
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2790353.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Arthur_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Spanking, petticoating, wanking
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-17 Words: 2085
****** A Dressing-Down ******
by Venivincere
Summary
     Draco is taught to behave by an enthusiastic Arthur. Humor, PWP.
Notes
     For the Pornish Pixies May Fantasy Fest, for Aspen.
     Posted to Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/
     story.php?no=8652 on June 2, 2005.
She may have gone too far this time. As a rule, Arthur never called her out for
her over-generous gestures, and in return she never scolded too much about his
preoccupation with all things Muggle. In the main, after all, they never
interfered, and in fact had done some good in the matter of disciplining the
children, though she couldn't figure out how; back when the children were old
enough to be somewhat self-sufficient but young enough to think they were
better than their parents, Arthur had said "Let me handle this," and taken them
out to the garage for a little quality time amongst the Muggle artifacts. A few
nights "helping out" with Arthur and they were all "Yes, mum," "Thank you,
mum," "may I help you with that, mum?" How could she argue with that?

But telling Dumbledore "certainly Draco Malfoy can stay with us until he
finishes school! Poor boy. Father in Azkaban and what kind of mother leaves her
son?" left Arthur's smile strained and a strange glint in his eye.

Later on in bed, she apologized. "I know you didn't like the boy's father,
Arthur, but is that any reason to let the child suffer?"

"I -- suppose not, my dear. We'll make the best of it. He couldn't be worse
than Fred and George, now, could he?"

::---------------------------::

"EEEUUUUURRRRGGHH! Malfoy! Scourgify!".

"Draco, I can't imagine your parents allowed you to behave like that at the
dinner table."

"At least we had a proper table. None of this board-and-trestle business. Did
you find it in a bin and bring it home?"

"Draco Malfoy! How --"

"Bugger!"

"Ginny, language! For heaven's sake!"

"Mum, if he flicks one more pea in my hair I'm going to hex him with bat bogeys
again!"

"You certainly will not, young lady. Draco -- that's it, young
man! Evanesco! If you can't be civil, you'll have to eat by yourself. And
Arthur, do something! Maybe a little helping out in the garage might straighten
him out. It did wonders for the other boys, and I've just about had it with
this one!"

::---------------------------::

"What's this supposed to do?" said Draco, picking up an oddly heavy item by the
hand grip. It had a trigger like a Muggle gun and a slender, spiral-cut
cylinder of metal sticking out of the barrel. He hooked his finger around the
trigger, and the spiral whizzed into motion.

"It's called a drill. Muggles use it to poke holes. And this over here is
called a hammer. They smash these little pointy things called males into walls
and hang pictures on them."

Draco smirked. "Don't you mean 'nails?'"

"...And this over here is a motorbike. Muggles use it to --"

"I know what Muggles use motorbikes for!"

"Well! It's good to see you've taken an interest in something of the Muggle
world."

"I couldn't care less. No one asked me where I wanted to go. I'm perfectly
capable of staying at home on my own. I've house elves, you know."

"It isn't safe for you, Draco." He sat down heavily on the stool before the
workbench, and looked the boy in the eye. "Your father and I don't agree on
much. Don't agree on anything, actually. But I can't stand by and watch you
suffer for his mistakes. No," he held a hand up, "I'm sure you don't see it
that way, but despite your name, you don't have any power of your own, yet.
Sons and younger brothers never do."

He reached over the bench and pulled a bright pink cloth off the shelf and
something else that resembled a ruffled rag. "You won't while you're here,
either, until you learn some manners. You're making Molly unhappy, and when
Molly is unhappy, I am unhappy. I'm a simple man, Draco. I like when the house
runs like a well-oiled Muggle machine, and when Molly's happy, it does. So
you're going to help out by learning proper, polite behavior instead of
mimicking a pig. We have something to learn from Muggles, here, too, you know.
They aren't all about inventing clever ways of poking holes in things. Now, are
you ready? Let's begin. Remove your outer robe, and put this on."

"What is it? It's awfully small to be a robe. It looks like a skirt."

Arthur turned on his stool and faced the boy. "It is a skirt. Muggles wear
them."

"Surely not the boys!"

"Of course they do, when they're being punished."

"What! I've never..."

"Now, now! It's all here in Madame Mercy's Guide to Punishing Boys." Arthur
pulled the aging Muggle book down from a high shelf, and thumbed through it.
"See? Fascinating, isn't it. Of course, the color plates don't move, but the
detail is exquisite!"

He set the book down open to the chapter "Introducing the Proper Environment
for Reform: The Punishment."

Draco leaned over and looked. Arthur kept an eager, glittery eye on him while
he looked at the picture. A boy stood there, thunderous with anger and shame,
his cheeks blushing bright and his hand pressed down the front of himself,
trying in vain to push the puffy, pleated skirt flat. One knee turned in and
the leg balanced on the toe of a Mary Jane that would have been appropriate on
a boy one-quarter his age. Or a girl. Yes, with petticoats like that,
definitely a girl. Draco shivered and looked away, but Arthur thought his blush
betrayed an eagerness that wasn't there before.

"Now, let's have that robe off. All set? Right then, here we are. Step into the
skirt first. Mind the buttons in the back. Now, remove your trous and smalls."

Draco slid his trousers down beneath the skirt and folded them on the
workbench. But he balked. "I will NOT remove my underwear!"

"It says right here in the book you've got to! Now remove them, or I'll have to
do it for you."

"No."

"Very well, then." Arthur grabbed the boy by the waist and tipped him over his
lap. Draco thrashed and squirmed, but Arthur had subdued Fred and George not so
long ago and didn't need to look in the book to know what came next. He'd
tested the waters on Bill, and improved his technique with Charlie. Percy, he'd
only had to get the skirt on once before he was shamed and crying and doing
everything he was told.

Fred and George, however had tested him. He had repeatedly had to milk them
until they were too tired and drained to do anything but submit. The book, of
course, recommended strapping them face up on the table for it, but Arthur
found that a spell to tack them in place worked just as well. On one
particularly fractious afternoon, George had required five milkings before he
could settle down for his mother -- Draco was little trouble at all. In a
moment the boy lay pantsless and heaving, an erection born of the excited
struggle drilling into his thigh.

Arthur pulled up the seat of the skirt and slapped his hand down on the creamy,
velvet skin. He did it again. And he did it again, and again, until Draco was
kicking and screaming "Stop! It hurts!" and more, until he was crying like a
little girl and his arse sported a rosy blush.

"Naughty girls get corner time. But first, put on your petticoat." The boy
sobbed and sniffed and stamped his foot, but stepped into the garment when it
was held out for him. Arthur stretched the elastic over the boy's erection and
said "Go stand over there." He pointed to a cluttered area at the end of the
workbench. "Face the wall."

The boy sniffled; he dipped his cheek to his shoulder to dry his tears. He kept
an awkward hand on his erection, pushing it in so it wouldn't pouf out the
skirt even more than the petticoat, and rubbed the other on his arse in a
futile attempt to put out the flames.

"None of that, now. Hands above your head. Yes, both of them." He tacked them
to the wall with a charm. "And let's keep your reminder to behave in sight,
too." He raised the back of the pleated skirt and tucked the hem into the
waistband, then pulled the elastic waist of the petticoat down under the crease
of the boy's buttocks. Draco's arse blazed in the evening light filtering
through the dusty window. The skirt raised like a flag over his erection.

"That's certainly unladylike!" The book was clear on what to do about it, too,
and Arthur had no compunction about following the directions. They worked
terribly well. He pressed himself into the glowing arse in front of him,
reached around, and went to work with a will. His hands pulled on the clothed
shaft in front of him and he said things like "there you are," and "we'll take
care of that, now," and finally "yes! spill your girl-cream! There, now, you
must be feeling much better." But it was hard to tell; the boy was sobbing and
kept his head turned away. Arthur patted the skirt down flat in the front and
said "Well, then, let's move on. At this point I need to ask you if you're
ready to behave. Well? Are you ready to mind Molly, yet? Are you ready to adopt
ladylike manners around the house?"

"Fuck you."

"Well! I suppose not. Never fear, though. Madame Mercy is quite clear on next
steps. If you won't take up ladylike behaviour on your own, I'll have to force
you accept your girlish nature." Arthur took up a little jar on the workbench
with a Muggle label on it that read Pond's Cold Cream. He tweaked open the
buttons of his trousers and his erection sprang free. It was quite thick and
long, and desperately hard. A twist of the lid, and he was rubbing a thick,
white salve on his cock. He dipped his fingers into the jar again and the boy's
eyes popped wide and his breath hitched when Arthur slid the dollop between the
boy's cheeks and directly into his arse. The boy looked a question at Arthur
and struggled to pull his arms down off the wall.

"Yes, Draco. Madame Mercy suggests I take you like a girl. This worked for Fred
and George, and it will work for you, too." He continued to work his fingers
into Draco's arse, and the boy began to sob again.

"It...you can't! It won't fit. It won't -- you'll tear me!"

"Oh, no, Draco. Little girls don't tear unless they're virgin. You aren't
virgin, are you? Ron says they call you the Slut of Slytherin."

"I've slept with girls! I'm not gay."

"Of course not. Well, this might hurt a bit, then, but nothing a little healing
salve won't fix up afterwards. Ready? Aim... ah!" He grunted. "That was easier
than I thought it would be. Why are you crying? That wasn't so bad."

"Please -- please stop." The boy sobbed. "I'm ready to behave. I swear it! Just
please stop... stop ramming me!"

"You need" puff "to take" heave "your full" whoo! "punishment." Wow, he was out
of practice with this. It had been two years since Fred and George's last
lesson. "Madame Mercy is simply adamant about it, and I agree. Oh!" The tight,
slick slide of the boy's arse whipped him into a frenzy and he began to thrust
in earnest. He changed the angle a bit and the boy cried out as he thrust.

The sobbing turned to moans, the "No!"s to "Oh!"s, and Arthur knew the
punishment had worked when the boy began to shout "Take me! Oh, take me! I
promise to be good, I promise, just, don't stop! Please, don't stop!"

When Draco went stiff and quivered in release, he spilled. He spelled the boy's
wrists free from the wall, pulled him over to the ottoman on the far wall, and
drew him down to his lap. The boy buried his face in Arthur's neck and Arthur
let him sob himself out.

::---------------------------::

"Well, then dear," said Molly. "Are you ready to behave?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry I was such a prat."

"All's forgiven, then."

"May I help you with the dishes?"

"Certainly! Here, I'll wash, you wipe. Well... what did you learn with Arthur
with in the garage?"

"Oh, all sorts of Muggle things. In fact, he drilled me quite thoroughly."

"That's lovely, dear."

"Yes, it was. It really was."

~fin~ 
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