Title: Feels Like The First Time
Author: misfit_ragdoll
Pairing: Bellatrix Lestrange/Voldemort
Word Count: 1280
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Some new Death Eaters join the party and Bellatrix decides to celebrate.
Warning/Kinks: Branding, Anisonogamism, masturbation, bestiality if you squint hard enough
Notes: Thanks to elfflame and katesque for beta-ing, hand holding, ego stroking and keeping me from hurtling my laptop at the wall. And yes, the name Kebechet was chosen on purpose, because I have a very warped sense of humour (my apologies to BPAL's Beth). This is set some time in the mid-to-late 70s, during the First War. (Spandex robes, platform boots and glitter masks optional)



Out of all the rites Lord Voldemort performed, Initiation was the one Bellatrix loved the best. It appealed to all her senses: the pungent scent of searing flesh and burning hair, the sizzles and pops mingled with the agonizing screams as the Dark Mark was applied, and the sight of the Inurustum spell as the vivid green fire etched its way into the skin of each victim like a slow burn, inch by excruciating inch.

She sat in Voldemort’s chamber, poised like a queen on a throne, haughtily observing with heavy-lidded eyes as he marked each one of his new Death Eaters in turn. Her Dark Lord adored his little rituals; she knew that at least half of the long, drawn out oath of fealty and accompanying magical flourishes were just for show, that a simple vow of everlasting loyalty, along with a small blood sacrifice, would have done just as well. But, Voldemort was all about pomp and ceremony, and so she had to suffer through the constant yammering and stammering of each new recruit before she could relish their final delectable acts of dedication.

Amycus Carrow had been the worst. The big hairy oaf could barely remember the words and they’d had to go through it twice before it was over. His troll of a sister, Alecto, was only marginally better, the same for Yaxley. Young Crouch had been a surprise, his level of youthful enthusiasm and devotion impressive, while her cousin Regulus had done her proud, reciting the words with a grave intensity that put the others to shame.

Thankfully, when each arduous litany was finished, there was a brilliant finale; a concerto of exquisite torment that set Bella squirming in her chair, the skirts of her heavy robes growing sodden beneath her. And Her Dark Lord didn’t need Legilmency to know exactly how strongly such a display affected her.

Lord Voldemort rose from his own chair, gazing down triumphantly at the five newest Death Eaters on their knees before him, his deathly pale face stretched into a rictus of a smile. “Stay,” he ordered, his cold voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. He gestured towards Bellatrix with long elegant fingers. “Come, Bella. Attend me.”

“Master.” Bella could barely suppress the smirk playing on her lips as she followed him, striding past her fellow Death Eaters, her head held high. Let the fools say what they might behind her back; they were all jealous that the Dark Lord chose to favour her above the others. Lucius and Severus looked mildly amused, Nott, the debauched old goat, had envy written all over his face while Rodolphus...Rodolphus, weak fool that he was, stood stiffly with a frozen smile, well aware of what was about to transpire and yet, he could do nothing to stop it.

She had not married the spineless Rodolphus for love, she’d done it at her father’s urging, to make a good match with a respectable Pureblood family like the Lestranges. Her husband would never dare admit to being cuckolded by their Master. Not if he valued his life at any rate.

There was only one man in the world who could make Bellatrix submit, one man in the world whose touch she could endure, only one man she could love -- and he stood before her now, gazing down on her with blood-red eyes. Being this close to him always made her tremble, and her knees threaten to buckle, the power that radiated from him left her awestruck in his wake.

As they walked through the torch-lit corridor, Bella was suddenly and painfully aware of the loud rustling of her skirts and the clacking of her boot heels on the floor. Voldemort barely made a sound, seeming to glide rather than walk like a mere mortal. He stopped at the heavy wooden door of his antechamber, a small, elegantly decorated room reserved for his use alone, opening it with a quick flick of his hand, allowing her to enter first.

She complied, standing with her head bowed dutifully as he closed the door, leaving them in complete privacy.

“So, you enjoyed our little festivities, my dear Bella?” Voldemort rasped.

“How could I not, Master?” Bellatrix replied, licking her lips in appreciation.

He seemed pleased by her admission. “Well, then, I think a little private celebration is in order, don’t you think?”

His words sent a shiver of anticipation running up her spine. “Master, you are too kind.”

Voldemort towered over her, placing his hand over hers. “Raise your skirt.”

Bella reached down, hitching up her long black skirt over her legs, bunching the heavy fabric around her hips, exposing herself to him. She wore nothing underneath just as he wished, her pale thighs already sticky and glistening.

He pushed her legs apart with his hands, his fingers brushing through the soft black curls, dipping between her slick, swollen lips. “Ah, I see you approve of my methods.”

Her hips twitched and she moaned, fighting the urge to rub against his hand like a cat in heat. “Yes, Master.”

His fingers continued to tease and probe, tracing along the edge of her labia before plunging into her wet heat, first one, then two, then three, stretching her to the limit. Bella mewled like an animal as his thumb pressed against her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles. She bore down, hips rocking in time to his urgent thrusts, eyes closed, head flung back in rapture.

There was the sudden sensation of something large brushing sinuously across her breasts. She opened her eyes to see the form of a large black snake -- an asp -- slithering across her chest. It was Kebechet, Voldemort’s familiar, nearly eight feet long and deadly.

“It seems both of my pets are pleased tonight,” Voldemort murmured, withdrawing his hand from between Bella’s legs and licking his fingers. “Continue. Touch yourself for me.”

She picked up where he’d left off, brazenly stroking her engorged clit with her right hand, undulating her hips. She panted and sighing as Kebechet coiled herself around her neck and shoulders. Her tongue flickered against Bella’s cheek, as soft as a caress.

Voldemort took Bella’s left arm in his hands, caressing it softly, tenderly, using his index finger to trace a deliberate pattern against her ivory-pale skin, his lips forming words soundlessly, as she continued to work herself into a frenzy.

There was a loud hiss and her entire arm flared up in searing pain, the outline of the Dark Mark now visible, glowing like red embers against the whiteness of her skin. She cried out in pain and ecstasy, every nerve exploding as the orgasm tore through her. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, the Mark burning into her skin just as it had when Voldemort had first claimed her.

She fell to her knees, limp and gasping for breath, her glossy black hair falling like a curtain over her flushed face, obscuring her from him. “Master…th-thank you,” she managed to get out.

“You always were an exceptional student, Bellatrix,” Voldemort replied, smoothing back her hair and retrieving Kebechet, allowing the snake to curl around his arm. “Continue to aid me in my crusade against our enemies and I shall continue to reward you. Now go.”

Bella tossed her hair back proudly, rising to her feet and smoothing down her now rumpled skirt, the painful throbbing in her arm a keen reminder of their encounter. “Yes, Master.” She turned to leave, secure in the knowledge that she was and always would be her Dark Lord’s favourite, just as she had the first time Voldemort had marked her as his own.