“Miss Helene Marion! Young ladies do not sit with their legs spread wide!”
Harry put his legs together at once, alarmed by his tutor’s booming voice. Professor Lafitte was a strict woman. She dressed all in black and kept her hair in a neat bun on top of her head.
“I have been your tutor now for a little over six months Miss Marion. One would think a young lady would understand proper posture and manners by now. I’ll have to give you the paddle again today.”
“No, Professor Lafitte, please! I’ll try harder I promise,” Harry begged. He hated the paddling that Papa instructed his tutor to give him whenever he wasn’t doing well in his studies.
Professor Lafitte looked thoughtful. “Well how about this. I was going to spank you thirty times with the paddle, as is regular, but if you can properly apologize to me for your spread legs in French, and like a young lady should, I’ll let you off with only twenty.”
Harry knew his French wasn’t good, but he had to give it a try. He stood up from his desk, standing a little next to it and in full view of his tutor. He bowed his head, took up the ends of his pretty pink knee-length dress, put his right foot behind his left, and curtsied. He held the curtsy and tried his best. “Je suis désolé mademoiselle Lafitte. Ceci ne se reproduira pas.” (Translation: I’m sorry miss Lafitte. This will not happen again)
Professor Lafitte raised her brow. “Qu’est-ce qui ne se reproduira plus?” (Translation: What will not happen again?)
“Spreading my legs?” Harry’s legs were beginning to wobble. It was hard to hold a curtsy this long.
“Say it in French.”
Harry sighed. “I can’t.”
Harry’s tutor shook her head. “Then it’ll be thirty spanks with the paddle. Now sit down.”
Harry sat back down in his chair. He really tried to learn French, but it was just so hard. Professor Lafitte taught him everything. Other than French, he had math, science, reading, history, manners, and magic classes. Benoit had been right about magic. Papa had explained that he had it and needed to learn to control it. Papa gave him a wand so he could cast spells. Papa made a big rule though. Harry was not allowed to use magic unless he was in class or if Papa asked him to.
Papa told him that having magic wasn’t really a good thing. He said one night at dinner, after Harry had excitedly explained how Professor Lafitte taught him a spell that allowed him to levitate a feather, that people who have magic were born with a disease. Magic wasn’t natural and he had to hide the fact that he had it or people wouldn’t want to be near him. Papa asked him if his uncle or aunt ever treated him differently from his cousin.
“Yeah. They’re really nice to Dudley, but they weren’t so nice to me,” he said.
“Did they ever call you bad names?”
“…they used to call me a freak.”
Papa nodded. “I bet they made you do all the choirs too, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“They knew you had magic, Helene. That’s why they treated you so badly. But don’t worry, I love you and as long as you only use magic when I or Miss Lafitte give you permission, everything will be okay.”
Harry nodded sadly. He wondered why he was born that way. Why was he different? Why couldn’t he be normal like Papa?
Harry’s manners classes were the most difficult. He didn’t just learn proper manners. He learned how to act like a young lady. Professor Lafitte taught him how to speak, walk, pick out his clothing, do his makeup, and everything else that went into being a girl. After a while the lessons started to stick. He always responded to the name Papa gave him, he picked out his clothes every morning, though sometimes the day butler had to help him put them on (there was a lot of lace), and he was a lot better at doing his makeup. Sometimes he slipped up, like his legs being spread, but these instances were getting less common.
The better he got at acting like a young lady, the more rewards Papa gave him. Papa told him the very day he began his lessons that there were a lot of privileges he had yet to earn. He said that Harry had been a very bad girl the day he left his room and wandered the house. He hadn’t yet earned the privilege of entering the rooms he had that day. Slowly over time Harry did earn the privilege of entering certain rooms. Currently he was allowed free reign of his bedroom, the dining room, the living room on the second floor, the library, the study, his classroom, and the courtyard, which was like a backyard, but surrounded by the rest of the house. He wasn’t yet allowed outside the house besides the courtyard. Papa said that the woods around his house were dangerous. He said there were wolves and other creatures.
~ ~ ~
When classes were over for the day (they started at eight in the morning and went till three with an hour break at noon for lunch) Harry watched some television in the living room. Well it wasn’t actually television, Papa never allowed him to scroll through channels and watch shows. When Harry wanted to watch television he had to pick a VHS tape from papa’s collection. The collection was huge. There was a big book shelf with rows and rows of tapes. None of them contained shows that Harry knew the Dursley’s watched on their telly. Papa’s tapes were all about love. Most of them contained young boys like himself being shown love by older men. There was also a lot of milk drinking on these tapes. Those parts always made Harry lick his lips.
He pictured that the boys in the films were him and the men Benoit. He wanted to drink Benoit’s milk so bad. The man still wouldn’t let him, at least not yet. He didn’t tell Papa that he wanted to drink Benoit’s milk. He had a feeling that Papa wouldn’t like that.
After watching a few tapes, Benoit came to get him for dinner. Harry wondered how the vampire always knew where he was. The man just silently walked into the room, turned off the television, and said, “It’s time for dinner.” Harry followed the man out of the room.
That night Harry ate a small bowl of milk soup. A salad with milk dressing, And for the main dish, steak with mushrooms in a milk and wine sauce. Papa had the same thing except all without the milk. Harry had a tall glass of milk with dinner while Papa had a glass of an old red wine from Portugal. During the meal Papa asked Harry for a kiss. He got out of his chair, sat in Papa’s lap and Papa kissed him. Papa still had a mouthful of wine in his mouth. Harry had to drink it down. When it was over Papa asked him if he liked it.
Harry made a face. “I don’t like wine Papa. It tastes bad. You could kiss me with milk if you want.”
The man pretended to think about his slave’s suggestion. “I don’t drink milk, ma fille,” he said. “I’d like to one day see you drunk, Helen. Maybe a wine enema if you can’t stand the taste.”
Harry knew the word enema now. “You want to put wine up my bum?”
“If your top mouth refuses to drink it,” he said touching his fingertip to his slave’s pouty mouth. “Then we’ll just have to feed the bottom mouth.”
When desert came, Harry was already back in his seat. A man put a delicious looking slice of pie before Papa and a bowl of milk pudding in front of harry. “Thank you Thomas,” Harry said to the cook. The man simply nodded and went back to the kitchen.
Harry looked at his pudding. It was odd. It didn’t look like his regular milk pudding, which was just his special milk in a bowl. This was different. It was thicker and smelled different, kind of sour. The smell was strong and filled the room.
Harry looked up at his Papa and noticed that the man was staring intently at him, smiling. “What is this Papa?” he asked.
“Milk pudding, ma fille.”
“It doesn’t look or smell like milk pudding,” he said, pouting.
“Ah, that’s because I’ve fixed the recipe,” he began. “Before your pudding was just milk, not really the pudding that I wanted you to eat. This is much closer. Put you spoon in it.”
Harry did. He put his spoon in the stuff and felt how thick the pudding was.
“Thick isn’t it? But don’t worry it’s still the milk that you love so much. Actually, to be more accurate, it’s old milk. Very old milk. I left it out of the fridge to thicken for over four months. Every day I tell the cook to put it out in the sun. It has quite the stench, doesn’t it?” He smiled wider. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
Harry felt a little disgusted at the old, thick milk. It was the first time that he’d had such a negative reaction to his milk since the night Uncle Vernon had told him what his milk really was. Harry put his spoon back in the pudding, spooned up some milk, and placed the spoon in his mouth. Harry was surprised. The milk didn’t taste that bad. It was still milk after all, but it wasn’t as good as drinking his normal milk. The old milk was still better than most foods. The thought that it was old though, mixed with the texture, made him want to spit it out. Harry, for the first time, forced himself to swallow.
Harry looked up. Papa looked proud of him and…and something else. Harry didn’t really have a word for the look his Papa gave him, but it didn’t look kind. Harry was taken aback. He looked down at the pudding he still had to finish. He remembered the spankings he’d received for not finishing his milk soup so long ago. He knew he had to finish his pudding. Harry looked back up and relaxed when the man’s expression had changed. Papa only looked proud now.
Harry finished the rest of the pudding quickly. That night Papa played with his bum. First Papa showed him love. Then the man forced a bunch of marbles inside him. Papa told him not to let them out. Then he called for Benoit. Once the man was in the room, it only took him a second to get there, Papa gave him instructions.
“Give Helen the special bath we talked about. All the preparations should be complete. Also, Helen is not allowed to let out any of the marbles I’ve placed inside her. If any of them come out place them back in and give her three hard spanks for each one she lets slip out. Understand?”
“Yes Master Mikael. The tub is as you’ve specified and I will carry out your orders.”
“Good,” he said. Then he turned to Harry. “Helen, I will hear of any and every marble you let out tonight. Letting out marbles means you’re a bad girl. Benoit will spank you tonight for that. Tomorrow I’ll be punishing you.”
“H-how Papa?” Harry asked, afraid.
“You’ll see. Now go with Benoit to take your bath.”
Harry followed the butler to a large bathroom. The first thing he noticed was the tub. Instead of water, it was full of milk. Harry knew that Papa had a lot of milk stored for him and that they’d never run out, but Harry still saw it as a waste.
The tub was high and Harry’s small frame had a hard time putting his leg over and stepping in. He was so focused on getting in the tub that he forgot to keep his anal muscles clenched tight and a marble slipped out and rolled on the floor.
“Oh!” Harry said in surprise. Benoit lifted him up and placed Harry’s feet outside the tub. Then he told him to bend over.
“Hold on to the wall,” he said.
Harry did what he was told. He looked behind him and saw Benoit put the marble back inside him. Then the man lifted his gloved hand. Harry mentally prepared himself for the spanking. Benoit’s hand came down hard three times in rapid succession. It hurt, but at least it was quick. The man then lifted him up again and placed him in the tub.
Harry sat down in the milk, which felt rather nice on his skin. It was much thicker than water and felt great all over him. Benoit told him to lie down so he could wash his hair. He did. But Benoit never used shampoo. The man just spread as much milk as he could all over his hair, massaging it in. It felt really good, but now he was curious.
“Benoit, why aren’t you using shampoo?”
“Master Mikael’s orders. I am not to use anything but cum to wash you tonight.”
“Oh. Why?”
The butler stopped massaging his scalp. What should the man say? Should he tell the boy that his ‘Papa’ was a sick pervert? How would he even begin? How could he say it such a way to get the human child to understand?
“Child-“
“Harry. You can just call me Harry.” Then in a whisper he said, “I don’t really like the name Helen. It makes Papa so happy to call me that though. I like when Papa’s happy.”
“I can’t call you by your name in front of Master Mikael.”
“Then just call me ‘child’ in front of Papa, like you usually do. But call me Harry in private, okay?”
Benoit nodded. “Harry,” he began. For some reason he didn’t like calling the slave by its name. When he thought of him, he preferred to just think of him as Mikael’s slave boy or the human child he was told to watch. Calling him by his name- calling him Harry– it made the boy more real in some way. He wasn’t here to be the child’s friend. And he wasn’t doing the child any favors. His presence in the boy’s life wasn’t going to be that of a savior. Quite the opposite. If Benoit had never entered the child’s life, if he had never been told to watch him, the boy would still have been Mikael’s slave. The boy would probably grow up a sex toy, used and abused by a power-crazed non-magic human for sex and magic. The boy would be exploited, no doubt, but he would still have a future at least. A relatively good one. The only thing he would have to fear was the size of Mikael’s cock. If he was a good boy he would live a long life. The boy would probably even inherit the man’s fortune.
It was bad luck that he was here watching the child. If everything went as planned, if he was ever given the order to act, the boy would have no future. Benoit saw himself as a leech, or a snake. He would stay close to the child, watch him, and wait for the moment, the order, then he would strike. If King Thierry La Cour’s contact was correct then the boy only had one or two years left.
He didn’t want to call the child by a name. What was the point? He’d be dead soon. Besides, he was only food anyway. A rare delicacy that he wasn’t allowed to eat, but still just food. Vampires don’t go about naming the various human’s they eat.
“Benoit?”
The man looked at the young boy in the tub. The boy stared up at him, his wide, curious eyes seek not a monster, but a trusted butler. His gloved hands were still wrapped in the child’s hair. He gently lowered the boy’s head, soaking it in the cum of the large tub. He then brought the boy’s head out of the pool of cum and let the boy sit up.
Benoit tried again. “Harry.”
“Yeah?”
The boy looked up at him, the boy’s green eyes wide and twinkling, his smile wide with mirth. He was smiling as if the simple action of Benoit calling him by his name brought him immense joy. For some reason he felt time stop. The child trusted him so much, and somehow cared about him. He could see that. Harry Potter was a good child who genuinely cared about those around him, including Benoit. Benoit didn’t deserve the child’s twinkling eyes or unabashed smile. He knew he would betray the boy without a second thought when the time came, but…Benoit couldn’t help it he…Benoit took a deep breath. He decided that he’d try to make the boy’s remaining days happy ones at least. It was all he could do for the boy who he tried so desperately not to care about, not to grow attached to.
He didn’t think much of it in the beginning. He never dreamed that he’d grow so attached. The boy was like a juice box. All humans were. A juice box full of blood. This juice box was a rare one. He had a mission. He had to watch the juice box. That was all this was…all it was supposed to be.
Benoit didn’t see the child as a juice box anymore. Harry Potter was like a small animal now, like an innocent, defenseless pet rabbit. A good analogy to be sure. Humans protect and keep close those things that that they see as food. A small human child can keep a bunny as a pet while also eating other rabbits for dinner. It had never made sense to Benoit how humans could love that which they also feed from…till now.
The man knew that he still had his mission. And he would do what was expected of him when the time came, but he could also protect the boy and keep him safe before that time came. Benoit vowed that while he carried out his mission, he’d try to give Harry the best life he could.
“Harry, Master Mikael would just rather I wash you without shampoo or soap today,” he lied simply.
“Okay Benoit,” the boy said in high spirits.
Finnian Siog 