Fantasy #10 for roma_fics Title: The Fine Line (Between Pleasure & Pain) Author:ragdoll Recipient:roma_fics Pairing: Bellatrix Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange/Voldemort Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 4330 Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange is a dutiful daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, even marrying a man she does not love for the sake of her family. But when Lord Voldemort summons her for private lessons, she risks it all to prove her loyalty. Disclaimer: It's not my sandbox, I only play in it. All characters belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic, Warner Bros. et al. All situations/words belong to me. Highlight for Warnings: *Bondage, dominance, discipline, flogging, anal play, sex toys, blood play, adultery, humiliation, blindfolds* AN: This is for roma_fics who said she wanted to see "Bella/Voldemort set before the events that start canon, and to see how Voldemort recruited Bella and a bit of their relationship before he went Vapor and she went to Azkaban." I hope this fulfills your fantasies.
Thanks to the usual suspects, particularly the incomparable E. who was there for me when I needed her most, and unbroken_halo for her fabulous beta-ing skills.
She lay beneath her husband, listening to him huff and puff and grunt as he thrust into her, awkwardly and over-enthusiastically. Bellatrix bit back the urge to yawn or sigh as he clutched at her, wheezing like a fish on the sand. She hated this part of married life more than any other; Rodolphus was not who or what she wanted. He never would be, nor could he ever be.
Bella supposed it wasn't truly Rodolphus' fault he was such a dullard. He was a typical inbred, pure-blooded prat with no true ambition or direction in life. He held the right attitudes and beliefs, of course. His family had been supportive of Lord Voldemort for years -- they were an old family and people of means, but the Lestranges had never really distinguished themselves, not once over the course of several centuries. Unlike her own family, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They were toujours pur, the closest thing to royalty the Wizarding world would ever have.
She had done more for Rodolphus's status just by agreeing to be his wife than he could ever have done for her. She knew she was being treated as chattel, as a commodity, but her parents had insisted on the marriage, and there had been no recourse. Bella had accepted the situation with considerable grace. She was not an idealistic creature like her younger sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa. She had not expected to love her husband or even particularly want him. Andromeda could rail against an arranged marriage (at least until she finished school this year), and Narcissa could wax romantic over the foppish Lucius Malfoy (a betrothal turned pitiful love match), but that sort of preposterous behaviour was beyond Bella. She understood her duty to her family, and their name was the only thing of importance in this matter -- so here she was, lying beneath this dolt, desperately wishing Rodolphus would hurry up and have done with it before she died of boredom. It had to be soon -- it never took him very long.
"Bella," Rodolphus gasped, still pumping frantically. "Oh, Bella..." She felt the hot rush of his release between her legs, and then her husband slumped forward, burying his sweaty face in the crook of her neck. "My Bella, my sweet, sweet Bella..."
Bella wanted to shove him off her and go tearing off to the bathroom to clean up, to remove every last trace of Rodolphus from her body, but she knew that would not do. Women of the Black family did not behave in such a manner, least of all Bellarix. At least she was secure in the knowledge that the daily potions she took with breakfast would prevent any child of his from growing in her womb. The fool believed them to be fertility philtres, given to her by a healer at St Mungo's to aid in conception. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. The last thing Bella wanted was to be a brood mare. She could feel her lip curling up in contempt, her stomach roiling at the thought of carrying a miniature Rodolphus in her belly.
She waited for him to finish; his normal nightly routine consisted of rolling off her and promptly falling asleep, and tonight was no different. At her first opportunity, Bella slipped out of bed, heading towards her bathroom, desperate to remove any sign of him. A hot bath did the trick, steam rising from the fragrant, foamy water as she lowered herself into the tub. Her long dark hair spread out behind her as she leaned back, letting the scalding water wash away Rodolphus' foul scent and seed from her skin.
* * *
Bellatrix Apparated to Lord Voldemort's manor on the outskirts of West Wittering in West Sussex. Her Lord and Master had taken up residency in a large and ancient manor home not far from the sea; she could hear the roar of the waves somewhere in the distance. The house was Unplottable to anyone but His most faithful, and Bella was proud that He trusted her so. The Mark on her arm burned and throbbed as if with impatience, forcing Bella to quicken her pace towards the house. She must not keep Lord Voldemort waiting.
The front door opened as she reached for the knob, a wizened house-elf ushering her in in silence. It led her through winding corridors to a private chamber, pointed wordlessly at the heavy wooden door, then scurried away as soon as Bella reached for the handle. She stepped into the room; it was murky although lit by a large number of candles and torches. Several braziers glowed in the corners, the pungent scent of smoke wafting through the air. A large, ornately carved rack stood against the wall, bearing a large assortment of magical implements, most of which Bellatrix knew were used for discipline and torture.
She had been here before -- her Lord had summoned her privately on more than one occasion -- and knew the protocol well. She had dressed to his specifications: form-fitting black robes which showed off her trim figure and a hint of décolletage, artfully applied make-up, subtle perfume on her pulse points, and her hair pulled up in an ornate coiffure, held up by jewelled pins. Smoothing out her long skirts, she dropped to her knees on the cold, stone floor, clasping her trembling hands behind her back, her head bowed in obeisance. And waited.
How long she waited, Bella did not know. It was not her place to question Lord Voldemort's plans. He had called for her, and her alone, and she had obeyed. She breathed in deep, trying to quell her excitement, the thick and heady smoke causing her nostrils to sting and her eyes to water. From the moment Voldemort had laid eyes on her, Bella had known she was his. Rodolphus had introduced them at a small soiree held on the occasion of their engagement, no doubt to show off his 'prize' to his Master. But Voldemort had seen Bellatrix for her true value, not just as a trophy to hang on Rodolphus' weak arm, but as one of his own. They had talked of Blood and Wizarding pride and Purity, and by the end of the evening, she had known he was meant to rule her world, that she would follow him to the ends of the Earth if necessary.
The next day, a formal invitation to meet privately with Lord Voldemort had arrived; that had been all the encouragement Bellatrix had needed. She had taken the Dark Mark without a second thought, and had belonged to him ever since.
The rustle of silk followed by the soft thud of feet upon stone shook Bella out of her reverie. He had finally arrived. "There you are, Bella," Lord Voldemort said, his voice soft. "I hope I have not kept you too long. I was regretfully detained."
"N-no, my Lord," she managed. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, the words difficult to form. She felt his cool hand on the back of her neck, his unusually long fingers caressing the exposed, bare skin. Even if he had made her wait for days on end, Bellatrix knew better than to complain. She'd learned that lesson very early on in her training.
"You look very beautiful tonight," he continued, the harsh timbre of his voice making her toes curl inside her shoes.
"Th-thank you, my Lord."
"Undress for me, Bellatrix." His hand was withdrawn as Voldemort crossed the room. Bellatrix looked up, watched him as he took a seat in a large, ancient wooden chair, looking as regal as any Muggle king. Her Lord was not handsome, at least not in conventional terms, but Bella found him beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly. His face was pale, as if it had been carved from the finest marble, and his red-tinged eyes were large and filled with vast knowledge. While he hid most of his emotions away, there were moments when Bellatrix could tell his mood, whether pleased, angry or in consideration. Lord Voldemort was a man -- no, a being -- full of hidden depths and turbulent desires.
Bella rose to her feet, swaying slightly as she did. There must have been something in the smoke which was making her light-headed, she decided, breathing in the heady fumes. Her senses were already feeling heightened, she was suddenly more aware. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she began undoing the laces of her gown, letting the heavy black damask slide from her shoulders as she shrugged out of the garment. It pooled at her feet, and then she stepped out of it, wearing only silk stockings and shoes. As she bent to roll her stockings down, Voldemort shook his head, a slight movement.
"Leave them." With a flick of his wand, her gown had Vanished, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. "Kneel."
"Yes, my lord," Bellatrix replied, resuming her previous position, the stone floor rough and cold beneath her knees, her heels pressing against her arse. She heard him whisper a word and the pins from her hair were Vanished as well, her thick, black curls tumbling down as they fell free. Without thinking, Bella tossed her head back, shaking her hair out of her eyes, displaying her breasts with a flash of pride. Men had always admired her breasts; they were full and round and pert, the dark red nipples already beginning to harden with excitement.
There was a slight tutting sound as Voldemort stared at her. "That was a mistake."
"M-my Lord?" Bella stammered in confusion.
"I have already told you once that you were beautiful, Bellatrix. There was no need for you to prove it to me further." The sound of disappointment in his voice caused Bella's stomach to flutter. "My Death Eaters ought to know their own superiority without resorting to such foolish parlour tricks. Vanity is a sin which must be cut out."
A small cry escaped Bella's lips as she heard his words. "My Lord, I'm sorry, I--"
"Bella," Voldemort interjected, "you are here to learn from me, are you not? Do not question my authority, or beg for mercy. I expect total obedience and fealty from my Death Eaters. Surely you know this."
Hanging her head in shame, Bella replied, "Yes, my Lord. I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary."
There was a low chuckle as Voldemort stood to his full height, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. "Yes. That is more like it."
More whispered words: "Incarcerous! Obscuro!" and then a flash of light. Bellatrix felt her wrists bound tightly at the small of her back as the room went dark, her eyes now covered as if by an invisible blindfold. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her breathing even, to fight her fear even as it threatened to overtake her. It would not do to show her Lord weakness, only submission.
"Much better," Voldemort hissed. Bella could feel his hands on her skin, skimming down along her spine, over the curves of her arse, then back up again. There was the sound of wood sliding against stone, and then she was shoved forward head first over something hard, her breasts coming into contact with what felt like coarse, unpolished wood. Voldemort's hands yanked her thighs apart, then pushed her forward so that she rested more securely against what had to be a wooden block of some sort, her arse now even more exposed.
Bella bit her lip, stifling another whimper as she heard Voldemort step away.
"Flagellare!"
Bella could visualise the bright red flames bursting out of Voldemort's wand as the spell was cast; she certainly could feel the heat radiating from it even from this distance, the scent of what smelled smouldering wood in the air.
"Twenty strokes," Voldemort rasped. "Make a single sound and there will be more. I will add five more for each cry you utter."
"Y-yes, my Lord. Whatever pleases you, my Lord." Bella forced out the words, squeezing her eyes shut and doing her best to steel herself for the inevitable punishment. Her fists tightened into balls as the flames flicked against her bare buttocks, slicing into her with tongues of fire. She could feel a trickle of blood as the magical lash kissed her skin, followed by a blossom of intense pain. After that, it was pure agony as blow after blow landed on her back, on her arse, on her thighs, her skin stinging and burning in their wake. Somehow Bella managed to hold her tongue, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth where she'd bitten it through. Then it was over, Bella sagged against the wooden block gratefully.
"Very good, my Bella." Voldemort's hands were on her again, soothing her skin, tracing intricate patterns on the welts she knew would be there when he allowed her to see again. "You are learning."
"I want to, my Lord," she replied softly. "I am your willing student."
There was hot breath ghosting against her stinging thighs, followed by a stab of exquisite agony as his tongue flickered over the raw, bleeding wheals. He lapped at her blood, his teeth grazing against the already tortured flesh. She could feel his hand snaking between her legs, sharp nails raking along her skin and along her nether lips, finally reaching her clit.
This time, Bellatrix could not hold back her whimper, arching her back slightly.
"Very willing, I see." His thumb pressed hard against her swollen clit, encircling it. "Is this what you give Lestrange every night?"
"No, my Lord!" Bella blurted, hips swaying as he continued to touch her. "Never!"
"So this is only for Lord Voldemort?"
"I am all yours, Master! Only yours!" She gasped loudly as he pinched at her clit, hard.
"Swear it!"
Bella shook her head violently. "I am yours, Master. Always...always. To do with as you wish."
"And you must never forget that, Bella." Voldemort pulled his hand away abruptly, her clit still aching from his touch. She could hear him reaching into his robes, and there was the clink of something ceramic being placed on the floor, followed by the sound of a jar being opened and the scent of something sweet. She did her best not to tense, unsure of what her Master had in mind. "Never."
She felt his fingers brush over her throbbing buttocks, then between them. There was the sensation of something cool and slick against her skin and then the puckered rosebud of her arsehole. Bella drew in a deep breath, trying her best to relax as Lord Voldemort pushed one finger tip in, working the sweet-smelling lubricant in and around the tight ring of muscle. His finger slid in further, then back again, moving in slow, shallow thrusts. Bella's hips rocked in time with his movements, and she moaned as he worked his finger in deeper. Then there was an additional nudge as she felt something rigid pressing against her bum, then sliding in alongside Voldemort's finger, stretching her even wider. The burgeoning pressure coupled with the continued friction of the penetration made her moan again, much louder this time.
"Patience," Voldemort hissed. He wrapped his free hand around her loose hair, yanking her head back sharply. "Patience is a virtue you would do well to cultivate." His finger slipped out of her arse as the hard object was pushed in farther; Bella could feel it pulsating inside her, a constant, steady thrum that radiated all through her body. He relaxed his grip on her, letting her head fall, and it sounded as though he'd stepped away as if he was surveying his handiwork. His hiss of approval seemed to confirm her suspicions.
Blindly, Bella rested against the wooden whipping block, her nipples hard and throbbing dully against the rough surface. Fabric swished as he shrugged out of his robes somewhere behind her. Bella pictured Lord Voldemort in her mind's eye; he stood behind her, his pale, well-muscled frame shimmering in the half-light of the room, his erection already rampant and skimming his navel, the head moist with a glistening drop of fluid. There were rumours amongst some of the other Death Eaters speculating about what the Dark Lord looked like under his robes: that he was less than human, or perhaps more, that his body was covered in serpentine scales, that his cock was sixteen inches long and prehensile, or possessed a razor-sharp tip. Bellatrix knew it all to be lies and supposition; Lord Voldemort was built just like any other man she had seen, albeit an extraordinary and beautiful one.
Voldemort groaned, a guttural, feral sound coming from low in his throat; Bella imagined him fisting his cock as he stood over her. The sound travelled as he padded around her prone body, and then grabbed at her hair, jerking her head up again. Strong hands gripped her jaw, forcing her mouth open wide. "Suck," he ordered, and then his cock was shoved in her mouth. Bella nearly gagged as it filled her mouth as deeply as Voldemort's toy had filled her arse. His fingers tightened around the back of her head, sharp nails digging as he held her fast.
Bellatrix did her best to do as her Lord bade her; it was not easy when she couldn't use her hands or see what he was doing. She closed her lips around his turgid flesh, tasting the salt and musk of his skin, flitting her tongue against his cock as he drove it into her mouth over and over, each stroke punctuated with a loud grunt. She could feel him growing harder with each inward thrust, his breathing becoming more strained, more erratic. Finally he stopped, pulling out brusquely.
"Shall I fuck you, Bellatrix?" Voldemort asked, his voice throaty and harsh.
"If it pleases you, my Lord," Bella replied, softly. She knew better than to show her true desire to him, although she yearned to; past experience had taught her that Lord Voldemort did not appreciate his Death Eaters wriggling about wantonly like cheap Knockturn Alley trulls.
"Ah, Bella." He had moved behind her again, his hands running up her thighs, nails scraping against her skin. She could feel his proximity, the heat coming off his taut body in waves. "This is not about pleasure. It is about power. Control. Lord Voldemort is beyond such base desires," the head of his cock, wet and warm, nudged against her slick entrance, the device in her arse now thrumming faster, "other than to possess you. Utterly. Now, shall I fuck you?"
"I--" Bella did not know what the proper answer was. If she spoke truly, he would think of her no better than a whore, ruled by primitive passions and physical needs. If she denied him, he would punish her -- or worse -- for insubordination, or deception. Lord Voldemort was a skilled Legilmens; he always knew when people were lying to him.
"The correct answer is 'Whatever you will, my Lord'," Voldemort snapped. "You are mine to use, Bellatrix, and if I chose to take you in that way, I shall. Whether you wish it or not."
"W-whatever you will, Master," Bella repeated. "I am yours to use."
The elicited a bark of cruel laughter from him. "Not so very proud now, Bellatrix, are you? What would your husband say if he saw his beloved bride on her knees like this, writhing like a bitch in heat for me?"
Bellatrix couldn't help but sneer. "He would not say anything, my Lord. He fears you...as he should."
"He does well to fear me." That seemed to mollify him. Bella could feel Voldemort positioning himself behind her, his hands tightening on her hips. "I will fuck you now, Bella," he said with almost clinical detachment. "You will restrain yourself for my benefit. There will be no climaxing until I give you permission. Otherwise you will learn to fear my wrath as well. Do you understand?"
"Whatever you will, my Lord," she murmured, quivering in anticipation. Even the threat of further punishment was intoxicating, although she would do her best to keep her reactions under control, however difficult.
With that, he plunged forward, impaling her on his cock in one swift movement. She cried out, the force of his thrust slamming her hard into the wooden block. Voldemort's hands dug into her already raw flesh as he pressed down against her, his chest plastered to her back. The pain caused Bella to wince, as he began pump, moving in fast, brutal strokes. She couldn't help but respond, her hips undulating, then snapping back to meet his.
Coupling with Lord Voldemort was an entirely different experience than the ordeal she endured with Rodolphus. The Dark Lord was exciting, exhilarating, and intoxicating, making her feel more than she had in all her twenty years. For that reason alone, she would have been his. Bella shifted beneath him, arching up, each thrust inward answered with a tiny whimper from her. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, his teeth sharp as they scrapped against her shoulder, his nails cutting into her skin. His breathing was growing uneven, coming out in ragged gasps as he quickened his pace. He thrust forward three more times and then roared a wordless cry in Bella's ear, climaxing in a dizzying, searing torrent.
Bella hoped she had pleased him, the way his fingers were now tangled in her damp hair and his tongue flickered against her sweaty, bloodied skin seemed to be a strong indication of his satisfaction. She mewled, rubbing back against Voldemort in insistence and constricted around his still-hard cock.
"Now, now, Bella...what did I say about patience?" he rasped, although his tone sounded more amused than angry.
"I--" she panted. "I am patient, my Lord. Wh-whatever you will."
Voldemort growled. "Shall I make you come, my Bella?"
A shiver ran up Bella's spine at his words. "Oh, please, Master. Yes," she blurted.
"Eager little bitch, aren't you?"
"Whatever you will, my Lord."
That sent Voldemort laughing, the sound echoing off the walls of his chamber. "And if I should choose not to?" One of his hands slid between Bella's wet thighs, his fingers teasing at her aching clit.
Bella bit at her lower lip, trying to remain silent although it was extremely difficult. Voldemort was stroking at her clit, smearing his still-warm seed along the folds of her labia, and she found herself grinding against him, pressing her arse against his lap, the unknown toy still vibrating at a frantic rate inside her. "A-as you wish, my Lord."
"I wish you to beg me, Bella. For the moment, you may plead for release. You have done well tonight and for that, you shall be rewarded. Let no one say Lord Voldemort does not give his followers their due."
She drew in a deep breath, her knees trembling with exhaustion. If it weren't for the block beneath her for support, she'd have already been in a heap on the floor. "My Lord, please...please make me come. Please allow me to come. I need--" she swallowed down hard, "I need to feel."
The pressure on the taut bundle of nerves increased, Voldemort's fingers moving deftly in ever-quickening circles. "Yes...yessss."
"Please, my Lord," Bella moaned, "please." She rocked her hips frantically, clenching her numb hands, her body drawing taut with the desperate need for release.
"Come, Bella," Voldemort ordered, "come!"
And so she did. Her vision exploded to white behind the blindfolding spell as the orgasm tore through her body in violent, wracking shudders. Her cries were loud, tearing out of her throat until it was raw, and she had no more breath left at all. Gasping, Bella collapsed against the whipping block, the wood rough against her cheek. She was vaguely aware of the bonds loosening from her wrists, the plug withdrawing from her arse, and then blinked as the darkness was lifted from her eyes.
"Very good. Lord Voldemort is pleased." He had already dressed, seated once again in his chair, gazing at her coolly. He looked unruffled and unsullied, as if their assignation had never happened at all. Jutting his chin in Bella's direction, Voldemort added as if an afterthought, "you may dress and go."
"Yes, my Lord." Bella shook out her leaden limbs, trying to draw feeling back into them before getting to her feet unsteadily. Her returned gown lay on the floor, folded neatly as if it had just come back from the laundry. Grabbing for it, Bella threw on her robes in haste, her head still bowed, her eyes still averted. She knew it would not do to linger once the Dark Lord had bid her to leave, as much as she wanted to stay. However, there would surely be more lessons in future…there was still so much more to learn.
* * *
Bella arrived back at her husband's home, ignoring the volley of questions from his house-elf inquiring about her needs for the evening. She was not hungry, nor did she desire another bath or a massage or anything else the horrid little creature wanted to bestow upon her. Tonight, she wanted to relish whatever remnants of her meeting with Lord Voldemort as she could. Alone..
Entering the bedroom, she was relieved to see Rodolphus fast asleep in their bed, his slack mouth hanging open as he snored loudly. She could not have endured his attentions tonight; she shuddered as she thought of his clammy hands on her body, his slobbering lips on her own. Instead, she would savour each and every mark her Master had placed upon her, each and every welt, bite and bruise, and the hot seed that had filled her. Tomorrow she would go back to pretending to play the dutiful wife, but tonight, she would belong to Lord Voldemort.