She bowed her head as she entered Lord Voldemort's office. She shut the door behind her and kept her head bowed as she walked further inside. She neared him, her heart quickening.
"My Lord," she said in reverence, for he was everything to her. She was one of his youngest Death Eaters - she and her husband and her brother-in-law. She'd been matched with Rodolphus Lestrange for marriage, and the two of them had married at eighteen and become Death Eaters even before then.
"Bella." The two syllables, velveteen from his lips, made her raise her face, and her breath hitched in her throat. She stared at him for a long moment, at his scarred and jagged face, and he gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
"Yes, Master." She slid into the chair in a fluid movement, and Voldemort sighed as he folded his hands on his desk.
"I perceive tension between you and your husband," he pronounced tightly. "I can not have ongoing issues among my Death Eaters. I am not a marriage counselor. Tell me what the problem is."
Bellatrix's lips parted a little, and she swallowed hard as she whispered, "I am not… plain enough for him, I think, sir."
"Plain enough," Voldemort repeated. "Whatever could you mean?"
Bellatrix hesitated, and then she felt the crash of Voldemort's Legilimency inside of her mind.
'Dolph,' she said to her husband, rotating on the bed, 'use a Lubrication Charm and put it… you know… in the other… hole.'
'What?' Rodolphus sounded absolutely scandalised. 'Don't be disgusting, Bellatrix. What the blazes is the matter with you?'
Bellatrix shut her eyes. She wanted him to cut her with knives until she bled while he fucked her. She wanted him to tie her up to the bed and cover her eyes, to gag her mouth with his tie. She wanted him to spank her until she couldn't breathe. She wanted him to whip her with spells until she was red and hot and crying. She wanted to be drilled from behind. She wanted him in her arse; she wanted to swallow his come.
But every time she'd suggested any of that to him, he'd reminded her of what Good Girls did with their husbands. They lay on their backs and they took their husband's cocks for a little while. And that was that.
"This is the source of your discord?" asked Voldemort, pulling out of Bellatrix's mind. He sounded almost amused, and Bellatrix was humiliated. She stared at her lap and tore at her own fingers as she shook her head and mumbled,
"I'm sorry, Master. I'll do what he -"
"What a bloody fool he is," Voldemort scoffed. He rose slowly and guessed, "You use contraceptive spells, because I need you as a soldier, but you spend your nights lying on your back like some sort of doll. Is that it?"
"Yes." She couldn't manage a Master then. She just nodded, and Voldemort walked around the desk as he dragged his fingers along her jaw. She shivered at his touch. Oh, for how long she'd wanted this - to be touched by him. She stared up at him, and he whispered,
"I would fuck you after cutting your skin."
He held her jaw, tightening his grip until Bellatrix gasped in pain, and he added,
"I would put my cock where you want it. I would paint you with my come. You'd drink it. I'd whip you. Oh, I'd whip you."
"Master." Bellatrix was breathless then, and suddenly she was wrenched roughly to her feet as Voldemort yanked on her wrist. He squeezed her wrist so tightly that she could tell there would be a bruise, and she moaned at the feel of that. She tipped her head back, and he swallowed her mouth up into a deep kiss. Bellatrix squealed in shock, for she had never expected that he would ever kiss her in a million years. But he pulled back and released her wrist, and he shoved her so hard that she staggered back against the wall, tripping a little.
"You are my slave," he reminded her. "I can do with you whatever I please."
"Of course, Master," Bellatrix nodded frantically. She shoved curls out of her eyes and rubbed at her wrist. "Of course."
"Your husband wants to take you like a docile little doll? Fine. I'm your master. I will cut you until you bleed. I will put my cock where I want. I will spank you. I will whip you. You will drink my seed, Bellatrix."
"Master." She was soaked between her legs now, and she bent over a little, clutching at the abdomen of her black velvet dress as she registered the fact that he was going to let her have him, really have him. No. He was going to let her give herself to him. Really give herself to him. She raised her eyes to him, a kink of hair falling in front of her face as she whispered again, "Master."
"Get on your knees. You begin now." He stuck out his hand and wandlessly Summoned her, and Bellatrix yelped in shock as she was wrenched across the room toward him. He slammed her down onto the ground, and her knees screamed in protest. He aimed his wand at her and Conjured ropes to bind her wrists before her, and Bellatrix was suddenly so excited she couldn't stand it. She was going to finish right there, kneeling before him.
"Crack open your mouth." Voldemort reached into his robes and unbuttoned his trousers, quickly yanking out the cock that had hardened through all of this. He approached Bellatrix and shoved his cock quickly into her mouth. He slid his fingers into her curls and jammed her head hard against his pelvis, and Bellatrix immediately gagged so badly that she almost vomited.
"Nonemesis," incanted Voldemort, to keep her from being sick on his cock. She still gagged like mad as he shoved himself over and over and over into her throat, his tip slamming so hard against her tonsils that she shrieked in pain and shock. She yanked at the Conjured ropes on her wrists, and Voldemort snarled as he began to pump his hips. He was fucking her mouth now, really fucking her hard, jamming his cock over and over, down, further, deeper. Bellatrix coughed and sputtered, and spit leaked all over her lips and dribbled down her chin.
"Master!" she said, or at least she tried to say it. It came out more like, "Asher!"
"Mercy, she cries!" he laughed, and he slammed his hips forward until Bellatrix screamed in agony. He pulled back and groaned loudly, and he held her jaw with cruel force as he came. His come was bitter, metallic, with an unpleasant tang, but Bellatrix drank it up like it was an elixir. She puffed and panted and swallowed it down as it landed on her tongue. She licked it off her lips; she lifted up her tied hands and swiped at her filthy mouth and murmured,
"Oh, Merlin's Beard…"
"Gaudens. Good girl," mumbled Voldemort, and suddenly Bellatrix thought she'd fall over. He'd given her an orgasm, a quick spell and a quick climax, but powerful and hot as it coursed through her veins.
"Merciful Master!" Bellatrix cried as she heaved for breath where she knelt, and then suddenly he was helping her to her feet. He Vanished the ropes off of her wrists, and he stared down at her as he tucked her hair behind her ear.
"What a fool Rodolphus is," he murmured, "to have you just lie on your back like… like…"
"Like a doll," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He tipped his head and whispered,
"I'll cut you and fuck you. I'll whip you, Bellatrix."
"Master." She wanted to touch him, to put her hands on his chest, but she resisted the urge. Instead she just bowed her head where she stood, and he tipped her chin up. He touched his lips to her forehead and whispered again,
"Good girl. Not a doll at all, are you? Hmm-mmm. So much more than that, I think. Go home to your husband, Bellatrix. Lie on your back. And think of your master. Dismissed."
Author's Note: I removed my previous story due to excessive abuse and took a break because of how much negativity I was receiving. I do realize that this story *also* won't be everyone's cup of tea. I ask that if BDSM/kink isn't your thing, please just ignore the story and resist the urge to review. Thank you.
"You seemed… erm… more into it tonight than usual, eh?" Rodolphus grinned a bit as he lay on his back beside Bellatrix, and she couldn't help grinning as she lay in a bit of a mess. She had done exactly what her lord had commanded her. Lie on her back and think of her master. And the grinding had suddenly felt good. The rubbing had suddenly felt satisfying. It was him in her mind, and so she'd moaned a little, and she'd even wrapped her arms around Rodolphus and hummed a little wordless plea as he'd neared completion.
She took a long, hot shower to clean herself up, and as she did, she pulsed her fingers between her legs and smiled a little as she thought of why her throat was so sore. His cock jamming down her throat had made it sore. She remembered the taste of her master's come, and she moaned softly.
"You all right, Bellatrix?" asked Rodolphus from the bedroom, and she laughed a little at herself as she finished soaping off. She rinsed off and dried herself with a towel, and as she pulled on a nightgown, she hummed a happy little tune. Yes, she thought. She'd been more into it tonight. She'd sleep well tonight.
What a scandalous little harlot she was.
She wanted all the darkest things for her sex, and her water cracker husband would give her none of them. But Voldemort had gone rigid in his trousers when he'd been in her mind and had read her fantasies. Bleeding. Whipping. Spanking. Drinking his come. Taking him up her arse. All of those things and more she wanted. All of those things and more he wanted to give her.
Tom Riddle had craved those things as a young wizard, but he'd never found a young witch who wanted them back. All the girls who had found him handsome had just wanted him to put his cock inside of her and pump it a few times until one or both of them found some satisfaction. But at the slightest suggestion of choking, a girl would panic. It had happened more than once; Tom Riddle had learnt quickly that he'd have to hide his proclivities or else Obliviate the witches he horrified.
Even on the Continent, the best he found was a Vampire who liked playing with blood, but it was in the wrong ways, and she was hundreds of years old and unattractive. Never had there been anything like this - a Pureblood witch, young and beautiful, obedient to him, devoted to his cause… craving things like this. This was… this was a dream.
It had been five days since he'd shoved his cock down her throat. He'd tried to give them both time and space, but he'd been stressed today. Someone from the Ministry had succeeded in raiding one of Voldemort's secret vaults at Gringotts under the guise of seizing illegal assets. Furthermore, an Auror had overheard a conversation between Avery and Nott in the White Wyvern and had needed Obliviation. It had been sheer dumb luck that Avery had been suspicious of the Auror. So today had been a stressful day.
And when he was feeling stressed, Voldemort wanted relief. And right now, relief might come from her. He peeled back the sleeve of his robe and touched the tip of his wand to his left forearm. He dug the tip of his wand against his Dark Mark and shut his eyes, and he imagined her face. He imagined her wide, dark eyes, her full lips, her pale cheeks. He imagined her wild black curls, her tiny waist. He imagined her, and he whispered,
Then he pulled his wand away and swallowed hard, and he paced in his sitting room. It was late. She was probably getting ready for bed at her home. He didn't care. He was in his own chambers. The House Elf would show her up here when she came to Malfoy Manor at his summons. He paced and paced, his bare feet dragging on the rug, and he tried to decide what to do to her tonight.
He would tie her up and choke her, he thought. Blindfold her, tie her up, choke her. She wanted it. Rodolphus wouldn't give it to her. He would give it to her. He started to pant a little just thinking of doing that, and then he found himself thinking more about Bellatrix in general.
She was a very brave soldier. She was almost terrifyingly courageous in battles. She adored casting the Cruciatus Curse on prisoners for Voldemort. She never hesitated to kill for him. She gave him everything. He had known her since she'd been a child. She'd been Dark then, even then, so Dark. She'd always been Dark to her core, frightening her mother and confounding her father. She'd gotten into all sorts of trouble at Hogwarts. She'd been matched to Rodolphus Lestrange, but it was an entirely loveless union. The two of them were not even procreative. They were just… there. Together.
"Enter." He looked up when there was knocking on his door, and he wandlessly unlocked and unwarded it. The door swung slowly open, and Dobby, the Malfoys' House-Elf, skittered away as Bellatrix slipped into the room wearing a long, heavy velvet traveling cloak.
"Master," she said breathlessly. "I came immediately at your summons; forgive me that I've got a nightgown on."
"There's precisely nothing to forgive about that," Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix's lips parted a little. She smiled a bit and lowered her hood, and she pulled at the tie round her neck. She let her cloak fall, let it pool like water at her feet, and she approached Voldemort in a wispy white nightgown.
"Master," she whispered, "I've been imagining you."
"Good girl," he nodded, "but tonight there will be no imagination. I called you here for satisfaction. For the both of us."
Bellatrix's eyes blazed, and she nodded. Voldemort tentatively reached for her hand, wanting for some reason right this moment not to hurt her. He'd hurt her later; right now he didn't want to. He led her slowly through the sitting room into his bedroom, and he stood beside his heavy, dark blue bed. He peeled Bellatrix's nightgown up and over her head. He slid her knickers down, and then he just stared.
Small breasts, round and pretty. Perfectly round. Little puckered nipples, pink even in the dim light. A flat belly, smooth with youth, and a narrow waist giving way to little hips. Smooth skin, so, so smooth. He coursed his hands over her, and Bellatrix tipped her face back a little as she felt his touch. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, and then he whispered,
"Get the fuck on the bed. Now."
"Ungh… yes, Master." She scrambled backward onto the bed and lay on her back obediently, staring at the ceiling.
"Arms up," Voldemort barked, and when she quickly did as he said, he Conjured ropes binding her wrist to the iron bars of the headboard. She moaned softly, and Voldemort smirked more than ever. He yanked at the tie he wore round his neck, with a formal white shirt beneath his velvet robe, and he wrenched it over his head. He untied it and then approached Bellatrix, and he used the black tie like a blindfold, covering her eyes and binding it up behind her head. Bellatrix gasped a little, and when Voldemort climbed onto the bed, he muttered,
"Open your fucking legs."
She did, parting her bent knees for him, and he immediately, roughly shoved two, then three fingers into her body. Bellatrix keened and writhed, shocked by the invasion. Voldemort began pounding his three large fingers in and out of Bellatrix's body, shoving them into her over and over again until she squealed and pounded her feet on the blankets.
"Calm down!" he barked at her, and she tried her best, panting through her nose and lying more still on her back as Voldemort wrenched and shoved and yanked his three fingers in and out of her. He used his thumb to play with her clit, and he decided he wasn't going to stop until she came. He flicked at her clit as he abused her entrance, which was getting hot and swollen, and Bellatrix cried with a mixture of pain and pleasure. But soon enough, she was moaning relatively consistently from what seemed like something very enjoyable. She twitched around his fingers, and suddenly Voldemort thought he was going to come in his trousers.
No, he thought, for that thought was ridiculous. He had hardly had any contact with his own cock. But this was so stimulating, watching her like this, watching her blindfolded and bound, yanking at her ties, thrashing, unseeing. She felt so good, tight and wet, her body fighting his fingers even as she gave way to orgasm. She felt ridiculously good clenching tightly around him, convulsing just a little where she lay as her walls clamped and contracted. Everything about this was so good. He needed to kiss her.
He bent down and smashed his mouth against hers, yanking his hand from her body. She squealed in surprise at the feel of his kiss; she'd been blindfolded and hadn't seen him coming. Her mouth fell open, and he shoved his tongue into her mouth. She couldn't touch him. Her hands were bound. But he could touch her. He squeezed at her breast, and he did. He kissed her hard; he dragged his tongue around and sucked on her lip and then…
And then he came.
He couldn't help it; it just happened. There was come pumping into his trousers as he propped himself above her with one arm and played with her breast with the other hand. He growled in frustration and pulled his mouth from hers as the white-hot pleasure rushed through his veins and went straight to his head. He tipped his head back and listened to her panting and hers mixing together in the bedroom's air.
"Bella." He had had more plans than this. He had wanted to fuck her tonight. He had wanted to fill her with his come. He had wanted to clutch at her waist as he pounded her from behind.
"Other times," he whispered, and Bellatrix just breathed heavily in confusion from beneath him. She'd understand, he knew, as he crawled off the bed and pulled out his wand and said very deliberately, "Tergeo."
She knew the Siphoning spell. She'd know he was cleaning up a mess in his trousers. Indeed, her lips, wet and full from his kissing, parted with comprehension, and she whispered,
"I can stay and wait, Master, and keep pleasing you."
"Other times," he said again." He Vanished the ropes around her wrists, and he pulled his tie off of her eyes. He picked up her nightgown and knickers from the ground and handed them to her, and she shook like mad as she dressed. He stood rather awkwardly as she pulled on her traveling cloak and slid on her flat shoes, and he gulped as he told her,
"I am glad you answered my summons."
She gave him an almost amused look, and she shook her head helplessly.
"Master. As if I could ever refuse you anything."
His breath hitched oddly at that, and he nodded firmly. Yes. She was his slave. His servant. A good one. He would give them both what no one else had given them. And there would be other times. He walked over to her and kissed her forehead, and he murmured,
She bowed her head deeply, curtsying a little, and she reached for his hand. She kissed his knuckles as she was bowed down, and she said in the most obedient, loveliest voice he'd ever heard,
"Goodnight, my lord and master."
Author's Note: I have surgery tomorrow (nothing scary; just getting my tubes tied! Woo hoo!) so it will likely be just a few days before I can update. I appreciate your patience. Hopefully I'll be back on my feet ASAP. This story is dirrrrrrrrty but fun to write. Yes, I will write Part III of the Storm Series soon, when my head is in the right place to do that story justice. Everyone's patience with me in general right now is more than appreciated. :)
Bellatrix was in the middle of eating dinner with Rodolphus when her Mark started burning like mad. She set down her fork, and Rodolphus worriedly watched her squeeze at her left arm.
"Again?" he fretted. "I know you can't share everything you do for him with me, Bellatrix, but are you… all right?"
"I'm fine, but I should go." Bellatrix's skin prickled, thinking that perhaps she was being called again because he wanted her, because he wanted her body. But she was bleeding; she had her period. Would he care? Would he mind the mess? She was achy, bloated, uncomfortable. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't much in the mood for sex with anyone, not even with her master. She gulped, wondering how disappointed he'd be with her, and she stood slowly from her chair. She Disapparated, coming to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor. She walked up to the great double doors and knocked on the heavy knocker, and when the door opened, the little House-Elf, Dobby, was there.
"The Dark Lord has called me," Bellatrix said simply, and Dobby nodded.
"He is waiting for you in the dining room, Miss," Dobby said, and Bellatrix frowned. The dining room? She followed Dobby up the main stairs and down the corridor toward the dining room they used for meetings. Was this a meeting, then?
When she walked into the dining room, it was empty except for the Dark Lord sitting at the head of the table. The House-Elf shut the door and skittered away, and Bellatrix bowed as she murmured,
"My Lord. How may I serve you?"
"Ah. You are… indisposed." Voldemort's voice had realisation threaded through it, and when Bellatrix raised her eyes, she felt a twinge in her mind. He was a Legilimens. She knew that. Had he read her discomfort? Had he felt her sense of bloating, her cramping, the bleeding she was staunching with a special device? She stared at him, feeling her cheeks go very hot, and she promised him,
"I'll do whatever you'd like."
"Not tonight." He dragged his fingers over the table and shook his head. "You would derive no pleasure from any of it tonight, I don't think. My goal is not to torture you in the way you torture my enemies. You are not my enemy. I have many; you are not one of them."
He was rambling a little. Bellatrix stepped a bit closer to him, and he sighed as he informed her,
"Hamish Nott is dead. The father of a Death Eater, uncle to another. In the middle of a war, I have my Death Eaters distracted by mundane deaths. Dragon Pox."
"Sorry to hear that." Bellatrix shrugged a little, and he smirked up at her as he laughed a bit.
"You care just about as much as I do that Hamish Nott is dead, which is to say, not very much at all," he pronounced, "but Nott and Avery care, and the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight care. But I can not attend the funeral, obviously. I don't even like the idea of so many of my Death Eaters being there at once. It's asking for trouble. I've had a long day."
"Well, I really am sorry to hear that," Bellatrix said more sincerely, and Voldemort licked his bottom lip as he informed her,
"I had meant to make you lie on your back on this table and spank your cunny until you came, then fuck you until I did."
"Oh." Bellatrix was utterly bereft of breath then. That sounded wondrous. She cursed her womanly affliction, her monthly disease of sorts, and she scowled. "I… there would be a mess."
He curled up half his mouth and drummed his fingers on the table as he promised her,
"I still mean to do it to you. In a few days' time. When you're feeling yourself again, I'll spank you between your legs until you can't breathe, Bella, and I'll drill you until I pump you full of -"
"Master." She buckled over a little then, gripping the edge of the table, and he let out a low, rumbling laugh at the way she was so overcome by his talk. He sighed through his nose and noted,
"I interrupted your dinner. I see… you were in the middle of your first course. I do apologise."
"You should never apologise for anything in all the world," Bellatrix whispered, shutting her eyes, "Master."
"You may go home and finish eating," he said crisply, and Bellatrix nodded as she bowed her head and turned to go. But then she heard his voice say, "Or you may stay and eat with me. I was just about to have some dinner myself."
Bellatrix whirled around, confused, but Voldemort seemed supremely confident in his invitation. He folded his hands and shrugged.
"I'm planning on having apples and brie, ham with duck egg on toast, and hazelnut cream puff. I've already told the Elf. Easy enough to double it all."
"That sounds…" Bellatrix's head spun then, and she leaned onto the table as she shook her head and mumbled, "I couldn't impose."
"If it were an imposition of any kind, I would never have extended the invitation," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix swallowed hard. She nodded, and a few moments later, Voldemort had barked at Dobby to double the food. Within a few minutes, Bellatrix was drinking Elf-Made wine with Voldemort, eating apples and brie at the table, and he was complaining to her some more about Hamish Nott.
"Filthy bastard, the man was. Absolutely no sense of personal hygiene or decency. I vividly remember being in school with Nott and going to King's Cross. Hamish was there, smelling like a pile of garbage. It's no wonder he caught ill and died at sixty-five."
"Well, not everyone can live to be very old," Bellatrix said carefully. "I predict, Master, that you will be live to be the oldest man in the entire world."
He set down his fork and knife as their plates switched out the food to duck egg and ham on toast. He raised his jagged brows and demanded,
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you're so powerful," Bellatrix informed him. "I think you'll find a way to outlive us all. You'll find some way, because you're so immensely powerful."
Voldemort's nostrils flared a little, and he nodded vigorously.
"You're right," he whispered. "I could live forever, if I wanted. I am the most powerful man in the entire world. Did you know that?"
"Yes, Master," Bellatrix hummed, and she studied his face as he stared back at her. He was ignoring his food. He let out a small little noise and finally stared down at his plate, and he tucked into his duck egg and ham. He ate for a while, and so did Bellatrix, until he asked her,
"Are things much improved with you and your husband?"
"I am able to function better with him, Master," Bellatrix informed him, "because I… I think of you when he…"
"He's still taking you?" Voldemort's eyes snapped up, and he looked angry for a long moment. Then his face softened a little, and he thought aloud, "I suppose I can't insist that he doesn't."
Bellatrix was shocked by that, by the idea that he would even suggest such a thing. She set down her cutlery and promised Voldemort,
"I think only of you, Master."
"Do you." It wasn't a question. He just curled up half his mouth and raised his eyes again, and he whispered, "Do you imagine my hideous face?"
"Hideous." Bellatrix shook her head in confusion. She stood slowly and approached Voldemort, her head still shaking. "Anything but hideous."
"I am warped by Dark Magic. You couldn't begin to understand," Voldemort scoffed. "I was once very, very handsome."
Bellatrix stood beside his chair and chewed her lip. "To me, you are the most handsome man in all the -"
"Do not lie," hissed Voldemort. "You see a man with blurred features, with a nose broken one too many times, with uneven brows and jagged cheekbones. You do not see the preternaturally handsome Tom Riddle that made the witches swoon in his youth."
"I see my lord and master who makes me wet between my legs and weak at my knees," Bellatrix informed him. "My lord and master who commands me in every conceivable way, whom I would follow unto a thousand deaths, to whom I devote my entire existence. I -"
He reached up and grasped her face, and Bellatrix gasped in pain at the tightness of his grip. He stood, rising from his chair as their main courses gave way to desserts. He stared down at the hazelnut cream puff and used his right hand to pull off the pastry, and then he used his spoon to carve out some cream. He brought it to Bellatrix's mouth and put the spoon between her lips, still holding her too tightly, and she moaned in pleasure at the taste of the cream.
"Now… don't swallow it," he whispered, and he fed her some more. This time, she held the cream near her lips, and then he crushed her mouth with his. They shared the bite, the sweet cream mingling between their mouths, shared between their tongues. Voldemort repeated the process a few times, bite after bite tasting sweeter and sweeter. Bellatrix reached on instinct for his crotch and found him rock solid there, but he shook his head and insisted,
"I have no interest in coming in my trousers tonight. Stop."
"Yes, Master." She pulled away from him, rubbing at her lips with her wrist, and she decided that those sweetened kisses had been the most magnificent taste in all the world. She shut her eyes, very dizzy, and she heard Voldemort instruct her tightly,
"Go home to Rodolphus, Bellatrix, and lie beside him in your bed, and when you shut your eyes and start to drift off to sleep, think of your master."
Author's Note: In true "me" style, I managed to get one more chapter up today. As I mentioned, I have surgery tomorrow. It's nothing serious (just getting tubes tied), but I'll be way too out of it tomorrow to write and then it will just depend on pain over the weekend to see how writing goes. Thanks for your patience. In the meantime, PLEASE do review if you get a chance. Thank you so much.
"I have called this meeting," Voldemort said, "to have a private memorial of sorts for Hamish Nott. It is obvious that I can not attend any public funerary services, and frankly, half of you in this room ought not to attend. I only want those directly related to Hamish to go to to the funeral. Nott, I'm sure you understand why this is."
Nott bowed his head and said softly, "Of course, Master. It would be an enormous security threat to have all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight gathered in one place when the Ministry suspects so many of us of being your followers."
"Just the same," said Voldemort tightly, "I wish now for us all to speak warmly of Hamish Nott. Let us go round the table and say something in remembrance of him. Please, Nott, as is his son, you may begin."
Nott raised his glass-and-gold-leaf chalice of red wine and said simply, "My father never once missed a day of reading to me when I was a boy. Every single night, before I went to bed, he would read to me. And I think that sums up the sort of father he was. He was attentive and kind to me, and I shall miss him terribly. To my father."
"To your father," said the others, and everyone took a very small sip. They took it in turns then, going round the table and eulogising the man who had died, touching their wine carefully to their lips each time. When at last it reached Bellatrix's turn, Voldemort's eyes hovered on her, thinking she was so very pretty. Her husband had just spoken, saying something about Hamish Nott being a well-known intellectual and an example for thinking wizards everywhere. Now Bellatrix said,
"Hamish Nott was the child of Purebloods, the husband of a Pureblood, and the father of Purebloods," she noted. "His loss at his age is a blow to the Pureblood community. We mourn a man of such blood purity."
"Indeed we do," agreed Voldemort, and he sipped very lightly from his glass of wine. A few more spoke, and then it reached the head of the table again, and Voldemort said,
"I remember Hamish Nott being among the fathers of my school friends. As you all know, I had no father to speak of. And it is as you say, Nott; it was obvious he was a good one. A good father. I confess to jealousy. And now I confess to pity. Your loss is keenly felt. To Hamish Nott."
He raised his glass, and everyone else did the same, drinking off the rest of their glasses of wine. Voldemort dismissed the meeting, but as people were leaving, he murmured,
"Bella, stay here."
She went wide-eyed but held back. Voldemort took a moment to privately console the few close relatives of Hamish Nott within his Death Eater circle, and once they'd gone, he shut the door and cast a few wards and distraction charms around the great dining room doors. He rubbed at his head and complained,
"How I dislike such maudlin nonsense."
"Oh, but you handled it perfectly, if I may speak plainly, Master," Bellatrix gushed. He eyed her, amused, and she continued, "Everyone was emotional enough without sitting here sobbing. Your absence at the funeral will easily be explained for security reasons, as will the absences of many others. What you did here today was a proper send-off for the man, I think. You are such a wise leader. How is that that you do it? How do you balance wisdom with ferocity? I don't understand."
"I should tell you to stop being such a brazen little sycophant," Voldemort smirked, approaching her, "but I rather like the flattery. Now. What was it I said I was going to do to you a few days ago?"
Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. Oh, she remembered exactly what he'd said he was going to do a few days earlier.
"I asked you a question." Voldemort walked right up to Bellatrix and hiked up her black velvet knee-length skirt. She had on flat boots, but he didn't seem concerned with those as he wrenched her knickers down over the boots. "What did I say I was going to do to you?"
"Spank my cunny until I came and then… and then… fuck me until you did," Bellatrix recited, using his exact words. He laughed, not maliciously, but almost joyfully, and he nodded as he encouraged her to kick her knickers away. He kissed her almost gently at first, but it turned rough fast, and then he wrenched her face to the side and practically attacked her neck. He suckled hard at the flesh beneath her ear, deciding to bruise her up, and Bellatrix squirmed like a worm as he did. He pushed her onto the table, sliding her up onto her bum, and he asked her,
"You use long-lasting contraceptive charms?"
"Y-Yes, Master," she affirmed, and he just nodded. Of course she did. The last thing she would want at this phase in her life was Rodolphus Lestrange's baby swimming round inside of her. Voldemort shoved Bellatrix back onto the table, deciding to leave her clothed today. She was here to be spanked, not overly caressed or stroked on her bare he slammed her a little harder than she intended, and her head sent a few empty wine glasses flying. Voldemort and Bellatrix both laughed at that, and he wandlessly cleaned up his mess.
"Hush," he scolded her playfully. "Open your legs."
She did. She always did exactly as he bade her, and she did so now. Voldemort dragged his fingers around her entrance a little, feeling the oyster slick there. She was already wet. She wanted this. She wanted him. Mmm. That made him hard, to think of that want boiling inside of her. He liked to think of her as desirous of him. Young witches had craved him in his youth, and he had not, perhaps, taken sufficient opportunity of his handsomeness then to crave them back. Now he wanted this witch, and she plainly wanted him in return, despite him being twenty-five years her senior and marred and scarred by Dark Magic.
He started with little more than a tap at first, just a light spank, but it was enough. Bellatrix gripped the edge of the table and arched her back up, dragging her teeth over her lip, and a little sound escaped her.
"Ahh!" Bellatrix's sound now was one blending pain and pleasure, and he adored that sound from her, that beautiful mixture. He hit her again, harder this time, then harder, then harder, then harder until he was rightfully and truly spanking her there between her legs. His fingertips rat-a-tatted on her hole, and the base of his palm kept hitting at her clit. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
She was writhing now, throwing her head back, and she mumbled helplessly,
"Oh, I'm going to come."
"Do it." Voldemort was so worked up himself he could hardly stand it. His hand was soaked. His palm was stinking. His fingers were burning. This felt good; this felt so, so good. Suddenly she snapped like a violin string, and he bent down on instinct to kiss her through it. He twisted two fingers inside of her, wanting to feel her climax. Hot. She was so hot from the spanking, he noticed. Her flesh was swollen, puffy, hot. And she was clenching round his fingers eagerly. He was going to lose himself again.
He hurried to stand and unbutton his trousers, yanking his cock out from them and from under his robes, and he jammed it inside of Bellatrix's highly sensitised entrance. She moaned in agony a little, and he knew it must hurt a bit, being entered after being whacked right there. But that only turned him on more, knowing how over-sensitive she was just now. This probably felt nothing like when she lay on her back in bed for Rodolphus, he thought distantly.
The table creaked a bit beneath them, but not for long, because Voldemort couldn't last. Not when he could still feel the effects of spanking her on his hand. Not when she was so tight and swollen and hot around him from what his hand had done to her. Not when she was still twitching a little from her own climax. How could he last like that? He pumped his come into her more quickly than he'd expected to do, but he didn't mind.
"Bella." His voice cracked a little as he sat up, his pleasure searing white in front of his eyes. He slid out of her and cleaned them both up, and she lay there panting, looking so sated she seemed she could fall straight asleep. He liked that, too - the look of her so satisfied. He wasn't sure why. Why did he care so much about her satisfaction? He did care. He cared whether she liked it.
He helped her off the table as she slid on her knickers again, and as she smiled up at him a bit, he squeezed her hands a little and kissed her forehead.
"Dismissed, Bella," he said, a little too warmly, and she bowed her head and said very obediently,
Author's Note: Thanks for all the warm wishes in the PMs. Surgery went really well yesterday. Tubes are gone! Woo! Still a little out of it on pain meds but should be back down to Ibuprofen tomorrow, so I promise more real live plot in a chapter tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.
"Dolph, I won't be at dinner tonight," said Bellatrix, strolling into the deep green library where Rodolphus was reading a book. He looked up from his reading and raised his brows.
"No? Going to your parents'?" He asked lightly, but Bellatrix shifted on her feet and corrected him,
"I've been summoned by owl. By the Dark Lord. Ordered to dinner tonight. I'm not sure how many will be there."
"Well, not me, apparently." Rodolphus shut his book and narrowed his eyes a little, and he asked meaningfully, "Bellatrix, are you having an affair with him?"
Bellatrix felt her knees go a little weak with shock. She stumbled into the room and sat slowly opposite Rodolphus, and she whispered,
"I can't… I don't think I can…"
"That's a yes, then," Rodolphus nodded crisply. "I assume I'm not meant to ask any questions."
"He's our master," Bellatrix reminded him, and Rodolphus scoffed a little.
"I'm your husband." He looked away but gave a conciliatory nod and drummed his fingers on his book. He finally said softly, "I won't say a word. To you or to him. I'm not anxious to meet a Killing Curse over this."
"I've got to go to dinner," Bellatrix said, rising slowly. As she stood, Rodolphus asked,
"How did those Mudbloods go earlier today?"
"Fine." Bellatrix shrugged lightly. She'd had two captured Mudbloods that she'd tortured into oblivion, getting quite a lot of useful information from them about some Aurors in the force, and then she'd killed them. She put her hands on her waist and said to Rodolphus, "They went quickly. Easily."
"That's my girl," Rodolphus smirked, and Bellatrix just stared. Rodolphus' face went serious, and he asked plainly, "Will you be back tonight?"
"I've no idea," Bellatrix admitted. "All I know is that I got an owl ordering me to dinner. I don't know anything else."
"Right, then." Rodolphus tapped his fingers together and nodded. "Night."
"Night, Dolph." Bellatrix walked quickly out of the library, Disapparating mid-step.
"How did those Mudbloods go earlier?"
Earlier, when Bellatrix had been asked the question by Rodolphus, she'd been lukewarm in answering. Now, sitting at the dining room table with Voldemort, she grinned and told him,
"Margo Rollstead gave us all sorts of useful information about Alastor Moody," she said. "It only took her six or seven minutes under the Cruciatus to completely crack and give me everything I wanted about what he's been doing for Dumbledore. She was so weak. So weak, Master."
His lips curled up, pleased. He folded his hands on the table and asked, "The other one?"
"Gareth Rollstead," Bellatrix nodded vigorously. "Her Mudblood brother. Two Mudbloods from one set of Muggle parents! Astonishing, isn't it? Anyway, they were both working for Dumbledore. Gareth revealed that Dumbledore had been paying for them to live in a cottage so they could stay safe."
"Ha." Voldemort choked a laugh and sipped his red wine. He'd nearly finished his roast beef. He took another bite and then said again, "Safe. Safe from you? Hardly possible."
"Hardly." Bellatrix smirked and scratched at her curls. She ate a few quick bites of beef and said, "I tortured him a little extra just for fun, Master, and then I eliminated them. Rabastan delivered their bodies to the cottage where Dumbledore had been having them live, and he cast the Dark Mark. He and a few others."
"But you delivered the fatal spells. Just today, you killed for me," Voldemort purred, and Bellatrix nodded.
"I'll kill a thousand times over for you, Master, and then a thousand times again. And again, and again."
"I know. Sweet girl." He shut his eyes and told her, "I've punished you a few times. Now I want to reward you."
Bellatrix felt excitement flush through her, and she quickly shook her head as she insisted,
"I do not need any -"
"No, you don't, but I am entitled to punish or please you as I wish." Voldemort stared at her down the table then. He gulped and shrugged. "Rodolphus finally figured it out, did he?"
Bellatrix's lips parted, and she nodded. "He knows better than to question you."
"He's a fool in many ways, but he won't get himself killed over this," Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes. "If I want you, then you're mine. He knows that. He's not that sort of idiot."
"Yours." Bellatrix nodded a little, knowing what he meant. She was his Death Eater. She was his servant. She was his to do with as he pleased.
"Bellatrix." Voldemort held out one hand and beckoned to her, and Bellatrix's heart sped up in her chest as she rose slowly and approached Voldemort. As she did, she felt a slight choking sensation, and she dropped to her knees. Voldemort rose and loomed over her, staring down at her. He squeezed his hand a little, and Bellatrix felt like she was choking again. It was just a slight little feeling, just the hint of choking, just enough to feel… good. She gasped, sputtered, and clutched at her throat, and then she coughed when he released her. He reached for her hand and pulled her up to stand, and then he slid her onto the corner of the dining room table.
"Knickers down and off," he mumbled, and Bellatrix quickly hustled to obey him. She was already a little wet as she slipped her knickers over her hips, over her thighs and knees, and kicked them away. She let them dangle on her toe for one moment before kicking them, and the sight of that seemed to make Voldemort happy. He bent down and kissed her hard, and suddenly Bellatrix wondered if she was ever going to see him naked. Every time they ever did anything physical, he just pulled his cock out of his trousers. Would she ever touch his chest? Would she ever rub at his arms?
"Mmmph." He shoved her head aside and dug his mouth against her neck, and his hand squeezed at a breast as he asked against her skin, "You want to rub at my arms, Bellatrix? You want to touch my chest?"
"Yes, Master. Yes." Bellatrix tipped her head back and let him kiss her harder than ever against her neck, and suddenly he was nipping - no, biting - and squeezing so hard at the other side of her neck that Bellatrix was in intense pain. She liked this, this pain, and he knew that she liked it. This was the pain Rodolphus wouldn't give her. This was the pain he'd confessed to seeking for years, the pain he'd wanted to give to a witch. They both wanted it. But she also wanted to worship his flesh. She wanted to kiss his chest just above the place where his heart beat. She wanted to massage at his shoulders. She wanted to rub his back. She wanted to squeeze his backside. Oh, she wanted to touch him like that.
He pulled back from her, and she expected him to him to just pull his cock out of his trousers like he always did and drill her against the table before sending her home. But there was a strange glaze in his eyes, and he seemed almost tired as he tucked her hair behind her ear. He whispered carefully,
"If I keep taking you to my personal quarters, it's a line that can't be uncrossed, Bellatrix."
He was talking to himself, not to her, but she nodded and mumbled,
"I'm your slave. Master."
"I want you to rub at my arms and chest," he said, and his throat visibly bobbed. He wanted to be naked with her, Bellatrix thought. He wanted to take off his clothes. He wanted… they wanted the same thing, the two of them. Bellatrix reached up rather brazenly and cupped his jaw in her hands, feeling the little scrape of his scruff against her palms as she pulled him down and encouraged him to kiss her as hard as he would do. That, as it turned out, was very very hard. His tongue snaked into her mouth and he hissed as if in pain, as if making this decision was physically painful for him, and he suckled on her bottom lip before seizing her neck in his hands. He pulled back and squeezed, harder than ever, so hard that Bellatrix saw spots and couldn't find breath at all.
She was dying. He was killing her. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… She couldn't breathe at all for so long that she just started counting, and then all of a sudden she lost consciousness.
When she woke, she was lying on a familiar bed, but this time she wasn't tied up, and there was a very naked Lord Voldemort beside her.
Author's Note: Sorry for the slow pace of updating this one as I heal up from surgery. If you're reading and enjoying, PLEASE do take a quick moment to leave a review. I'd really be grateful for the feedback. :)
Voldemort breathed in and out a few times as Bellatrix woke beside him. He'd been mildly afraid she wouldn't wake. Perhaps he'd damaged her brain. He'd taken it entirely too far, choking her until she was so unconscious that she wouldn't wake. He'd almost killed her.
But he'd climbed into bed with her, putting her beside him in her bra and knickers and waiting for her to wake up, and when she did, she stared at him like he was some sort of mirage in the desert. He was naked. That must have shocked her, to see his cock lying limply across his thigh, to see his hands behind his head and his armpit hair exposed. That must have shocked her truly, but he didn't care. He just turned his face a little toward her and murmured,
"Go on, then."
"Master?" She seemed frightened, and her voice was very hoarse, and he whispered,
"Oh." She coughed a little, and as she sat up a bit, it appeared as though swallowing were very painful for her. There were terrible bruises all up and down the sides of her neck. Voldemort sucked in breath through his nose and mumbled,
"I took it too far. Choking you. I… you almost didn't wake. I won't take it that far again."
"It felt good," Bellatrix insisted, but she clutched at her throat, and Voldemort scowled.
"I rather like having you about," he grumbled. "It's not worth… losing you… over a bit of asphyxiation play, you understand. I'll go easier next time."
"As you wish, Master." She nodded, and then she seemed to remember that he'd told her to touch him. She slid her hands over his bare chest, and when he hissed in pleasure, she froze. He shook his head and muttered,
"Like this?" She sounded so uncertain all of a sudden, and he knew why. He'd jabbed his cock down her throat and come in her mouth. He'd tied her up and blindfolded her and roughly fingered her. He'd spanked her between the legs. He'd choked her. What was this? What was this gentle petting he was asking of her? Even if it was what she'd fantasised about in the dining room, it confused her, he could tell.
"I owe you no explanation," he snarled, and she rushed to reply,
"N-No. Of course not, Master."
"Touch me," he commanded her, "and do it nicely."
He lay back then and just let her massage him a bit. Her fingers and palms dragged along his biceps, along his forearms. She dug the heels of her hands into his chest, and she slid her hands all round his stomach and his hips. He started to go hard, and he knew she was watching it happen, watching the way his cock swelled up and grew tumescent. It aroused him, knowing she was staring, knowing she was observing him get erect because of how she was touching him. He grew harder than ever until he twitched and groaned a little, and then he finally seized Bellatrix's hands in his and opened his eyes.
"Is that what you wanted?" he whispered. Her lips fell open, and she looked so drowsy he thought she might fall asleep again. "Downstairs you wanted to touch me. You wanted to caress me. Is that what you wanted?"
"Yes." She blinked slowly and nodded. "Yes, Master."
"Bellatrix." He touched at her lower abdomen and asked softly, "You're protected?"
"I am." She nodded vigorously. "I don't want… I can't have a child right now."
"No. You can't." He pulled his hand away and started to rub at her thigh, deciding he liked to touch her, too, and he mumbled, "I… would like…"
He cleared his throat roughly then, thinking he did not sound at all in control, and he roughened up his voice before he demanded,
"Touch me some more."
She squeezed and caressed him again, all over his shoulders and chest and stomach. All over his biceps, his wrists, his fingers. Soon he needed to kiss her. Wanted. No. Needed. He couldn't decide. It didn't matter.
"Kiss me." He barked the order in the sharpest voice he could manage, but it came out too softly, and when Bellatrix lowered her mouth to his, she was trembling against his mouth in a way that felt too good. He held her face in his hands, thinking he shouldn't do that. He should not drag his thumbs under her eyes like this, nor roll with her until he was atop her.
But he did. And he kept kissing her all the while, pulling at her knickers as she shoved them down. She kicked them away, and she helped him as she wriggled out of her bra. He should be rough with her breast, he thought. He should squeeze until she screamed. He should bend and bite her nipple until she bled, until she cried out.
Instead he cupped the soft tissue and bent and kissed it, and he brought his lips up in a line, up to her neck. He should devour her here, he thought. Make her writhe in agony. Make her try to wrench his head away. But instead he licked at the flesh beneath her ear and heard her moan, and he liked it. He liked the sound. He was so hard he could barely take it anymore, and he gently - gently, for Merlin's sake! - pushed her knees open and thrust into her.
Fluid. Everything was fluid. She was wet. She was ready. His motions were smooth. Nothing was jerky. Breath was easy. Everything was like ocean waves, moving smooth and steady and… why did this feel so good? Easy sex had never felt like this. Voldemort moved his face up and stared down at Bellatrix, who bravely took his cheeks in her hands and stared at him with half-lidded eyes that kept fluttering shut every now and then.
"Is this what it feels like with him?" Voldemort demanded. "With Rodolphus, when you're lying on your back like a doll, is this what it feels like?"
"What? No!" She was so incredulous that she forgot to be obedient, forgot to be deferent. Her cheeks immediately pinked, and she shook her head as she stammered, "I mean… I meant to say, Master that it's… no, it's nothing like… like this."
"Why not?" he snapped, his hips still ebbing and flowing smoothly into her. She studied him, confused, as though the answer were very, very obvious, and she finally whispered,
"Because I want you, My Lord."
"Oh." He felt her tuck her knees up higher, but he knew she wouldn't come like this. It was too simple for a girl like Bellatrix; she wouldn't come like this. He needed her to come. He rolled again with her until he was spooning her from behind, and he began to enter her with shallow little thrusts that felt so good he thought he'd lose himself in just a moment. He hurried to reach round Bellatrix's body and fiddle with her clit, playing with her, pawing at her, and after a few minutes, she threw her head back and gasped.
He caught her up in a kiss, and as her tongue tangled with his, he felt a subtle climax take her over - nothing dramatic, but it was there. He could feel it in her mind. He could feel her clenching a little around his fingers. And her mouth stilled for a moment on his. It did him in, feeling her come like that, and he kissed her through his own, far more showy detonation. He burrowed his fingers into her hair and grunted into her mouth as he pumped come into her, and then he clutched at a breast and held her fast against him.
Why did this feel so good?
There was no blood this time, no choking, no near-death experiences. There was no taunting. No humiliation. There was no violence, not this time. So why did it feel so damned good?
Because I want you, My Lord.
"Bella." Suddenly he didn't want to send her home to go lie in bed with Rodolphus Lestrange, and for that reason he knew he needed to do exactly that.
He made her get dressed, and he told her that if Rodolphus asked about her bruises, she could explain exactly where they'd come from. She belonged to him, and he'd make no secret out of his possession of her. He didn't kiss her goodnight; he let her show herself out whilst he cleaned up in the bathroom.
But as he stood in a blazing hot shower, staring at the black tiles, he slapped at the wet wall in frustration and thought he wanted Bellatrix Lestrange just a little too badly. It had felt too good to be naked with her. It had felt too good to lie atop her, to kiss her carefully while they came. That had felt too good.
Next time, he thought, he would show her pain.
Author's Note: Again, thanks for your patience with this story and a massive thank you for any and all feedback.
He'd called them both.
Both Rodolphus and Bellatrix. This must be a very big meeting, Bellatrix thought. Something important must have happened. She bundled up, for it was freezing outside today, but when Rodolphus asked,
"Ready?" she had a pit in her stomach and confessed,
"Something's wrong. Something's… not right."
Rodolphus scowled and shook his head. "It's probably that Auror. McKinnon. Got away last week. He's probably cross about that."
"No." Bellatrix could sense that something else was wrong. She wasn't sure how; she just could. She walked quickly with Rodolphus to Disapparate from their open sitting room, and when they came to outside Malfoy Manor, they were alone. Normally, if they were in a large group that had been Summoned, people would be popping into appearance all round them. Now Rodolphus looked concerned, too, and he chewed his lip a little as they pushed through the gate of Malfoy Manor and up through the gardens. When they reached the front door, it swung open slowly, and Lord Voldemort was already standing there waiting for them.
Bellatrix froze. Were they in trouble? Was he going to do something to them? She gulped hard and let her feet skitter to a stop on the icy ground, but Rodolphus yanked on her arm and cried out,
"Bella, get in here. Now. Bring your husband," said Voldemort lazily, and Bellatrix felt a spike of fear run her straight through. What had she done? The week before, he'd hovered over her, kissed her, had her caress him. What had changed?
Then she realised what had changed, as they neared his office. She'd gotten too close that night. He'd had dinner with her. He'd let her touch him naked. He'd kissed her as she came, as he came. It had been too close, too intimate. He was going to punish both of them, wasn't he? Wasn't he?
They walked into his office, Bellatrix shaking like a leaf, and Voldemort shut the door behind Rodolphus. He used wandless magic to pull out of one of the chairs from near his desk to the centre of the room, its legs dragging on the wooden floor, and he gestured to it and barked,
Bellatrix stared up at Voldemort, her eyes wide, and she stumbled slowly toward the chair. She sat down and glanced at her husband, who seemed abjectly terrified. Voldemort flicked his wand toward Bellatrix and whispered,
What? That spell? Bellatrix buckled over, shocked and humiliated that he'd made her climax right there in front of both her husband and her master at the same time. She panted and moaned a little, and Voldemort smirked as he laughed a bit. He teased Rodolphus,
"Bet you don't hear her moan that often. Perhaps more these days, now that she's got more to imagine."
"My Lord." Rodolphus bowed his head, but Voldemort forced it back up and snapped,
"Oh, no. You're going to watch. Diffindo."
Bellatrix gasped in shock then as he sliced down her arm from her shoulder, moving very slowly, deliberately, delicately. She squirmed in pain, watching as the sleeve of her black velvet dress gave out and split, as blood bubbled to the surface of her flesh and then ran down in streams, getting on the brown leather of the chair.
"Bellatrix," Rodolphus exclaimed, sounding concerned, but Voldemort rolled his eyes and assured him,
"She likes it. Don't you? Don't you, Bella?"
"Yes, Master." She shut her eyes and focused on the feel on the pain, on the dizzying way he was slicing her skin, and suddenly she was coming again. He'd done that to her, she knew. He'd inflicted another magical climax on her. Then he did it again, and this time it was so powerful that she squirmed and writhed and cried out, tipping her head back and moaning like an utter whore.
"Getting blood all over my chair," said Voldemort with feigned exasperation. "Stand up, Bella. Come here, sweet creature."
Bellatrix rose very slowly and stumbled on her feet, her arm dripping blood, and Voldemort tipped his head, a sickly sort of smile painted on his face. He used nonverbal spells to heal up her arm for her, her incantations more powerful than Dittany. He Siphoned up the mess she'd left on his chair. He stitched up her dress.
And then he bent and kissed her hard, right there in front of Rodolphus, and he turned his face and he said,
"You are both mine in every conceivable way. Both of you belong entirely to me. Don't you, Rodolphus?"
"Y-Yes, Master." Rodolphus was completely wide-eyed then, with fear and betrayal and something else that Bellatrix couldn't read. Voldemort tipped his head and said,
"If you ever got jealous, even for a moment, Rodolphus, of the fact that your wife belongs entirely to me, I would torture you until your lungs gave out, and then I'd leave you as rat food in a dungeon. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master," Rodolphus nodded vigorously. Bellatrix stared up at Voldemort, who was holding her jaw in his hand, and when he turned his gaze back down on her, he stroked at her skin and whispered,
"I told you I'd cut you and let you bleed. I keep my promises, Bella. Go home. Fuck your husband. Dismissed."
"Been called to dinner," Bellatrix said carefully two days later. "Got an owl this afternoon. There was no equivocation."
"No, I'm sure there wasn't." Rodolphus had seemed numb ever since what he'd witnessed in Voldemort's office. He just nodded and whispered, "I'll see you when I see you, then."
"Bye." Bellatrix turned to go, and once she reached Malfoy Manor, she was shown to the dining room by Dobby. She hung up her travelling cloak and gloves and sat, for Voldemort had not yet arrived. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Bellatrix grew extremely anxious and wondered whether she'd had the time wrong. But then the door opened, and she flew to her feet, and in walked her lord and master, looking utterly resplendent in more formal black robes.
"Sit," he murmured, and Bellatrix did. He sat at the head of the table, and when their wine glasses filled, he asked her pointedly,
"Did it feel good for you?"
Bellatrix was so taken aback by his sudden, remarkable question that she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. She cleared her throat and asked,
"The bleeding? In your office? With Rodolphus?"
"No, silly girl." He stared at her, his gaze like ice. "Last week in my bed."
"Oh." Her eyes burned all of a sudden, and she nodded solemnly. "It all feels good, but that felt… yes, Master. It felt good."
"I enjoyed being touched… by you." He said the words clinically as their beetroot salads appeared. Bellatrix ate hers in silence, and when the main course of chicken and potato appeared, she still said nothing. But Voldemort eventually informed her,
"I enjoyed the nearness to you. I am not sure why and I am not sure that I care… erm… to know why."
"Being near to you is the only thing that matters in my life, Master," Bellatrix said very honestly then, and he blinked a few times as he set down his knife and fork. He swigged down some more wine, and Bellatrix realised this was his third - fourth? - glass of red elf-made wine. He'd been chugging it like water since she'd arrived. He seemed mildly tipsy now as their dessert cups of chocolate mousse appeared. Bellatrix spooned mousse into her mouth, and she thought about what she did know of Lord Voldemort. He had been born a Half-Blood, Tom Riddle. Everyone knew that. He had been raised in an orphanage by Muggles. Everyone knew that. He had worked at Borgin at Burkes and then had gone to the Continent to train in Dark Magic. And she knew what he'd done since.
She was in love with him, she thought, as much as a woman could possibly love a man. Or, at least, she was obsessed with him. Was it the same thing? Was her own sycophantic devotion love? Did she qualify? Was she good enough to love him?
"You're making me tired," he said at last, and when she raised her eyes in surprise, Voldemort scoffed a little laugh and shook his head, smirking.
"Your mind is exhausting."
She felt her cheeks go very warm then, and she whispered carefully, "I'm so sorry."
He flicked his wand toward the Wireless in the corner, and a maudlin sort of two step started playing on whining strings. Voldemort stood very confidently and strode over to where Bellatrix sat, though she could tell for certain now that he'd been drinking. She gazed up at him as he held out a hand, feeling confused, until she realised what he was doing. Dancing. He wanted to dance with her.
He wanted to dance with her? Bellatrix took his hand and rose, and when she walked with him to an empty part of the dining room floor and let him very smoothly draw them into a dancing stance, he demanded of her,
"Who else would it be? You think I'm going to dance at random weddings with random Mulciber and Avery girls? Hmm? Bellatrix, you…"
He dragged his thumb over hers and then brought her knuckles to his lips for a moment before starting to slowly dance again. He shook his head and looked almost helpless as he pronounced,
"You are different."
"I am?" Bellatrix shrugged. "Perhaps only in how devoted I am to you."
"It is more than that, I'm afraid. I wish it were so simple as that." Voldemort continued moving, and then the song ended and his steps stopped. Then they were just standing there, holding one another, but he didn't let go. He squeezed at her hand and tightened his fingers at her back, and he murmured,
"I do not wish to move."
"Then don't move," Bellatrix shrugged, "for you must always do precisely as you please."
He took her face in his hands then, staring down at her, and she was lost in him all of a sudden. He'd cut her open in front of her husband just to take ownership of her. And she'd liked it; he'd been right about that. He'd sliced her open and made her bleed and made her come in a chair just so he could show his dominance. But now he was holding her face and breathing through parted lips, and his dark eyes flashed strangely as he whispered,
Bellatrix furrowed her brows. "Master, I'd never leave -"
"Stay the night," he mumbled then, and when he bent to brush his lips against hers, his breath was warm on her mouth. "Stay and touch me."
"Yes." She planted her hands on his chest, squeezing a little, and she reached up to snare her fingers into his greying hair. She squeezed a little there, too, and he liked it. He moaned, pulling her closer by the small of her back, and he put his lips beside her ear as he demanded again,
"Stay and touch me."
"Yes, Master." She drank in his deep kiss then, tasting chocolate mousse and wine on him, and she heard the click of the Wireless as he shut it off.
"Would you care… erm… for a shower?"
Voldemort gestured to his black tiled bathroom, and Bellatrix seemed for a moment as though perhaps she were a little offended. Did he think she was dirty? Voldemort cleared his throat and specified far more forcefully,
"I thought a shower would be nice."
"Oh. Yes, of course, Master." Bellatrix followed him into the bathroom, and he nodded crisply as he ordered her,
It was hardly a romantic way to demand such a thing, but he was not a romantic man. Bellatrix was smooth and slow in removing her clothes, though; she pulled off her dress in a seductive way that made Voldemort's throat go tight. He eyed her black lace bra and knickers as she tossed her dress aside, and he put a hand on her waist and snapped,
Bellatrix stared up at him with wide eyes, and Voldemort dragged a knuckle over the top of her breast, admiring the small, round swell. He grabbed at the back of the bra and ripped as hard as he could, and Bellatrix gasped in shock and pain as the fabric gave way. The clasps broke, and he tore the bra off the front of her body and threw it to the side with her dress as he gripped her breast more tightly. He lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her lips with his for a moment, and Bellatrix squealed a little.
"Bella." Voldemort shoved her knickers down, and as she kicked them away, he stepped back and began methodically stripping off his own clothes. He was utterly unashamed now to be nude before her. Despite being twenty-five years her senior and marred by Dark Magic, he was not embarrassed by the scars from his years on the Continent, the sinewy - almost skinny - build he had. He unhooked his robes and peeled them back, letting them fall and pool on the ground behind him. He stripped off his tunic and then unbuttoned his trousers, his burgeoning erection starting to poke at the material.
"Get in the shower. Turn the taps to hot," Voldemort ordered Bellatrix. She obeyed him, and Voldemort finished getting naked. He kicked off his shoes and socks and walked into the shower after a moment, letting the water soak him. Bellatrix was dripping wet, the hot water running in streams down her milky flesh and dribbling off of her peaked nipples.
He needed to choke her, he thought. He put his hands to her neck and held fast to the sides, and Bellatrix gasped in alarm. Water dripped into her eyes as they fluttered shut. Voldemort breathed quickly through his nose as the water rushed between them, soaking his hardened cock. He squeezed harder at her neck. Harder. Harder. Her face went beet red. Her lips went blue. He let go.
She fell to her knees, collapsing as she clutched at her neck and coughed. Voldemort was so hard now that it ached. It throbbed. He gulped and whispered,
"Suck my cock."
"Master." Bellatrix scrambled up onto her knees and clutched at his hips, clearly still not recovered from having been choked so viciously. She immediately put her lips around his tip, and the instant that she dove her mouth down onto him, Voldemort cried out, thinking he was about to come. Why did this feel so good?
"Bella!" He snared his fingers into her soaked curls and pulled her face back, and he wrenched his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, things got worse. She looked so pretty. So, so, pretty, staring up at him with her full wet lips and her wide brown eyes. He was going to come.
"Stare at my cock while I come on your face," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix breathlessly nodded. Her neck looked bruised, sore. Her lips were parted and she licked one of them hungrily as Voldemort started stroking at his own cock. He stood beneath the fall of the water, letting the hot shower caress his shoulders and back. He finally grunted and leaned forward a little, meeting Bellatrix's eyes as his balls tightened up against his body. Everything was going tight. Hot. His hand slid over his tip a few times. Her lips were full. Wet. Her eyes were wide. Young.
He came so hard that his knees almost gave out, and he watched his come fly in creamy white spurts all over her shower-sprinkled cheeks. It drizzled down her nose, down her lips, down her cheekbones. He painted her. He groaned loudly and then wrenched at her, yanking her up and grabbing at a bar of soap. He stared at her come-splattered face and said in a voice feigning disgust,
"You're filthy. Wash up."
He watched her wash then. He watched her scrub his come away, watched her bow her head and contritely clean off her face. Her neck was red with finger marks from where he'd choked her. Voldemort's cock was going limp now, but he didn't care if she saw it like that. He wanted to sleep naked with her.
He wanted to sleep with her.
He wanted… her.
"Bella." He took the soap from her and scrubbed at his own body, silently, averting his eyes most of the time, before shutting off the taps and ordering her, "Towel off and go lie in the bed. No clothes."
Why was she so damned beautiful?
She was asleep beside him. She'd seemed weary enough after being choked, after being painted by him in the shower. But then he'd bruised her up with angry kisses on her neck and had fingered her roughly until she came three times, his hand relentless. Again and again she finished for him, and then she drifted off to sleep, lying quiet and still beside him.
She'd been halfway through her second climax when he'd realised he felt things toward her that he had absolutely never felt toward another human being before, things that frightened him. Things that made his chest pull strangely.
"Bella." He whispered her name as he stared at her doll-like face. No. Not a doll. Not a doll at all. He reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, and he watched her eyes flutter open in the dark bedroom. It seemed to take her a moment to register that she was in bed with him, with her lord and master, and then her lips curled up and she whispered gently,
"You're not mine. Not yet," he said in a low growl, and Bellatrix's thick brows immediately knitted. She shook her head and insisted,
"You said it yourself, My Lord; we belong to you in every conceivable way. I am entirely -"
"How can you be fully mine when you are still his?" Voldemort snarled through clenched teeth, and Bellatrix's eyes went completely round in the darkness. Voldemort pushed himself up onto an elbow and said angrily, "That child still puts his little cock into you. You still lie under him like a doll and he still fucks you. How can you be mine when that happens?"
"I'm sorry! He's my husband!" Bellatrix sat up slowly and shook her head. "I'll do anything you demand of me, Master; I'll -"
"You will cease all relations with that boy at once," Voldemort hissed, and the air crackled with his unspent, pent-up magic for a moment. Bellatrix felt it, the ripple of his power in the air, and she shivered visibly. She nodded and insisted,
"I'll tell him he's not to sleep with me."
"I'll tell him that myself, seeing as they are my orders," Voldemort clipped. "He can get himself some pretty little mistress. He's not to lay a finger upon what's mine. And you are mine."
He could sense doubt from her then, a confusing sort of doubt, and he pushed into her mind instantly with nonverbal Legilimency.
How many? He sensed the question ricocheting around Bellatrix's head. Are there many witches that he keeps, like a harem?
"It is only you." Voldemort ripped himself out of her mind and felt a little uncomfortable as he specified, "It is not as though I have some maudlin sensibility toward monogamy, and don't go getting ideas about how I feel toward you. It is only that you are the first witch - the only witch - in a very great long while… well, ever, really… who has presented herself to me in a way that satisfies the various manner of my needs."
He spoke in a quick, low clip, and he wondered if Bellatrix would understand what he meant. She was the first witch who had ever made his heart race with sexual anticipation, who had truly satisfied him. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was wicked and Dark and…
"I care for you," he found himself mumbling, staring down at the sheet between them, and when he flicked his eyes up, Bellatrix seemed shocked. He shook his head roughly, angry with himself for blurting that out, and he amended quickly, "I mean to say that I… erm… I am satisfied in many ways by you. So."
"I am so very happy to please you. Master." Bellatrix reached for his hand and squeezed it, and they just stared at one another for a long while until she assured him quietly, "I am entirely yours. In every way. Shall we go to sleep now?"
"Yes." He slithered back down onto the blankets, and when she lay facing him, he reached to tuck her hair again, and he worked past the thick knot in his throat to whisper, "Goodnight."
Author's Note: Oh, my. Even this hardened, much more steely Voldemort than you usually see in my writing is starting to crack just the teeeeeeensiest bit for his Bellatrix. How will Rodolphus react to being told he can't touch his own wife? Hmm… for those wondering, this story definitely will be able to be considered canon-compliant/headcanon.
Author's Note: I'm ending this story here since there's just not too much interest in it and I'd like to take a break from this ship for a while and write for some other ships. Thanks so much for reading.
"So," Rodolphus said quietly at the breakfast table, eyeing the lingering bruises on Bellatrix's neck, "if I were to pursue someone, Bellatrix, you wouldn't…"
"You may do as you please, Dolph," she said simply. "I'm sure the Dark Lord made the terms of my own situation very clear."
"He certainly did." Rodolphus touched his napkin to his lips, his face going pale. Bellatrix wondered what threats Voldemort had made to Rodolphus. Bellatrix had slept in Voldemort's bed three of the last five nights. Tonight they had a meeting of Death Eaters, and she would prepare for a mission fighting for her master.
Her life, she thought, was perfect now. She could serve her lord and master in every conceivable way, and he would bruise her and choke her and put himself in forbidden places, and when she woke in the morning, he would be beside her, kissing her forehead and smelling of man.
And she would kill for him, and run behind him, reaching for his hand, and so everything, she thought, was perfect.
Author's Note: I received a message from a reader that all of my Bellamort stories have become pretty much the same thing over and over again. Perhaps that's true. If it is, I apologize. I've written several million words of Bellatrix/Voldemort at this point. I think it's probably time for me to move on. This ship has been very good to me, and I think I'll try to find another pairing that is also really fun to write.
Thank you to all those who have read my Bellamort stories, from The Most Useful of Them All all the way to Not A Doll At All and everything in between. Maybe I'll be back to this ship someday. Not sure what ship or fandom I'll explore next, but I wish you all the best.