifting Harry effortlessly before dropping him again—his thighs spread instinctively, the cup shifting torturously against his swollen folds. Harry whimpers, his fingers scrabbling at Tom’s wrists, but the alpha only bounces him faster—his body jostles like a doll, his ass bouncing wildly, the silicone rim digging into his clit with each brutal impact.

Tom’s smirk widens as Harry’s legs tremble—his thighs slick with sweat, his hole clenching around nothing. The alpha leans in, teeth grazing Harry’s shoulder as he murmurs, "Your body betrays you." He punctuates each word with another sharp bounce—Harry’s asscheeks ripple obscenely, his flesh slapping together wetly. The cup shifts violently, suction pulling at Harry’s pussy—his clit throbs beneath the silicone, his slick pooling thick beneath the barrier.

Tom stops abruptly, and Harry’s full weight crashes down onto the flats of his feet—his legs buckle instantly, the sudden shift sending a jolt of pain through his overstimulated thighs. The silicone cup suctioned to his pussy shifts violently with the movement, pulling at his swollen folds with a wet, obscene sound. Harry gasps, his hands flying forward to brace against Tom’s chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of the alpha’s shirt. Tom’s smirk is dark as he watches Harry struggle to regain his balance, his own breathing only slightly uneven despite the exertion.

“Pathetic,” Tom murmurs, his thumb pressing into the hollow of Harry’s throat—Harry flinches, his pulse rabbiting beneath the alpha’s touch. Tom’s fingers trail lower, tracing the curve of Harry’s collarbone before dipping lower still, his nail scraping lightly over one peaked nipple. Harry jerks, a punched-out gasp escaping his throat—Tom flicks the bud sharply, the sudden sting making Harry’s back arch involuntarily. The alpha’s laugh is low, dark, as Harry’s nipple reddens beneath the assault, the skin throbbing in time with his trapped clit beneath the silicone cup.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Tom’s hand cracks down against his asscheek—the impact echoes through the room, the sharp *smack* reverberating off the walls. Harry cries out, his body lurching forward, the sudden pain radiating through his already oversensitive flesh. The silicone cup shifts violently with the movement, suction tightening obscenely around his swollen folds—his clit throbs beneath the barrier, his thighs trembling as slick pulses thick beneath the indented center. Tom’s fingers dig into the reddened flesh, kneading the sting deeper into Harry’s skin. “That’s enough for today,” the alpha murmurs, his voice laced with cruel amusement.

Tom steps back, releasing Harry abruptly—the boy stumbles, his legs nearly giving out as he struggles to regain his balance. The cup pulls torturously at his pubic hair with each unsteady movement, the trapped slick inside now uncomfortably warm against his flushed skin. Harry’s breath comes in shallow gasps, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides—he doesn’t dare cover himself, not with Tom’s gaze burning into him like a brand. The alpha tilts his head, studying Harry’s trembling form with detached interest.

“Get dressed.” Tom’s voice sliced through the humid air, crisp as the starched collar he was now straightening. He didn’t look at Harry as he spoke, his attention instead fixed on the smudge of Harry’s slick gleaming on his cufflink. With a flick of his wrist, he polished it away, the motion as precise as a surgeon’s. “And clean yourself up. You’re dripping.”

Harry’s thighs stuck together as he stumbled toward the discarded pile of his school uniform—the pleated skirt crumpled where Tom had ripped it off hours ago. The cup shifted obscenely with every step, suction pulling at his swollen folds in a way that made his vision blur. He fumbled with the skirt’s waistband, his fingers slipping on the fabric as he tried to yank it over his hips without disturbing the silicone prison clamped over his pussy. The zipper caught on wiry curls, tugging painfully at skin still throbbing from Tom’s attentions.

A damp washcloth hit Harry’s chest with a wet slap. Tom hadn’t moved from his post by the mirror, but his reflection watched with cold amusement as Harry scrambled to catch it before it slid down his sweat-slicked torso. “Between your legs,” the alpha clarified, though the darkening flush crawling up Harry’s neck proved he’d already understood. The cloth reeked of antiseptic—hospital-clean and biting. Harry’s fingers trembled as he swiped it along his inner thighs, the rough texture scraping over oversensitive skin. The cup’s rim lifted slightly with the motion, releasing a trickle of trapped slick that dripped down his leg. Tom’s nostrils flared.

“Thoroughly,” Tom murmured, stepping closer. His polished oxfords clicked against the hardwood, stopping just inches from where Harry knelt. The alpha’s fingers carded through Harry’s hair—not gently—tilting his head back until their eyes met. “Every fold.” His thumb pressed into the hollow of Harry’s throat. “I’ll know if you skip a crevice.”

The sharp *pop* of suction breaking made Harry flinch violently, his thighs trying to clamp together instinctively—only for Tom’s knee to wedge between them, forcing them apart again. The silicone cup hovered obscenely in midair, strands of Harry’s slick still clinging to its indented center as it rotated slowly under Tom’s silent command. Harry’s exposed pussy pulsed in the sudden open air, swollen folds glistening with trapped moisture that dripped down his trembling thighs.

Harry’s breath hitched as he dragged the damp washcloth over his inner thighs—the moment the rough fabric made contact with his oversensitive skin, his entire body jerked violently. A punched-out whimper escaped his throat, his hips twitching away instinctively as the cloth skimmed too close to his swollen folds. Tom’s fingers tightened in his hair, forcing him still. “Ah—ah, *please*—” Harry’s plea dissolved into a shuddering gasp as he swiped the cloth higher, the texture scraping over tender flesh still throbbing from the silicone’s relentless suction.

The cup hovered obscenely between them, strands of Harry’s slick still clinging to its concave surface—Tom tilted his head, examining the way Harry’s fluids stretched between the barrier and his trembling body before snapping apart. Harry flinched at the sound, his thighs squeezing together instinctively—only for Tom’s knee to press harder between them, spreading him wider. “Deeper,” the alpha murmured, his thumb pressing into Harry’s windpipe just enough to make his breath stutter. Harry’s fingers trembled as he obeyed, dragging the cloth between his flushed folds—the moment the fabric brushed his exposed clit, his back arched violently, a shattered cry tearing from his throat.

Tom’s laughter was velvet-dark, his fingers stroking through Harry’s sweat-damp curls as the boy trembled beneath his touch. “Look at you,” he murmured, tilting Harry’s chin up until their eyes met—Harry’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted around ragged breaths. The alpha’s thumb swiped over Harry’s lower lip, smearing spit across his chin. “Shaking like a bitch in heat.” His fingers tightened, forcing Harry’s gaze down to where the washcloth still pressed against his weeping pussy—Harry whimpered, his hips jerking involuntarily as another wave of oversensitive agony lanced through him.

The cup hovered just above Harry’s thigh, rotating slowly in midair—Tom’s magic kept it suspended, its indented surface still gleaming with Harry’s slick. The alpha’s free hand traced the rim, his fingertips collecting a thick strand of moisture before pressing it against Harry’s tongue. “Taste,” he commanded, watching as Harry’s throat worked around the intrusion, his saliva mixing with the bitter tang of his own arousal. The cup drifted lower, its silicone edge brushing Harry’s inner thigh—his breath hitched, muscles twitching at the teasing contact.

Tom’s fingers tightened in Harry’s hair, yanking his head back further. “Not clean enough,” he murmured, guiding the washcloth back between Harry’s trembling thighs. The cloth was colder now, the antiseptic scent stinging Harry’s nostrils as he scrubbed roughly over his swollen folds. His clit throbbing beneath the fabric—Harry whimpered, his thighs trembling violently—but Tom’s grip was relentless, pressing the cloth deeper between his labia.

Then—Tom made the cloth saw between Harry’s labia rough and quick, the abrasive fabric catching on swollen folds still hypersensitive from hours of torment. Harry’s scream tore through the room, raw and ragged, his body arching violently before collapsing backward onto the plush carpet. His legs kicked wildly, heels digging into the floor as he tried to scramble away, but Tom’s hand fisted in his hair kept him pinned, the alpha’s grip unrelenting. The washcloth dragged again, the friction searing like sandpaper against Harry’s throbbing flesh—his vision whited out, his entire body convulsing as another shattered cry ripped from his throat.

Tom watched, his smirk deepening as Harry thrashed beneath him, his thighs clamping together instinctively—only for the alpha to wedge his knee between them again, forcing his legs apart with brutal efficiency. The washcloth fell to the floor, soaked with Harry’s slick and the sharp tang of antiseptic. Harry’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps, his pussy swollen and glistening under the harsh light.

"No—no more, *please*—" Harry's voice cracked on the last word, his hands scrabbling uselessly against Tom's thighs as the alpha knelt over him. The washcloth lay discarded beside them, its fibers still damp with the mingled scents of antiseptic and Harry's own humiliation. His pussy pulsed in the open air, swollen folds glistening with a fresh sheen of slick that dripped onto the carpet in tiny, obscene splashes.

Tom's fingers traced the outline of Harry's trembling lips, pressing just hard enough to sting. "You'll take what I give you," he murmured, the words syrupy with false patience. His other hand drifted lower, fingertips skating over the hypersensitive skin of Harry's inner thigh—the boy jerked violently, a broken sound tearing from his throat as Tom's nail dug in, leaving crescent moons blooming in its wake.

The mirror reflected Harry's wrecked form perfectly—his chest heaving, tear tracks cutting through the flush on his cheeks, his pussy swollen and exposed like some grotesque offering. Tom's thumb pressed against Harry's clit, not moving, just *existing* there with the threat of pressure. Harry's hips twitched involuntarily, his body betraying him again as a fresh wave of slick seeped out, coating Tom's fingers.

"See?" Tom crooned, twisting his wrist to smear the moisture across Harry's trembling stomach. "Your mouth says *no*..." His free hand gripped Harry's jaw, forcing his head toward the mirror. "...but this greedy little cunt?" He tapped Harry's clit twice, the vibrations wracking the boy's body. "Says yes."

Harry's sob caught in his throat, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying spread as Tom's fingers traced the silicone rim of the cup with mocking precision. The alpha's breath ghosted over Harry's damp curls—warm, intimate, violating—before pressing the device back against his swollen folds with a wet, obscene squelch. Harry jerked violently at the sudden suction, his hips arching off the carpet as the silicone molded instantly to his flushed flesh, trapping another pulse of slick against his oversensitive clit.

"Look at how it clings," Tom murmured, tapping the indented center where Harry's arousal visibly pooled beneath the translucent barrier. His nail scraped downward, following the cup's edge where it suctioned cruelly to Harry's inner labia, pulling pink flesh taut. The mirror reflected every detail—the way Harry's pussy twitched beneath the prison, the faint sheen of sweat making the silicone gleam under the chandelier's light, the way Tom's fingers splayed possessively across Harry's shuddering stomach as he pressed the cup deeper.

A high, broken whine escaped Harry's throat when Tom abruptly pinched the silicone rim between thumb and forefinger, twisting it sharply. The suction tightened viciously, the sudden pressure wrenching a garbled cry from Harry as his hands flew to Tom's wrist—not to push away, but to cling, his fingers digging into the alpha's sleeve like a lifeline. Tom's chuckle was dark velvet against Harry's ear. "Such a perfect fit," he mused, dragging a fingertip along the cup's outer edge where Harry's pubic hair disappeared beneath the barrier. "It was made by me to keep this pussy pure."

Harry's breath hitched wetly as Tom's palm flattened over the cup, pressing down just enough to make the suction pull at his swollen folds obscenely. His thighs twitched—wanting to close, forced to stay open—as Tom traced the outline of his imprisoned pussy through the silicone, the alpha's touch clinical and proprietary. "Still virgin tight," Tom murmured, tapping the center where Harry's trapped clit visibly throbbed. "And you'll stay that way until I say otherwise." His fingers slid lower, pressing the cup's rim harder against Harry's pulsing entrance in a mockery of penetration that made the boy's stomach lurch. "Aren't you lucky?"

Three weeks later Harry found himself in the familiar corriders of Hogwarts. The stone path echoed with the sharp scuff of Harry’s school shoes as he was shoved backward—his spine hit the classroom door with a crack that reverberated through his teeth. Three silhouettes loomed, their scents thick with alpha musk, pressing in like a noose. Harry’s throat burned with the beginnings of a scream, but fingers, calloused and reeking of quidditch leather, clamped over his mouth before sound could escape.

One of them flicked his wand—Harry’s lips sealed instantly, the spell’s magic stitching his mouth shut with an invisible thread that pulled at the corners cruelly. His breath came in panicked bursts through his nose as they hauled him deeper into the room, desks screeching against the floor as they cleared space. The tallest alpha, his knuckles still raw from last week’s match, gripped Harry’s waist and hoisted him onto the nearest desk like a doll. The wood was cold against his bare thighs, the pleated skirt riding up as they spread his legs wider.

“We just want some omega pussy,” the blond one murmured, fingers already working the clasp of his trousers. His breath smelled of treacle tart and something sharper—firewhisky, maybe. “Then you can scamper off to your little Gryffindor friends.” The lie hung between them, thick as the musk choking the air. Harry’s wrists hit the desk with a dull thud as another boy pinned them, his Quidditch calluses scraping raw streaks into tender skin.

The third alpha—broad-shouldered, with a Slytherin crest crooked on his robes—leaned in until his nose brushed Harry’s throat. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a cunt wrapped around us,” he growled, fingers hooking under the waistband of Harry’s underwear. The fabric tore with a wet snap, exposing the silicone cup suctioned obscenely to Harry’s pussy. The alpha froze. A choked noise tore from his throat.

“What the *fuck*—” The blond reeled back as if burned, his erection flagging instantly. His fingers hovered over the cup’s rim, where Harry’s slick gleamed beneath the translucent barrier. The tallest alpha—still gripping Harry’s wrists—let out a disgusted snarl. “Hes been sealed,” he spat, jerking Harry’s arms harder against the desk’s edge. The wood bit into his spine, but the pain was distant compared to the terror pulsing in his throat.

The Slytherin’s nostrils flared as he traced the silicone’s edge, his nail catching on the tiny runes etched into the material—Tom’s mark. Recognition flickered in his eyes a second before his face drained of color. “Riddle’s,” he whispered. The name hit the air like a curse. The alphas exchanged glances, their earlier bravado crumbling. The blond stumbled back, hastily refastening his trousers.

Harry’s sealed lips trembled—relief and humiliation warring in his gut. The tallest alpha released his wrists with a shove, sneering. “We may not be able to fuck, but we can still look.” He grabbed Harry’s chin, forcing his face toward the classroom’s enchanted ceiling mirror. Harry’s reflection stared back: skirt rucked up, thighs spread obscenely, the silicone cup gleaming between his legs like a grotesque trophy. The blond licked his lips, his fingers skimming the cup’s edge. “What a pretty pussy,” he murmured.

The cup suctioned Harry’s pussy open obscenely, his swollen inner folds stretched taut beneath the translucent silicone barrier—his labia minora peeked out from beneath the outer lips, flushed dark pink and glistening with trapped slick that pooled visibly around his untouched vaginal opening. The blond alpha’s fingers traced the cup’s rim with morbid fascination, his nail catching on Harry’s wiry pubic hair where it curled around the silicone edge. "Look how it’s still twitching," he breathed, pressing two fingers against the cup’s indented center where Harry’s clit pulsed visibly beneath the barrier. Harry jerked violently, a muffled scream vibrating behind his sealed lips as the pressure sent a shockwave of oversensitive agony through his trapped nerves.

The tallest alpha—still gripping Harry’s wrists—leaned in to examine the way Harry’s inner labia clung to the silicone’s underside, the delicate skin suctioned into tiny ridges that quivered with every ragged breath. "Virgin tight," he murmured, thumbing the cup’s edge where it dug into Harry’s perineum, making the boy’s thighs spasm. "But look at how wet it is." He tapped the barrier twice, the vibrations rippling through Harry’s hypersensitive clitoral hood—Harry’s back arched off the desk, his heels scrambling against the wood as his trapped clit throbbed beneath the relentless stimulation.

The Slytherin crouched lower, his breath hot against Harry’s inner thigh as he studied the way Harry’s Bartholin glands seeped fresh slick around the cup’s rim, the fluid dripping down his taint in slow, humiliating rivulets. "Bet Riddle loves this," he mused, dragging a finger through the moisture before smearing it across Harry’s trembling stomach. "Knowing his little omega’s cunt drips just from being looked at." His palm flattened over the cup suddenly, pressing down hard—Harry’s vision whited out as the suction intensified, his swollen folds crushed mercilessly against the barrier while his vaginal walls fluttered around nothing.

Harry's muffled whimpers turned sharp behind his sealed lips as the Slytherin alpha grabbed his ankles, yanking his legs up and apart in one brutal motion—the desk groaned under the sudden shift of weight as Harry was folded in half, his school skirt pooling around his waist. The blond alpha's fingers dug into Harry's trembling inner thighs, spreading him obscenely wide while the tallest one leaned in, his breath hot against Harry's exposed entrance where the silicone cup suctioned tight. "Hold him still," he growled, pressing two fingers against the barrier's edge where Harry's virgin hole pulsed visibly beneath.

His pussy was in the air, thighs spread obscenely wide—Harry's muffled screams vibrated behind his sealed lips, as they examine his vaginal opening pressed against the translucent silicone. The tallest alpha's fingers dug into Harry's inner thighs, spreading him even wider, while the blond traced the cup's rim where Harry's slick pooled thickly around his untouched hole.

"Fucking hell—" The Slytherin's breath hitched as he pressed two fingers against the silicone, distorting Harry's swollen folds to expose the delicate pink membrane stretched taut beneath. "Hymen's still intact." The words dripped with frustrated awe. The alphas groaned in unison, their scents spiking with mingled arousal and bitter disappointment.

Harry whimpered—high and broken—as the blond alpha's thumb rubbed rough circles against the barrier directly over his clit. His hips jerked involuntarily, thighs straining against their grip as the silicone pulled his swollen folds tighter with every twitch.

"Imagine sinking into this," the tallest alpha growled, pressing his erection against Harry's inner thigh while his fingers traced the cup's rim where Harry's slick dripped obscenely onto the desk. "Soaking wet virgin cunt, gripping your cock like a fucking vice." His breath hitched as he dragged a fingertip along the silicone's edge, imagining the resistance of Harry's unbroken hymen giving way beneath his cock. "Bet it'd be like fucking molten silk—clenching so tight you'd barely last three strokes."

The Slytherin's laugh was dark with frustration as he squeezed Harry's thigh hard enough to bruise. "Riddle's got him locked up tighter than Gringotts," he muttered, but his gaze lingered hungrily on the way Harry's pussy visibly pulsed beneath the translucent barrier. "Still—" His fingers dug into Harry's hips, rocking him forward to emphasize the obscene squelch of slick trapped beneath the cup. "—look how his little hole winks. Like it's begging to be split open."

Harry's sealed lips trembled around a silent scream as the blond leaned in, his tongue darting out to lick a hot stripe along the silicone's edge where Harry's labia suctioned into the material. "Fuck," he groaned against Harry's thigh, his voice thick with want. "Could bite through this plastic and suck his clit raw—make him come untouched while we fuck his throat instead." His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of Harry's inner thigh, imagining the give of plush flesh around his cock rather than unyielding silicone.

The tallest alpha's fingers tightened around Harry's jaw, forcing his tear-streaked face toward the mirror again. "See that?" he hissed, tapping the cup where Harry's vaginal opening strained against the barrier with each panicked breath. "That's where we’d like to be—where we'd stretch you so wide you'd feel it for days." His other hand slid lower, pressing the cup harder against Harry's pelvis in a mockery of penetration—Harry's muffled scream vibrated against his sealed lips as his swollen clit throbbed beneath the relentless pressure.

The blond alpha's fingers dug into Harry's hips, lifting him slightly to watch the way his slick dripped in thick strands from the cup’s rim onto the desk below. "Pathetic," he murmured, though his erection strained against his trousers. "All this wetness for nothing." He dragged a finger through the mess, smearing it across Harry's inner thigh before pressing it against his sealed lips. "Taste yourself," he ordered, watching Harry's throat work as he swallowed reflexively.

The Slytherin's wand flicked—Harry's mouth unsealed with a wet gasp just as the tallest alpha twisted the cup sharply, wrenching a ragged scream from his throat. "P-please—" Harry's voice cracked, his fingers scrabbling against the desk's edge as the blond's teeth sank deeper into his thigh. "Stop—stop, I can't—"

"Quiet." The tallest alpha's grip on Harry's jaw tightened, forcing his head back against the wood. "An omega's cunt is meant to be admired," he murmured, dragging a finger along the silicone's edge where Harry's slick pooled obscenely. "And we're not nearly done looking." His thumb pressed against the cup's center, sending another torturous vibration through Harry's trapped clit—Harry's hips jerked involuntarily, his thighs trembling as a fresh wave of slick seeped out around the barrier.

The blond chuckled against Harry's skin, his tongue lapping at the bite marks blooming along his inner thigh. "See how it pulses?" He tapped the cup twice, his smirk widening as Harry's entire body convulsed. "Like it's begging to be fucked, sucked, and the played with." His fingers traced the indentations where Harry's labia were suctioned tight against the silicone, his nail scraping lightly over the swollen flesh beneath. "Pathetic," he repeated, though his own erection strained visibly against his trousers.

Harry's breath hitched as the Slytherin's wandtip traced the cup's rim, magic humming against the sensitive skin beneath. "Might not be able to break this seal," he mused, his voice thick with frustrated arousal, "but we can still make you feel good." The spell hit—a sharp, electric pulse that ricocheted through Harry's clit like a live wire. His back arched off the desk, a shattered scream tearing from his throat as his pussy clenched violently around nothing, the silicone cup trapping every helpless twitch.

The tallest alpha laughed, pressing down harder as Harry thrashed. Harry's scream dissolved into a wet, shuddering gasp as the spell's aftershocks wracked his body—his thighs trembled violently, toes curling against the desk's edge while slick gushed around the silicone rim in humiliating pulses. The blond alpha licked his lips, his fingers tightening around Harry's hipbone hard enough to bruise. "Look at that," he murmured, dragging a fingertip through the fresh spill of moisture trailing down Harry's inner thigh. "Dripping like a broken faucet."

The tallest alpha's wandtip circled Harry's trapped clit again, slower this time—the magic built in a searing crescendo that made Harry's spine bow off the desk, his fingernails splintering against the wood. "Bet Riddle loves this," he hissed, watching Harry's pussy flutter obscenely beneath the translucent barrier. "Knowing his little omega comes untouched just from being looked at." The spell peaked—Harry's vision whited out as his climax tore through him, his scream muffled by the Slytherin's palm slamming over his mouth.

The blond's laughter was a hot puff against Harry's ear as his body jerked through the forced orgasm. "So hot," he breathed, fingertips pressing against the cup's slick surface—Harry whimpered as the alpha's touch warmed the silicone instantly, magic seeping through to make it cling tighter to his oversensitive folds. “Make the entire cup heat up and vibrate—let’s ruin this pussy.”

Harry’s scream tore ragged from his throat as the Slytherin’s wand flicked—the silicone hummed to life, the vibrations ricocheting through Harry’s swollen clit while the heat intensified. His hips rolled uncontrollably, thighs trembling as the cup suctioned tighter with each pulse, the rim pressing unforgivingly against his inner labia. The tallest alpha’s fingers dug into Harry’s hipbones, forcing him still just to watch his pussy twitch beneath the torture—slick gushed around the edges, the heat making it thin and runny as it dripped onto the desk in obscene rivulets.

"Look at that," the blond murmured, dragging a finger through the mess smeared across Harry’s inner thigh. "His cunt’s melting." Harry sobbed, his toes curling against the wood as the vibrations shifted deeper, the silicone molding cruelly to his hypersensitive flesh. The Slytherin traced the cup’s rim with his wandtip, magic flaring—Harry’s back arched violently as the vibrations spiked, his clit pulsing against the barrier in frantic, helpless spasms.

The tallest alpha’s grip tightened, his breath hot against Harry’s throat. "Beg," he ordered, thumb pressing down on the cup’s center to amplify the vibrations. Harry’s hips jerked—broken pleas tumbling from his lips between gasps. "P-please—stop, I c-can’t—" His voice shattered as the blond’s teeth sank into his shoulder, the pain blending with the unbearable pleasure until his vision blurred.

Slick pooled beneath him, the desk’s surface slick with it. The Slytherin laughed, low and satisfied, as he watched Harry’s pussy flutter uselessly against the vibrating barrier—ruined, dripping, utterly exposed. "Perfect," he murmured, dragging a finger through the mess before pressing it to Harry’s lips. "Look at you. Just a little omega cunt, aren’t you? Your pussy is the only thing you have that matters.”

The tallest alpha smirked, leaning in close enough that Harry could feel his breath against his ear. "We’d fuck your ass raw," he growled, fingers digging into Harry’s hips, "but Riddle’s probably got that locked up too, doesn’t he?" His thumb traced the rim of the cup, pressing down just enough to make Harry whimper. "Watching. Waiting. Bet he’s got spells on you—alerts him if anyone tries."

Harry shuddered, the words curling hot and horrible in his stomach. The idea of Tom—*knowing*, seeing, *enjoying* this—made his thighs twitch despite himself. The blond alpha’s fingers tightened in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. "Wouldn’t stop us," he mused, voice thick with want. "Could take you right here, right now—let him watch while we ruin you." His free hand ghosted over the curve of Harry’s ass, squeezing just shy of cruel. "Bet he’d love that. Bet he’d *punish* you for it."

The Slytherin’s wand tapped against Harry’s inner thigh, tracing idle, threatening circles. "Riddle," Harry gasped, his voice raw with desperation, "he—he said—" The words caught in his throat as the blond alpha’s teeth grazed his pulse point. "Said he’d *take* them," Harry forced out, hips jerking when the tallest alpha twisted the vibrating cup harder against his clit. "Your—your *balls*—if anyone—"

A sharp silence fell. The tallest alpha’s grip slackened just enough for Harry to suck in a ragged breath. The blond froze, his smirk faltering as Harry’s words registered. "*Fuck*," the Slytherin hissed, recoiling like he’d been burned. His wand clattered to the desk, the spell on the cup flickering out abruptly. The sudden absence of vibration left Harry trembling, his folds oversensitive and twitching beneath the silicone.

The tallest alpha’s fingers dug into Harry’s hips, but his earlier bravado had cracked—his nostrils flared, scenting the air like he expected Riddle to materialize from the shadows. "*Take* them?" he repeated, voice uneven. The blond’s laughter was brittle now, forced. "He’s bluffing." But his hands were already retreating, fingers twitching away from Harry’s skin as if it might sear him.

Harry’s chest heaved, relief and humiliation tangling in his gut. The Slytherin was the first to break, stepping back with a muttered curse. "Not worth it," he spat, though his erection strained against his trousers. The tallest alpha lingered longest, his thumb pressing one last, vicious circle against the cup’s rim—Harry whimpered, his thighs twitching—before he, too, shoved away from the desk.

"Let's take some pictures," the blond alpha muttered, pulling his wand from his robes with a jerky motion. His fingers trembled slightly—whether from lingering arousal or fear of Riddle’s retribution, Harry couldn’t tell. The tallest alpha grinned, sharp and cruel, as he yanked Harry’s legs wider, the desk creaking ominously beneath them. "Yeah," he breathed, thumb pressing the silicone cup obscenely inward to emphasize Harry’s swollen folds beneath. "Since we can’t fuck his pussy nor his ass."

The flash of the camera spell burned Harry’s vision—white-hot and searing—as the blond captured every humiliating angle. His thighs twitched involuntarily when the tallest alpha wrenched his legs wider, the silicone cup suctioned tight enough to make his labia bulge obscenely through the translucent barrier. "S-stop," Harry gasped, his voice shredded from screaming, his wrists still pinned beneath the alpha’s crushing grip. "Please—*please*—"

The Slytherin’s wandtip traced the cup’s edge, the spell humming dangerously close to reactivating. "Begging won’t help you," he murmured, though his gaze kept darting to the door, his bravado cracking at the edges. The blond alpha’s fingers dug into Harry’s hipbones, tilting him toward the mirror again. "Look," he ordered, voice thick with twisted delight. "See how pretty you are? How *owned*?"

Harry’s reflection stared back—lips bitten raw, thighs slick with spit and shame, the silicone cup glistening between his legs like some grotesque display case. A sob tore from his throat as the tallest alpha pressed down harder, the suction pulling his swollen folds taut. "Fuck," the alpha groaned, his free hand palming his erection through his trousers. "Wish we could *fuck* you." His thumb swiped through the fresh slick pooling beneath the cup, smearing it across Harry’s trembling stomach. "We’d fuck both your holes, pussy and ass at the same time."

The Slytherin’s breath hitched as he aimed his wand lower, the tip brushing Harry’s inner thigh. "One more spell," he muttered, more to himself than the others. "Just to see—" The magic sparked, a sharp pulse that made Harry’s pussy clench violently around nothing, his back arching off the desk. The blond’s camera flashed again, capturing the way Harry’s hips jerked, the silicone distorting as his trapped clit throbbed beneath the barrier.

"*Enough*," Harry screamed, his voice breaking. Tears streaked down his cheeks, hot and furious. The humiliation crested like a wave—his body wasn’t his own, his pleasure wasn’t his own, even his *pain* belonged to someone else. The tallest alpha laughed, low and cruel, as he released Harry’s wrists at last. "All omegas are pathetic," he murmured, stepping back to admire their handiwork. The blond pocketed his wand, the photographs materializing in his palm with a soft *snick*. "Don’t worry," he taunted, tapping the topmost image—Harry’s wrecked expression frozen mid-sob. "These are for our viewing pleasure only."

The alphas stepped back in unison, their scents souring with reluctant arousal and something sharper—fear. Harry lay sprawled across the desk, his thighs still spread obscenely wide, the silicone cup glistening with trapped slick under the flickering classroom lights. His breath came in ragged hitches, his wrists chafed from struggling against their grip. The tallest alpha wiped his fingers on Harry’s skirt with deliberate slowness, smearing the evidence of his humiliation into the fabric. "Clean yourself up," he sneered, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction.

They turn to leave—the door creaks shut behind them, the lock clicking with finality. Harry stays frozen against the desk, his thighs trembling where they’re still spread obscenely wide. The moment their footsteps fade, his breath hitches—then shatters. A sob claws its way up his throat, raw and broken, as he finally collapses forward, forehead pressed to the cold wood. His fingers scrabble at the edge of the desk, nails splintering as he tries to ground himself, but the tremors won’t stop. The silicone cup digs into his swollen folds, suctioned tight enough to ache, and for the first time, he’s *grateful* for its presence. Without it—

His stomach heaves at the thought. Without it, they would’ve *taken* him. Fucked him raw in both holes, split him open on their knots until he screamed himself hoarse. The blond’s fingers digging into his hips, the Slytherin’s wandtip pressing against his asshole, the tallest alpha’s cock—Harry gags, bile rising in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the images won’t leave: his reflection in the mirror, skirt rucked up, his pussy *exposed*, their hands *everywhere*.

Disgust coils hot and thick in his gut. He wants to scrub his skin raw, tear the cup off and claw at his own flesh until the memory of their touch is gone. But the cup won’t budge—Tom’s magic holds firm, and the realization makes another sob wrench free. Even now, even *here*, he’s trapped. Owned. His thighs twitch involuntarily, the silicone pressing harder against his oversensitive clit, and fresh tears spill over. He’s a mess of slick and shame, his body *reacting* despite the revulsion curdling in his chest.

The classroom air is stale, thick with the scent of their arousal and his own humiliation. Harry forces himself to move, his limbs shaking as he pushes upright. His skirt is damp with slick, clinging to his thighs, and he yanks it down with trembling fingers—as if that could undo anything. The cup shifts with the movement, suction pulling at his swollen lips, and he whimpers, pressing his thighs together instinctively. It’s no use. The damage is done. The photographs are *taken*.

He slides off the desk, legs nearly giving way beneath him. The floor is cold under his bare feet, the silence oppressive. Harry wraps his arms around himself, nails biting into his own skin, and tries not to think about where those pictures might end up—or *who* might see them.

The cup shifts with each step, slick seeping down his thighs in slow, humiliating trails. He stumbles toward the classroom’s lone sink, gripping the porcelain basin until his knuckles bleach white. The mirror above it reflects his wrecked face—tear-streaked, lips bitten bloody, hair mussed from rough hands. His gaze drops lower, unwillingly, to where the silicone gleams obscenely between his thighs.

Harry’s fingers trembled as he raised his wand, the incantation for conjuring cloth sticking in his throat like tar. The first attempt produced only a tattered scrap of lace—useless, humiliating. He bit back a sob and tried again, this time focusing on the thick cotton of his school underwear, the kind that wouldn’t cling to the silicone cup still suctioned obscenely to his pussy. The fabric materialized in his palm, warm and slightly hot from magical creation, and he nearly cried with relief.

He stepped into them gingerly, wincing as the waistband brushed over the fresh bite marks on his hips. The cotton strained against the cup’s bulk, the fabric tenting visibly over the silicone barrier where his swollen folds were still pressed taut beneath. Harry tugged his skirt down hastily, but the outline remained—a grotesque silhouette of his shame. His reflection in the mirror mocked him: the way his thighs glistened with slick, how his fingers lingered too long adjusting the waistband, as if he could somehow *hide* what had been done to him.

The corridor outside was mercifully empty. Harry staggered forward, his steps uneven as the cup shifted with each movement, the silicone edges rubbing cruelly against his inner thighs. He kept his head down, his breath shallow, but he could still smell them—their scents clung to his skin like oil, musky and oppressive. The blond alpha’s laughter echoed in his skull, the memory of the camera flash seared behind his eyelids. He could almost feel their hands still on him, their fingers *inside* him—

A sob caught in his throat. He pressed his palm to his mouth, biting down hard enough to taste blood. The castle’s stone walls blurred around him as he stumbled forward, his vision swimming. He needed to get *out*—needed to scrub his skin raw, needed to—to—

The door to the Prefects’ bathroom loomed ahead. Harry fumbled for the password, his voice cracking as he whispered it. The moment the lock clicked, he lunged inside, slamming the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the stained-glass windows. The bath was already filling, steam curling in thick tendrils, but Harry didn’t wait—he wrenched the taps to scalding and plunged his hands under the spray, hissing as the water burned his palms raw. He was determined to scrub the encounter from his body and mind.