Secrets We Share Chapter 3.

Content Warnings: Discipline, S&M, Spanking, Bondage, Teasing.

She had no idea what she was expecting from the Head Dormitories, but they turned out to be not too dissimilar to her own. The common room was smaller, but the furniture in it was nicer, and the couches were more comfortable and less worn out. Given that the room was only supposed to be shared by two people, its size and the condition of the fixtures made sense. The best part about the room was the fireplace, the fire in it glowing a nice, warm, and welcoming orange instead of the ominous sea green of her own common room.

Two opposing sets of staircases presumably led up to the bedrooms, and she couldn’t help but ask about the bathroom situation. If she was going to be living there, the last thing she wanted was for her first encounter with Hermione Granger to be the woman walking in on her while she was showering.

“We have our own bathrooms. Thank Merlin for that,” Harry replied in response to her question. He tugged on their enjoined hands, pulling her towards the right-hand staircase.

Thank Merlin indeed.

“Why are you thankful? Is Granger that bad when it comes to sharing a bathroom?” In Slytherin, each dormitory had its own bathroom. She had presumed that to be the case in the other houses as well, but by the sounds of it, he had past experience with sharing a bathroom with the Head Girl. Maybe the Gryffindors all had to use one large communal bathroom? She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t even want to imagine sharing her bathing space with Crabbe and Goyle.

“No clue. Never shared a bathroom with her. I have, however, had to share one with Ron and while I love the lad, the thing I was happiest about when they made me Head Boy was no longer having to do so,” Harry explained, leading her up the steps. She tried to concentrate on his words instead of her growing excitement and terror at the rapidly approaching bedroom door.

“They’re dating, right?” she asked absentmindedly, her thoughts idly drifting over to what his bedroom would be like. Her brain conjured up images of everything from a cold, spartan room with two thin mattresses to a literal sex dungeon, the girl dismissing each idea as quickly as she thought of it.

“Again. I’m just hoping it works out this time. I’m tired of the two of them dragging me in the middle of every argument they have,” Harry muttered, the gold knob of his door glowing as he wrapped his free hand around it. The door magically unlocked when it registered his presence and he twisted the knob, pushing the door open and leading her inside. His bedroom was both, unlike anything she was expecting yet completely in tune with what she knew about him. His prized Firebolt had its own rack on one of the walls, with various Quidditch supplies neatly stacked under it.

His desk had been pushed against the lone window in the room and she gently twisted free of his grasp, walking over to admire the view of the Great Lake. The tranquil water shimmered under the light of the full moon, aiding her in gaining a certain measure of control over her racing heartbeat. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, turning to him with a small smile, “I don’t think writing lines sitting at this desk is much of a punishment. Not with this view.”

“You won’t be writing lines for your punishment tonight, Miss Parkinson.”

“Oh.” She watched as he moved to sit on the edge of the larger of the two beds in the room. The other bed was obviously a new addition, wedged in between his nightstand and a door she presumed led to the bathroom. The room had become noticeably cramped by its addition, and she suppressed a pang of guilt at the thought of inconveniencing him for her own secret desires.

It would do her no good to dwell on those thoughts. He had made his decision and given her an order. She had obeyed, like always. He obviously didn’t care about the fact that he’d have to hop over her bed or squeeze around it to enter the bathroom, which she told herself was a sign for her to stop worrying as well. He’d take care of things. She noticed her trunk poking out from under her bed and walked over to it, grunting softly as she pulled it out.

“What’re you doing?”

She turned away from the trunk, giving him a sheepish smile, “I was going to change into something else and freshen up.” There had been talk of more kissing, and she wasn’t about to do it with peanut butter stuck to her teeth.

“Not yet. Come here,” he ordered.

“Yes sir.” She abandoned the open trunk, climbing to her feet and walking over to stand by his side. Her head was lowered, looking down at the stone tiles instead of him. She had no clue why she seemed to adopt that posture every time his voice carried even the hint of authority, but it felt natural. He had never objected to it, so she had rightly guessed he liked it. “What is to be my punishment?” she asked softly, trying to ignore the sound of her racing heart.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The sound rang in her ears, and she was sure it was loud enough that he could hear it easily as well.

“What do you deserve, Miss Parkinson?” His voice was softer, yet markedly colder and infinitely more imposing. It did things to her, that voice.

Fuck. She could feel the first dribbles of her arousal leaking out from her pussy, leaving a tiny wet stain on her knickers. If he kept this up, she would be going to bed with yet another pair of ruined panties. She wondered if he’d mind her pulling the curtains shut or notice her putting up silencing charms around her bed so she could masturbate. Every night she had detention with him had ended with her curling up in her bed with her fingers stuffed inside her, imagining them to be his fingers, tongue… or dick.

She had heard the rumors. If even half of what people said he’d done with or to Ginny Weasley and Susan Bones was true, her imagination was but a pale imitation of the real thing.

“Well, Miss Parkinson?” He had grabbed her hand, his thumb tracing random patterns on her palm.

“Whatever you decide, sir,” she said without raising her head. “I can’t decide my own punishment, and I am ready for anything you pick.”

“Anything?” The amused tone of his voice promised danger and excitement.

Against her better judgment, Pansy nodded, “Anything.” She wondered what he’d pick, her mind conjuring up and discarding one scenario after another. It finally settled on the worst one she could think of, and she couldn’t help but speak up, “Except for one thing. Or, well, two things, I guess, but they’re related.”

“Yes?” He hadn’t asked her to sit, and he hadn’t asked her to kneel. The fact that she was still standing reinforced in her mind that her punishment would be him making her sleep in the same room as him for a week while ignoring her presence. He was just drawing out the torture, waiting for the right moment to tell her to go to bed.

I’m not sure I could survive a week of that.

She had before, with Draco, but that had been different. She didn’t understand how or why, but she knew she could never bear Harry treating her the same way.

“Please don’t ignore me,” she finally said, starting to quiver. “Or uhm… stop-” She paused. Stop what? What could she call their arrangement?

“Stop what?” He squeezed her hand.

“This.”

Taking care of me.

“I had neither in mind.” He let her hand go, his arm snaking around her waist. His hand moved to her lower back, gently pushing her closer toward his legs. “I will only stop… this, when you ask me to. Not a moment before that, no matter what you do,” he whispered as she hit his legs. She still didn’t dare to look up at him, deciding to simply concentrate on his words and let fate take the reigns.

“What do you have in mind then, sir?”

“Do you know what spanking is?”

Pansy’s breath hitched. Did she know what a spanking was? Well, it was hard to stay ignorant about adventurous sex when one shared a common room with Blaise Zabini. Not to mention all the knowledge she had gleaned from the secret stash of books she had hidden underneath the clothes in her trunk. She blushed hard as her mind brought up the memory of her masturbating while reading about the vampire tying up his pet witch before feeding on her in one of the books. It had naturally been after serving detention with him, and she found it far too easy to substitute the vampire with Harry and put herself in the witch’s shoes. She had never before or after orgasmed as hard as she had that night.

The question was, could she admit that to him? In the end, she answered his question with a silent nod.

“Use words, please, Miss Parkinson,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir. I know what spanking is,” Pansy replied, yelping when she realized she was being pulled down across his lap.

Fuck.

“Have you ever been spanked?” His hand was resting on her pert ass, and Pansy was sure she would either cum or die of embarrassment. Probably both.

“No?” She squeaked.

“No, what?” His fingers were sinking into the soft flesh of her ass cheek even as Pansy stayed frozen on his lap, unsure what to do. Her brain was sending commands to her body, trying to get her to act like the girls from her novels or Zabini’s stories, but her muscles simply refused to cooperate.

“You seem unsure, Miss Parkinson.” The pressure of his fingers increased, and the trickle between her legs turned into a persistent leak, the damp spot on her panties growing larger by the second.

“I have never been spanked, sir,” Pansy replied, finally summoning the willpower to shift to a more comfortable position across his knees.

“Then it would be wise, Miss Parkinson, to prepare yourself.”

“Yes-”

SMACK!

Her words turned into a groan midway when he raised his open palm, bringing it down gently across her bum. Her skirt absorbed most of the impact, and she had cried out more in shock than any real pain.

Shock, that he was actually doing what he was doing. Shock, that the humiliation of being treated like an errant child in need of discipline was causing her to positively cream her panties.

“Yes, what?” His hand had pushed under her skirt, pulling it up to her waist. Her hesitation was rewarded by a harsh slap to her ass and she cried out, burying her face in his lap.

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir!” She groaned when he smacked her ass again, squirming on his lap.

“Black knickers, Miss Parkinson. A matching set?” She shivered when he pushed a finger into the waistband of her panties.

“Yes, sir.”

“I like them.”

I wore them for you.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, moaning into his trousers as he brought his palm down on her ass again. She jerked on his lap, her hands scrambling back to protect her poor, stinging ass even as she subconsciously pressed her thighs together, more aroused than she had ever been before.

“Was that a moan, Miss Parkinson?”

“No, sir,” she whispered.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Her lie was rewarded by three hard spanks. Harry had alternated between her two cheeks, with the third delivered across her thighs. Her hands moved to cover her ass again, only to be patiently moved out of the way by Harry. He paused, and she presumed the punishment was over but didn’t dare to turn and look at him or get off his lap. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt him grab her wrists. He pulled them together behind her back and secured them with his tie.

Ingenious.

“Do you think I’m being overly harsh?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you think you need this spanking, Miss Parkinson?”

He could have asked if she deserved it. If she felt it was just punishment for her actions. But no, he had asked if she needed it.

Please don’t make me say it.

His hand came to rest on her pink ass, a reminder that hesitation would only get her a harsher punishment.

“I need this spanking very much, sir,” she whispered, totally humiliated by the admission. Tears pricked her eyes when he began to massage her ass, knowing he had enjoyed hearing her admit that out loud.

“Then you will stop moving, or I will keep going till you learn how to lie still,” he warned. His finger hooked into the waistband of her panties once more, pulling them down her thighs. He didn’t pull them further down her legs than her knees, letting the tangled and completely soaked fabric trap her legs together.

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to enjoy your punishment.” He sounded amused, and Pansy prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

“I-I’m not enjoying it, sir,” she whispered, trying to sound contrite.

“Liar,” he hissed. Her breath hitched at the feeling of a finger pushing inside her cunt, slowly traveling down the length of her slit. She groaned when he withdrew, knowing the tiny drops of her arousal falling from his finger onto the burning skin of her ass were more effective in betraying her true thoughts about her current situation than anything she said. “You will use the traffic light system as your safe words, Miss Parkinson. Red, if you need me to stop. Yellow, if you need me to slow down. Green… well, I doubt you’ll need it, but you use it to let me know you’re alright.”

Why was he telling her this in the middle of her spanking?

She forced her attention away from the hand gently caressing her bare rump, and onto the safe words, “Why would I need to know them, sir?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

His free hand buried itself in her hair, turning her head till she was facing him, her cheek resting on his lap. His hand moved to her face and his index finger gently stroked her red cheek, catching the lone tear tracing its way down her skin. “Because I will spank you till you safe word if you ever lie to me again,” he whispered. A quick look up at his face let her know he was serious. “Is that clear?”

Crystal clear.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her mind was a mess of emotions, with everything from lust to humiliation to utter adoration for the man taking care of her jostling for her attention.

“Good.”

“Are you ready?”

Pansy pressed her thighs together, unsure of what she was supposed to be ready for. She had two choices before her. She could use the safe word, and end the night. Or-

She nodded, the soft fabric of his trousers feeling heavenly against her cheek.

“Yes, sir.”

Notes:

I told you all this story would be much spicier than some of my others.