Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Plan B	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10288 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6
Six months later, Harry sat on the bed he worked on and waited. It was the same bed he had slept on when he had first moved into the building. The top floor flat was very different to where he worked. Deliberately so. He'd separated the large space on the ground floor into a waiting room and into his work room. Immediately outside his 'office' was a small chamber where he could talk privately with clients and no-one could overhear anything. Of course, there was also the small communal area shared with the Ministry, but he ignored them, and they, for the most part (except for when they fucking him), ignored him.
Some days he was kept very busy, others were quiet. Today seemed like one of the quieter days, which he appreciated until he remembered the fees the Ministry charged for him to be a sex worker, and the price they thought was reasonable for the sex potion he had to take after every single client. Even charging, as he did, ten galleons for a 'Do anything' hour, he was hardly racking up masses in the vault he'd set up at Gringotts. The Ministry damned well made sure of that!
Whilst he waited, he tried not to think about the past six months, but it was impossible. All too easily he remembered his first paying client – one of the Ministry workers upstairs who'd been only too happy to pound the whore on the ground floor. Seeing the money land in the plate by the door had made him feel as close to worthless as he ever had.
Since then he'd locked away his humiliation and degradation and focused instead on giving his clients what they wanted. Repeat business was easier than lots of new clients who needed to be reassured that he was discreet and/or disease free and/or happy to be fucked. He was used to letting the soothing words slip off his tongue now, even as the hatred grew inside him. In six months he'd not had a client who had actually satisfied him. None had come close. Some had occasionally jabbed at his prostrate, but none of them had made him feel anything like the way he had felt as a teenager at Hogwarts, back when he still believed there was hope in the world.
A wand thunked into the slot in his room. The slot was magically connected to the waiting room outside and someone who wanted his services would drop their wand into the slot (or, in the case of Squibs, pick up one of the decorated batons he had in a basket near the wand slot) and when he was ready, he would speak through a voice tube and call out details of the wand's wood and size. The client then stepped into the ante chamber and once the door to the waiting room was closed, explained their fantasy. The polyjuice potions doctored and drunk, Harry would open the door and welcome the person in.
Although each client had to give up their wand, they were still the ones with the most power. The spells he had set up (at the Ministry's demand) prevented him from actually picking up the wood and all around his work space were small red tokens decorated with the MoM logo. If he tried anything (like, say, holding a client hostage for more money) then all the person had to do was throw a red token into the dish by the door and it would alert about a hundred of the Sex Regulators who would take great delight in sending the whore to Azkaban. To make doubly sure he was no threat, Harry had to show the clients where his wand was, and pointedly place it well out of his reach during their time with him. He neglected to mention that it was the wand he couldn't use, and that the battered wand he did utilise was tucked away where he could usually grab it.
Once he had done whatever they were willing to pay for, they would put the correct amount of money into a small dish near the door (the same one that any red tokens would go into). The coins would vanish, depositing directly into his vault, and any change would drop into place. (This additional feature cost him five galleons a month to have). Once the correct amount was there, the wand would drop out of the slot and the door would release.
To maintain privacy, the waiting room had a strong muffliato charm cast on it, and he'd found (after another visit to browse the shelves at Flourish and Blotts) a spell that distorted how others saw you, meaning even if two people were waiting in there, they couldn't hear one another, nor recognise the other person. The Ministry had tried to argue that his methods weren't good enough and that he needed to pay for their help, but he had challenged them to break his charms and show he was risking his customers' privacy. They'd failed. It had been his first small victory against the Ministry and he'd felt, finally, more like himself. But the look on the official's face had warned him that his refusal to add to the Ministry coffers would be remembered.
To protect himself, there was an anti-apparation charm around the main room and bathroom so someone couldn't fuck him and run, and, as the only way to retrieve their wand was to pay up (or cry wolf and risk their own Azkaban sentence), Harry had never had problems with anyone refusing the fees.
He'd had people bitching at the cost, but that was par for the course.
He measured the wand against the ruler set up in the slot and cast a spell to determine its wood. He called into the speaking tube, “Oleander, ten inches”
He waited and heard the clunk of the outer door closing – something that he'd had to work hard to make happen correctly, after all, he could hardly have two men turn up wanting to fuck him and have them both in the ante chamber at the same time. “Who would you like me to be? And who do you want to be?” he asked, secure in the knowledge that the charms on the house disguised his voice.
“Y – Yourself is fine. It's my f - first time. I d – don't want to use polyjuice potion.”
“Very well.” Harry swigged back a vial of Polyjuice Potion. When asked to be 'himself' he used the hair of a pretty Muggle male he'd had Kreacher steal from so that no-one ever knew he was actually Harry Potter. He did hate it when people said they didn't want to use potion themselves. It made it far harder to distance himself from what was happening.
Once changed, he opened the door and let the nervous man in. The short, slightly tubby wizard carried a briefcase and put it down, rather self-consciously, by the foot of the bed.
Harry stood up. He was completely naked and once he'd ostentatiously placed his wand out of easy reach, moved easily towards his client. Smiling, he slid his arms around the man and whispered in his ear, “What would you like to do to me?”
His visitor jumped. “I – I … you are clean, aren't you?” he asked.
Harry sighed. He hated it when he got asked this. “You must have seen the posters up outside. They all state I'm Ministry approved.”
“W – What does that mean?”
“I have regular health checks, and I have to take a potion after every customer to make sure I don't have any STMDs and can't pass any on. I'll do whatever it says on those posters out there, but I won't kiss you. The Ministry is clear that I can't do that.”
The man swallowed then said in a totally changed voice. “Right, get on your back and spread your legs. I'm here for your Ministry check up.”
Cursing internally, the Polyjuiced man obeyed. He hated the things done to him to check his sexual health, but there was little enough choice if he intended to remain in this line of work.
“When did you last take a sex potion?”
Harry considered. “Last night, after my last client yesterday.”
“Take one now,” the wizard ordered.
Fuming, Harry did so, swallowing the small amount that cost him a galleon a dose. As was all too common in the last two months, it felt as though wasps were buzzing in his stomach as he digested the brew.
“Good. You've been inspected before, so you know what will happen. Open your mouth.”
Harry did and felt the horrible sensation of a sticky gum-like substance filling his mouth. It oozed over his teeth and made his cheeks bulge, and began flowing down his throat. Usually at this point, he began to panic, as he hated the feeling of the gum going down. The man watched impassively and finally touched the gum trickling down Harry's chin. The gum retreated, oozing into a clear glass container. He knew the substance was checking to see if there was any proof that he'd recently kissed someone. The Ministry knew that he wasn't dating, so if he had kissed someone, his new glamorous career would have come to a crashing end.
Next he pulled on leather gloves and Harry's stomach lurched. What was coming next was nothing short of torture. He hated these bastards and their tests.
The official scooped a large dollop of a pale blue substance and dumped it on Harry's crotch. At once the gel began to burn, and the younger man made a low cry of discomfort. He was ignored and the thick gunk spread over his cock and balls, even being forced under his foreskin. Bucking at the agony of it, Harry clawed at the bed under him.
After ten minutes of being tortured, the stuff vanished. Harry's cock and balls were bright red and raw, and some of his pubic hair had burnt off.
“Roll over, get onto your knees.”
He obeyed, whimpering at the pain between his legs. And he knew it wasn't going to get any better for the last part.
The Ministry worker pressed a phallus shape into Harry's anus. Then he began turning a handle on the end, and the thing turned inside, scraping at the whore's channel with sharp blades as it did so, pushing far inside the body until it was deeper than any man had ever been. All Harry could do was breathe through the pain and wish all at the Ministry agony-filled deaths. Finally the thing had reached fully inside him and the man stopped turning the handle. He took a firm grip on the phallus and tugged it out as Harry screamed, his insides shredded.
Blood dripped over his thighs.
The official put the bloodied item into a leather pouch and closed his briefcase. “You'll receive the notification in five days,” he said standing up and going into the bathroom to wash himself as though contaminated by having had to touch a prostitute.
He returned to the room, dropped a Ministry token into the dish and retrieved his wand. Without a glance back at the man he had tortured, he left.
Once the door closed, Harry let himself cry. He wanted to just stay on the bed and not move, but he couldn't. He needed to get cleaned up, take a healing potion (or three) and rub some balm over his abused dick so that he would be available should a client show up.
Shuffling to the bathroom, Harry grabbed the hose that he used to clean his anus and let it just press against his throbbing entrance. He worked the pump and felt the warm water swirl within him, clearing the blood. Ass dangling over the bath, the pink fluid slipped away. He opened the medicine cabinet (it was spelled to only respond to his touch so a client couldn't go rooting through his precious potions) and gulped down two healing draughts and reached for the lotion he needed to smooth over his raw genitals. The Ministry sold a lotion that was meant to be the best thing for the burns, but as it worked out at over five galleons a time, he refused and dealt with the abuse in his own way.
His touch was agony, even with the healing potions beginning to do their work, and he had to stop three times to draw breath before continuing. Finally covered, he felt between his buttocks. Apparently, he'd stopped bleeding so reached for the other hose that dispensed lubricant. He worked a second foot pump and felt the familiar sensation of the thick slippery gunk oozing into his channel.
Walking out of the bathroom like an old man, he saw the splodge of blood on the bed and waved his wand to get rid of it. Whilst he had been in the bathroom, a wand had dropped into the slot. He stared at it in despair. There was no way he could be with a customer right now. Maybe in an hour or so he would have healed enough, but he couldn't face the thought with the pain still so fresh.
Shaking, he headed to the speaking tube. “Pine. Fourteen inches.”
He heard the familiar clunk of the door closing. “I'm sorry,” he said to the mysterious visitor he couldn't see, “I can't see anyone for at least an hour. I'll release your wand and give you a token. Next time you visit, you can have anything you like for half price.”
It wasn't often he had to offer this to his clients, as he rarely was incapable of performing. He was doubly annoyed as he didn't recognise the wand, meaning it was a new customer he was letting down.
“Very well,” the disguised voice said.
Harry made a note of the wand so that he would remember to reduce the price next time and released it. He opened the door which sent the wand back to the other side of the wall. He posted the small bronze token after it. He quickly re-closed the door, not looking into the room that held a new customer. One of his conditions was that he never knew who his customer really was. He always asked his clients who'd they like to be so that he could maintain the pretence that they weren't themselves. He would pass over the potion containing the correct hair and let them drink or not. He never knew as the vial was then dropped into a chute near the door where it was emptied and cleaned by Kreacher, ready to be refilled next time Harry finished brewing a new batch of Polyjuice. Whatever his clients drank or didn't drink, he always told himself that the person between his legs was someone who had taken the fluid so that he could pretend he didn't recognise any of them.
He had serviced some Ministry officials who really should have used Polyjuice, and had had one disturbing hour with a man who had wanted to be Lucius Malfoy. Harry had been told to become Draco. That one he had felt ill after, especially as 'Lucius' had ordered him to keep begging and call out 'Daddy'.
Some clients were women who wanted 'Harry Potter' to have sex with them. Those he had to cast a hardening charm to his dick to cope with. Sleeping with them had merely shown him that he could never be in a marriage with a woman; he simply felt too sick and degraded after having sex with them. Even more so than being a whore, being with those women had made his body feel dirty and his mind and soul feel broken. The worst had been when 'Ginny' had turned up, wanting to lose her virginity to 'Harry'.
He could, and did, change into women so that men could get their fix inside a woman if that was what they liked. It made life interesting, even if it did make him ache all over some nights. He just wished that somehow he could earn enough to stop having to spread his legs. But, the Ministry's fifty galleons a month for their approval, plus the galleon each for the sex potion, the cost of the ingredients for Polyjuice (he had set up a monthly order with the closest apothecary to save having to keep going out and buying the ingredients), buying healing potions, and the twenty percent he lost from his earnings meant he got fucked for (at best) five galleons an hour. It was still better than being unapproved and only earning one galleon, but it really pissed him off that the Ministry had everything sown up to stop him ever having a chance of a normal life. And he was in a better position than most, as he owned the building he used, had had funds when he started and had a house elf, unlike most of the poor sods who would end up in this life. At least he didn't have to pay rent on top of everything else. And with Kreacher to get him the hairs he needed, he was able to offer far greater variety. Some whores had to buy those kinds of things to put into their Polyjuice. Kreacher just apparated past all kinds of wards to get Harry what he needed.
Ass throbbing, he idly wondered who his new customer was, and who he'd want to fuck. He was sure the man would be back; after all, he would be getting sex for half the price.

A week later Harry stared in helpless shock at the wand sitting in the slot. Willow. Fourteen inches. Most of the time he had no idea who owned a wand, and he had the sneaky suspicion that some smart people deliberately used spare wands, rather than let a whore possibly know exactly who was paying for the service. But this wand … this he recognised all too well.
Oh God, no, he pleaded silently. No, not Ron. I can't bend over for Ron!
Still, he announced the wand with an almost dry mouth and asked for his client's fantasy. “I want to be Ron Weasley. And I want to fuck Harry Potter.”
Harry felt his stomach sinking. Ron had never shown any interest in him at school. In fact, although he had taunted Kingsley about the people who had fucked him, it had really only been Neville who had buggered him. A lot.
“O – Okay,” he said, pushing across a vial of the potion, knowing it wouldn't be used.
He opened the door and 'Ron' stepped through. Harry tried really hard to always think of his visitors in inverted commas, so that they weren't really that person. It was difficult to do so when his best friend was there wanting to fuck him.
“Harry,” 'Ron' gasped. “Merlin, you really do look like him.”
“Polyjuice, remember?” Harry said, trying not to use his own speech patterns. Of all the people in the world who should know when they were with the real deal, Ron was one of the few.
“So, you know where he is? You must, to get hairs for the Polyjuice.”
“My house elf apparates into where he is and steals the stuff. I don't ask. Safer not to know, given how unpopular he is with the Ministry.”
“Yeah. It's really weird seeing you talk like you're someone else.”
“I am. But, if you want me to pretend. I can be Harry for you. Now, Ron, what would you like? You said you want to fuck me. How? On my hands and knees, bent over for you? On my back so you can see my face as you pound me? Riding you?”
'Ron' groaned. “All of it! Shit, all of it!”
Harry leaned in and began tugging off the coat. “You're his - my friend. Didn't you fuck my brains out at school? And, I thought you were dating that Granger witch?”
Blushing, the redhead muttered something about 'wanting to try this' and 'Hermione wouldn't understand'.
'Ron' struggled free of his clothes, a little embarrassed when Harry undid his zip and eased his trousers and underwear down. Harry dropped elegantly to his knees and licked Ron's dick. His green eyes met the blue ones and he saw the confusion and shame give way to lust. A nod was his instruction and he slipped his lips over the swollen tip and lapped at the semen gathered there. Disconnecting his mind from what he was doing and with whom, Harry worked the prick.
Above him, clutching at his hair, Ron groaned, whimpering Harry's name over and over.
Pulling free with a 'pop', Harry asked, “Do you want to come like this, or shall we fuck?”
The dick jerked at the idea of sex and Ron gasped hoarsely. “Fuck. Get on the bed. On your hands and knees.”
Obeying, Harry settled himself. He had his weight resting on his knees and one hand. His other he left free so that it could move under his body as though he were enjoying being fucked. Most of his clients seemed to buy the fantasy of having him and of thinking he was getting off on what they were doing to his body.
Ron nudged at Harry's anus. He seemed a little hesitant.
“Go on,” Harry urged, “Just shove it in and take me.”
Swallowing, Ron held onto a hip with one hand and used the other to guide his dick so that it began pressing into the hole.
“Yesssss!” Harry hissed, knowing his customers liked to feel they were doing a bang up job, even if some of them had never managed to hit his prostrate once.
Sobbing Harry's name, Ron dug his fingers into the hips and began slamming in and out of the channel.
Harry rocked on the thrusts and pretended to pump himself. He could tell by the frantic way Ron was moving that this wasn't going to be a lengthy coupling. And he was right. Ron gasped and spurted into the passage before slumping over Harry and panting for breath.
Pulling his cock out, Ron seemed a little embarrassed. “Er, sorry, I meant to last longer.”
“It was good,” Harry lied. “You fuck like a hopping pot!”
Ron flushed and pressed. “See, now I know you're not Harry, cos he was raised by Muggles.”
Harry didn't feel the need to tell Ron that he'd gone into Flourish and Blotts one day (in disguise) and read some of the Bard's tales, just so he could use magical phrases to throw people off the scent. It made him feel both pleased and desperately sad that even his best friend couldn't recognise him. He supposed part of it was the very idea of Harry Potter being a whore. Who would want to believe that?
Harry rocked his hips. “I could go again if you wanted.”
“Erm, I dunno. How much is this going to cost me?”
Silently irritated that Ron knew so little about whoring etiquette that he was bringing up money, Harry explained, “My prices are up outside. But, if you want, you can pay for one lot of sex and that'll cost five galleons. If you want to stay and fuck me some more,” he glanced at the clock on the wall and saw Ron still had forty minutes left if he stayed the full hour, “then I'd recommend buying the 'Do Anything' package. That's ten galleons but you can fuck me as much as you want, and I can suck you or do anything you want, and it'll still only cost the same amount.”
“You haven't charged me for the blow job?”
Harry felt the urge to scream. “You didn't shoot your load in my mouth, so it doesn't count.”
That was another Ministry rule and it drove him mad.
Behind him, Ron was hardening. “But if I did?”
“Three galleons,” the prostitute said.
There was a long silence, during which time Ron rocked his thick shaft against Harry's ass. “Suck me,” he said finally, “I want to come in your mouth.”
Harry wriggled out from under. The red head lay on his back and looked intently at the black haired boy. When Harry sucked the wet shaft between sinful lips. Ron moaned and closed his eyes, gasping and groaning with the pleasure.
“Look at me,” Harry whispered, mouth pulling up, “look at how much I have to stretch to fit you in.”
Ron gave a sobbing cry and stared at the man sucking him. He wailed as a hand played with his balls, rolling one lump of flesh around, then shifting to the other. His hands threaded into the black hair and held Harry in place as he jerked upwards, ramming his prick into the hot wet mouth, jabbing it into the throat. Crying out, he clutched the hair painfully and came.

Eventually, Ron decided to have the full package and screwed Harry twice more before washing in the bathroom, dressing, and dropping the required amount on the dish. Whilst Ron had been doing that, his friend had stayed still on the bed, his legs spread, as though too well fucked to move. He knew his customers liked the idea that they had worn him out, and it was simple enough to feed the fantasy and maybe get repeat business. Not that he wanted Ron to come back.
Hearing the tinkle of coins he got up and waved lazily towards the wand slot. The red head left and Harry closed the door, thumping his forehead against the wood and fighting back the urge to shriek hysterically. He snagged a sex potion on his way to the bathroom and cleaned himself up and prepared his body for his next client. There wasn't a wand awaiting him when he stepped out, and he sighed in relief.
Sitting back down on his bed, and desperately trying not to recall the previous hour, he wondered how Ron had paid for what had just happened. Ten galleons was a lot of money, and it wasn't like Ron could have asked Hermione to give him the money. Harry snorted as he imagined that conversation:
Er, Hermione, could you give me some money so I can go fuck a whore and make him look like Harry? No, I'm not gay, and yes I acted like Harry being gay was the worst thing in the world. It's just something I want to try. Oh, you want me to leave and never see you again?
---
Hope you enjoyed the double update. Reviews are always welcome. If you want to be updated, let me know at affsickpuppy@yahoo.com
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Plan B