Chapter Text
Bellatrix paced the length of her bedroom, dark eyes flashing with agitation. Four days. It had been four interminable days since her disastrous mission, four days since she had failed to capture that wily old Auror Alastor Moody, four days since her master had coldly dismissed her from his presence in a towering rage.
Four days since the Dark Lord had so much as spoken a single word to her. The longest he had ever shut her out.
Bellatrix was going mad from it. Voldemort's continued dismissal, his icy silence, was worse than any Cruciatus curse. She craved his attention, his regard, like a Doxy craved Bundimun secretions. To be denied her master's favour was the most exquisite torture.
She had to get him back. Had to make him forgive her failure, remind him why she was his most loyal, most devoted servant. Make him want her again with a passion that eclipsed his fury at her rare misstep.
An idea blossomed in Bellatrix's desperate mind, reckless and audacious. Beneath her despair, a smouldering heat flared to life. She would seduce the Dark Lord. Tempt him with her body, her desire, until he forgot why he was angry, until he was so consumed with need for her that he had no choice but to end this excruciating exile.
Her full lips curved wickedly as a plan took shape. Oh yes...she would have her master burning for her again before the night was through.
With a determined toss of her wild raven curls, Bellatrix stalked to her opulent mahogany wardrobe and flung it open. She rifled through the racks of sumptuous gowns and robes until she found what she sought in the very back – a scrap of black lace and mesh masquerading as a dress. The daring, sinfully sheer garment had been an impulse purchase on her last trip to Paris, a piece she had never quite found an occasion reckless enough to wear.
Until tonight. This barely-there wisp of provocative couture would be her battle armour as she fought to win back her lord's attentions. Bellatrix stripped off her form-fitting black robes with impatient hands and slithered into the lace creation.
The dress – if one could call it that – clung to every dangerous curve, sheerer panels at the sides and decolletage exposing tantalising expanses of creamy skin. The neckline plunged to her navel while the skirt barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Bellatrix did a slow turn in front of her full length mirror, admiring the sinful picture she made. Oh yes...this would do nicely.
She settled at her vanity next, cosmetics and potions arrayed before her. With skilful sweeps of brushes and wands, Bellatrix transformed her face into a smoky-eyed work of art. Kohl rimmed her heavy-lidded eyes, making them appear even more bedroom-ready. Blood red lips glistened invitingly. On a whim, she dabbed a potent perfume – a bewitching mix of night jasmine, black orchid and dark spices – at her wrists and between her breasts.
She finished the look by fluffing out her glossy black curls into an artfully rumpled, just-fucked mane any Knockturn Alley whore would envy. Bella regarded herself in the mirror and smiled evilly. Her master didn't stand a chance.
Anticipation trilled through her veins as she stood, teetering for a moment on sky-high velvet heels. It had been far too long since she had felt his touch, been held in his thrall. Tonight would remedy that. Bellatrix grabbed her wand, tucked it into a sheer lace garter high on her thigh, and strode for the door.
Only to come face to face with her pathetic cuckold of a husband on the other side. Rodolphus' eyes widened and raked over Bellatrix's scantily clad figure as she emerged, his adam's apple bobbing convulsively as he swallowed.
"Bella," he said hoarsely, "you look…"
"I don't have time for your inane commentary," Bellatrix snapped, tossing her hair. "I have important matters to attend to." She made to sweep past him imperiously.
Rodolphus shot out a hand, grabbing her upper arm to halt her. "Important matters," he repeated, voice rough with anger and desire. "Dressed like that? Just where do you think you're going?"
Bellatrix favoured him with a cutting look. "Where do you think, imbecile? I seek an audience with the Dark Lord. Not that it's any of your concern."
"An audience," Rodolphus spat. "Is that what we're calling it? You mean you're going to drop to your knees and beg him to fuck you, like the wanton little slut you are for him!" His grip on her arm tightened painfully.
"Unhand me, Rodolphus," Bellatrix hissed, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Before I remove that hand permanently."
But Rodolphus only tightened his hold, a muscle leaping in his clenched jaw. His eyes burned into hers, feverish with jealousy and desperation. "Why, Bella?" he asked brokenly. "Why is it always him? Why am I never enough for you?"
For one moment, one misbegotten moment, something almost like pity stirred in Bellatrix's cold heart as she looked at her husband's anguished face. But as quickly as it had come, the flicker of humanity was snuffed out.
"Because you are weak," Bellatrix sneered, wrenching her arm free. "You could never hope to satisfy me the way he does. The way only he can."
Rodolphus made a sound like a wounded animal. And then, moving with a speed that belied his bulk, he had Bellatrix backed against the wall, his large body caging her in. One hand gripped her hair, forcing her head back, while the other found the naked curve of her arse beneath her too-short skirt. He ground himself against her, letting her feel his need.
"Let me try," he said gutturally, face a mask of pained longing. "Just once more, let me attempt to please you, worship you the way you deserve. The way I need to. Please, Bella…"
And then his mouth was on hers, hot and hungry and beseeching. For an instant, Bellatrix was too stunned to react. How dare he touch her this way, put his loathsome hands and lips on her body meant only for her Master…
But as Rodolphus kissed her with rising urgency, his tongue delving demandingly past her stiff lips, Bellatrix found herself...not quite responding, but not fighting him either. Some perverse part of her enjoyed his desperation, the way he pawed at her like a cur begging for scraps. It made her feel powerful, this proof of the sick, hopeless desire she still engendered in her pathetic husband even after all her cruel rejections. So she let him plunder her mouth, molest her curves with greedy hands...for a little while.
When Rodolphus tore his lips from hers at last to mouth wetly at her neck, his hips starting to rut into hers with clear intent, Bellatrix finally shoved him off with a sneer. "Enough," she spat, wiping her smeared lipstick with the back of her hand fastidiously. "I don't have time for your revolting little gropings. The Dark Lord awaits me."
Rodolphus stumbled back, panting and glassy-eyed with lust. But at the mention of Voldemort, his face crumpled into a rictus of agony. "Damn you, Bellatrix," he choked out, tears glimmering in his eyes. "Damn you for the merciless bitch you are. I love you so much it destroys me, but it will never be enough, will it? I will never be HIM."
With an inarticulate roar of anguish, Rodolphus turned and stormed away down the darkened hall, his broad shoulders shaking. The door to his study slammed shut a moment later with a resounding bang.
Bellatrix watched him go dispassionately, smoothing her skirt and hair. In truth, she barely spared her husband a thought these days outside of his occasional usefulness in providing her a respectable cover. He was a miserable, snivelling fool and she was well rid of him for the night.
No, only one wizard commanded her mind, her heart, her everything. And it was high time she brought him back to heel.
Bellatrix strode out of Lestrange Manor, spinning into apparition as soon as she crossed the wards. Moments later she was striding up the drive of the Riddle House, the muggle manor the Dark Lord had taken as his seat of power after murdering his worthless father.
She was banking on her intimate knowledge of her Master's comings and goings to choose the optimal time for her seduction. At this time of night, Voldemort could usually be found in his private office, bent over reports and missives, plotting his next move in this shadow war.
Bellatrix slipped into the house unseen by the posted guards – yet another privilege her exalted position afforded her. On silent feet she climbed the stairs to the second floor, to the closed double doors she knew concealed her prey.
She rapped twice on the polished oak, a familiar signal. "Enter," came the curt, high-pitched response she knew so well.
Bellatrix pushed open the doors and slinked into the richly appointed study, a lascivious smile already curling her crimson lips. Voldemort sat behind his massive desk, quill in hand as he scratched out some correspondence. He glanced up at her entrance...and stiffened.
"Bellatrix," he said, voice devoid of inflection even as his scarlet eyes flared at the sight of her barely-covered body. "I don't recall summoning you."
"You didn't, my Lord," she purred, stalking towards him. "I came of my own accord. I simply couldn't bear another moment of your absence, your disdain...I had to see you. To beg your forgiveness for my failure." She stopped before his desk, pose deliberately provocative.
Voldemort's gaze raked over her, lingering on the curves showcased by the indecent dress. But his face remained remote, almost bored. "Is that so?" he asked coolly. "You brazenly invite yourself into my presence – after I've made it quite clear your company is not welcome – dressed like a Knockturn Alley whore, and expect what? For me to take you into my arms simply because you asked nicely?"
Bellatrix bit her lip, a calculated gesture to draw his eye. "I expect nothing, my Lord," she demurred, dark eyes glinting with banked heat. "I only hoped to show you the depth of my remorse...and my devotion." Slowly, sinuously, she slid the indecent leather dress off one pale shoulder. "Please, Master...let me serve you. Worship you. I need you so badly…"
Voldemort shifted minutely in his seat, jaw ticking. Bellatrix suppressed a surge of triumph – she knew the signs of his arousal, could practically smell his burgeoning desire from here.
"You overstep yourself, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said, voice a low hiss. "Your wanton display is most unseemly. I have a meeting shortly that I must prepare for. Leave me."
"A meeting, my Lord?" Bellatrix widened her eyes guilelessly. "At this hour? With whom?"
"Yaxley," Voldemort bit out curtly. "To discuss our next moves against Bones and her motley band of blood traitor aurors. Not that it's any concern of yours."
Bellatrix pouted prettily. "But surely I can assist with such important matters, Master. I am your most devoted servant, after all." As she spoke, she rounded the desk, perching herself on the edge right before him, dress riding up scandalously high. "Let me help relieve your...tensions. You'll think so much clearer after."
"Bellatrix…" Voldemort's voice was a low warning growl, even as his eyes fixated on the tempting curves of her breasts.
Quick as a snake, Bellatrix leaned forward to brush her lips against his ear, black tresses whispering across his pale skin. "I need you inside me, my Lord," she breathed, letting her voice drip with sin. "I'm so empty without you...I'm aching…"
Voldemort snapped.
With a snarl of dark lust, he seized Bellatrix around the waist and dragged her across the desk towards him, scattering papers and quills. Bellatrix gasped in delight as he yanked her into his lap, hands roaming greedily over the exposed swells of her breasts.
"You wicked temptress," Voldemort hissed against her lips before claiming her mouth in a brutal, punishing kiss. "Interrupting my work, taunting me in this lewd dress...you just begged to be taught a lesson, didn't you my little harlot?"
"Yes," Bellatrix moaned wantonly, arching into his touch. "Teach me, Master...I've been so naughty…"
With a growl, Voldemort stood in a sinuous motion, lifting Bellatrix with him. Her legs immediately wrapped around his waist as he swept one arm across the desk, sending its contents clattering to the floor. He deposited her on the polished wood surface none too gently.
Strong hands pushed Bellatrix down until she was sprawled across the desk, hair a dark halo around her flushed face. Voldemort loomed over her, eyes incandescent with lust and rage. With quick, brutal movements, he shoved her dress up around her hips, baring the skimpy scrap of lace passing as knickers.
He tsked darkly. "Just gagging for it, aren't you?" he hissed, pressing one long finger against the soaked fabric. Bellatrix keened and writhed, trying to increase the pressure where she needed it most. "Dripping already...such an eager little slut for your Lord."
"Only for you," Bellatrix babbled, too far gone to censure herself. "I'm your whore, your plaything, yours yours yours…"
"Yes, MINE," Voldemort snarled savagely. With a brutal yank, he ripped the knickers away, letting them flutter to the floor in tatters. Next moment he was freeing his straining erection from his robes, heedless of the buttons that went flying.
The blunt head of his cock nudged insistently at Bellatrix's weeping entrance and she sobbed in relief, trying to cant her hips to take him inside. But Voldemort stopped her with a punishing grip on her hips.
"Beg me for it," he commanded, voice rough with sadistic need. "Beg me to split you open on my cock, beg me to ruin you for all other men."
"Please, Master!" Bellatrix wailed, too desperate to feel debased. "Please please fuck me, ruin me, wreck me, make me yours! I need your cock so badly, need you to fill me up, please I'll do anything just FUCK me!"
With a roar of dark triumph, Voldemort rammed himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Bellatrix screamed in ecstasy, back bowing off the desk, as he stretched and filled her so perfectly. The burn and drag of his cock, taking her hard and fast with no warm up, transcended pleasure into exquisite pain.
"So fucking TIGHT," Voldemort snarled, pistoning his hips at a punishing pace. The desk shook and creaked beneath them as he pounded into her, grunting with the effort. "Squeezing me like a vice...fuck, Bella, split open on my dick…"
"Yes, yes, fuck me harder!" Bellatrix urged desperately, nails scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, raising welts. Her cries grew louder and louder, building into screaming ecstasy as he jackhammered into her. "Ruin my pussy, ruin it for anyone but you, fuck...so good, so deep...aaahhh I'm close, I'm gonna come on your cock!!"
"Do it," Voldemort commanded savagely, angling his hips to hit that spot deep inside her that made her see stars. "Come for me, milk my cock like the slutty whore you are...COME!"
His harsh demand coincided with a ruthless grind against her swollen clit and Bellatrix shattered with a scream that bordered on a wail, cunt clamping down vise-tight around Voldemort's pistoning cock as her orgasm ripped through her. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, leaving her boneless and babbling incoherently.
The rhythmic squeezing of her climaxing pussy was too much for even the Dark Lord's formidable control. With a guttural roar, he slammed into her to the hilt and exploded, pumping what felt like endless spurts of hot seed deep into her spasming core.
"Take it," he snarled, grinding into her. "Take my cum, you wanton bitch, fucking TAKE IT!"
Bellatrix could only moan weakly, utterly wrecked, as Voldemort's release triggered another mini-orgasm from her overwrought body. She clenched hungrily around him, greedy for every last drop.
They shuddered against each other for a long moment, lost to the aftermath. Then, just as Voldemort made to pull out of Bellatrix's dripping cunt...the study door banged open.
"My Lord, I apologise for my tardiness, I – MERLIN'S BLOODY BALLSACK!"
Yaxley's exclamation ended on a choked off yelp as he took in the debauched scene before him – the Dark Lord balls-deep in Bellatrix where she was splayed out wantonly across the desk, both of them dishevelled and flushed in the obvious aftermath of wild sex.
Bellatrix almost laughed at Yaxley's boggled expression, even as a flush of embarrassment pinkened her cheeks. To be caught in such a wanton position! But she couldn't bring herself to care overmuch, not with Voldemort's seed still pulsing into her clenching core.
Voldemort, for his part, looked homicidally furious at the interruption. With a snarl, he abruptly withdrew from Bellatrix's body, ignoring her little mewl of protest at the loss. He tucked himself away, smoothed his robes and hair with a few brusque motions, and pinned Yaxley with a glare that promised death.
"Yaxley," he said, voice arctic. "You forget yourself. Wait in the drawing room. I will join you...shortly."
Yaxley gulped audibly, paling to the colour of curdled milk. He sketched a hasty, shaky bow. "O-of course, my Lord, I – forgive me, I – right away!" He practically fled the study, the door slamming shut behind him.
In the sudden silence, Bellatrix dared to let a little giggle escape. She stretched languorously on the desk, like a cat who got the cream. "Oh dear," she purred, voice husky from screaming. "Poor Yaxley. I don't think he was expecting to see quite so much of his Lord and me tonight."
Voldemort's lips twitched minutely before his expression smoothed back into its usual cold mask. He stepped back from the desk, putting distance between them. "Indeed not," he said coolly. "A situation I would have avoided, had someone not barged in where she wasn't wanted and caused this...regrettable lapse in control."
Bellatrix pouted, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her rumpled dress fell back into place...more or less. "Regrettable, my Lord? I thought it was rather spectacular, myself. Certainly felt like you enjoyed it..."
"Careful, Bellatrix," Voldemort warned silkily. "You forget your place. What just happened changes nothing – you are still very much in my disfavour for your recent failures. This...interlude...was mere physical release, nothing more. Don’t push my indulgence too far."
Bellatrix's face fell, a flicker of real hurt crossing her features before she masked it. She slithered off the desk, landing gracefully on her velvet heels. Keeping her face carefully blank, she sketched a perfect curtsy, taking cold satisfaction in the way Voldemort's eyes lingered on her cleavage as she dipped low.
"As you wish, my Lord," she demurred. "I would never dream of overstepping my place. I am but your humble servant...in all ways." She straightened, tossed him a smouldering look from beneath her lashes. "Until next time, Master..."
Voldemort said nothing. Without another glance at her, he left the room, heading for his meeting with Yaxley, leaving Bellatrix alone in his private office.