Molested at Malfoy Manor
"You've failed me Draco…" spoke the dark lord with a most insidious tone.
"The Dark lord does not forgive so easily" He could feel the fear emanating from Draco's rasping breath, tears slowly falling from his fragile face. If only Draco had the courage to finish Dumbledore himself, rather than relying on Severus to do the dirty work, then perhaps he wouldn't have to deal with the boy in the way he was about to. In truth, Draco's little mishap was irrelevant; the Dark Lord had been waiting for an excuse to torture someone, it just so happened to be Draco.
A smile played across the Dark Lord's lips, not just any smile a terrifying smile of indulgence.
A gleam shone in his twisted eyes as they moved from Draco's face to that of his parents, and back again.
The Dark Lord held his wand high and with a slash through the air tore the clothes from the young boys body, his mother reached out in horror to protect her son, but remained silent knowing she could do nothing.
Draco began to quiver as he watched the tattered remains of his robes fall to the floor. The Dark lord leaned in, a bony finger dragging itself across Draco's bare chest. The boy looked up to see that the smile had disappeared from the haunting face, only to be replaced by a twisted look of insane lust.
The finger seemed travelled from Draco's nipples, pinching slightly, before making their way to Draco's cock, the boy shivered at the touch. The colour drained from Draco's face as the dark lord's breath became intensely terrifying.
"Face the wall" The Dark Lord ordered.
Draco's parents shut their eyes, clinging to each other to block out the horror in front of them. Fear came over Draco, he was unable to move, tears rolling down his face.
"I SAID FACE THE WALL!" screamed the Dark Lord. This time Draco obeyed.
Face and palms against the wall and legs spread, the Dark Lord forced his wand hand into the boy's virgin hole with one swift movement groaning as he did so.
Draco clenched, gritting his teeth and wincing with pain, all the more motivating he Dark Lords Cruel intentions.
The Dark Lord muttered some incantation, and all of a sudden Draco screamed with agony as his shaven virgin hole began to loosen.
The Dark Lord did not stop until he was practically punching the boy's throat from the inside.
(otherwise known as a Parsel tongue punch to his other victims.)
For Draco it seemed to last a life time, but in reality it was mere minutes, the pain seemed to leave the boy's body and he sagged slightly with relief, but only to tense again as the sound of a robe being undone reached his ears.
The Dark lord fell to his knees. He put his white, spider like hands between the boys pale cheeks and spread them apart. His tongue slithered from his mouth like a foul serpent, forcing its way up and down the boy's anal lips.
The boy cried with disgust as he felt the slimy serpent muscle caress him in places he had only before explored himself.
Once satisfied, without warning, the Dark Lord rose to his feet and grasping a hand full of blond locks, spun the boy around and forced him onto his knees, then forcing his rancid rod into the boy's mouth, Draco's jaw quivered at the intrusion. He gagged on the taste of the Dark Lord's Corrupt Flesh.
The Dark Lord forced Draco's head back and forth, forcing the boy to deep throat or choke.
"Not Good Enough... ENGORGIO!" The dark lord's foul rod grew three times thicker in Draco's mouth and throat, causing his jaw to crack, almost suffocating the boy.
Back and forth, back and forth, the motion seemed to continue forever, silence around except for the groans of the dark lord and the whimpers from Draco's parent.
Draco waited for the Dark Lord to finish, but oddly, he seemed to pull out early, Draco blinked in confusion, looking up to see the Dark Lord finishing himself, shooting semen into Draco's face, before pushing the boy aside and laughing cruelly.
"Clean yourself up, you're disgusting" The dark Lord spat, doing his robe up. He left the boy lying on the floor, curling up. His parents remained in the corner, daring not to make a move in case they endure the same wrath. The Dark lord left the room like a ghost, cruelly thinking to himself the price of failure.