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She looked backward and said goodbye
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
Blue Oyster Cult, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” (1976)
~**~
Tom sat in a high-backed silk chair in a bedroom of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, also known as the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. In his hand was for once not a quill or wand but a goblet of firewhiskey. He was not much of a drinker, but tonight he decided that if he was going to give into hedonistic urges, he might as well fully indulge.
The rest of the house was silent—the Black family was blessedly absent, away at the manor of Arcturus. Here, away from students and Knights, he allowed the tension to drain out of him, loosening his shoulders. Only one inhabitant, an outsider of the Black family, was due home, and by the heavy thump of the front door closing, she had just arrived.
Tom took a sip of his drink, eyes on the door as the click click of high heels echoed in the corridor. About a minute later, Stateira McElroy, his most loyal follower, entered the room with a rough sigh, slamming the door shut and clomping over to the mirror. She stood in front of it, yanking her hair out of its ribbon, kicking off her shoes, and shedding her Ministry robes.
In her fuss, she did not see Tom, who took the opportunity to admire his prize. Even with a scowl and snarly hair, Stateira was model-beautiful, with wide, dark eyes and just enough freckles to pass her off as girlish and innocent. It was when she had her blouse half-unbuttoned when she finally looked up and caught sight of Tom in the mirror.
“My Lord,” she cried, hands to her chest, while her full lips formed an O. His cock stiffened as he imagined those lips around it. He dug into her mind, soft with surprise, and saw her on her back on the bed he was next to, pawing at her cunt and panting for him. Only for him—she loved him in earnest. Tom was unused to it. In his youth, he’d covered girls’ mouths and took them, soaking in their hatred and shame. This, he had to admit, was a more sophisticated way of having fun.
By now, Stateira was prostrated on the floor. Tom took another drink before telling her, “Don’t let me interfere, darling. I’m enjoying the show.”
A flush took over her cheeks; she was basking in the flattery. “Come here,” he commanded gently, setting his goblet on the nightstand.
He thought she would rise, lifting a hand to stop her, but she remained on her hands and knees, crawling to him. She was quite the gem, he had to say, most of all for her obedience. The girl’s weakness was her pursuit of love, a fruitless endeavor for her but certainly not for Tom.
When she was in front of him, he ordered, “Look at me.”
She raised her eyes to him. Apprehension mixed with adoration: his favorite look on her. With his thumb, he smeared off her lipstick, pinching her lush lips. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” he told her. “Silly witch, haven’t I told you that only I please you?”
“I’m sorry, my Lord, I—”
“Hush and come here.”
Until now, Tom couldn’t decide between having her please him with her mouth or giving her a nice, old-fashioned spanking. Pity there wasn’t a position for her to suck his cock and get spanked at the same time. The latter won out as usual, since it was his oldest and most prominent sexual desire, ever since he’d walked in on Mr. Cole giving it to one of the muggle girls. Tom wasn’t sure if it was because of the puffy handprint across a girl’s arse or their little yelps as they took their punishment—he simply enjoyed it.
And besides, there was plenty of time to get his cock in that pretty little mouth. Now he clasped her hair at the back of her head and drove her to the bed, bending her over the side and lifting up her skirt. He slapped her arse twice, eliciting two yelps, music to his ears.
“That’s it, take it like a good girl.”
Her plain blue knickers were hiding the welts, so he pulled them from her reddened arse, letting them drop to her knees. He spread her arse cheeks, surveying her glistening cunt.
At once, her back arched and her legs opened a bit. Darling Stateira was aching for his touch. Well, she’d have it, but not the way she wanted yet. Instead, he gave the slick pink lips a slap, relishing her sharp cry. “Naughty thing, thinking of her greedy little cunt instead of following my orders.”
“My Lord—!”
Tom cut her off with another spank. When he pulled his hand away, he found his palm wet with the juice leaking from her cunt. Biting his lip, he watched a clear drop fall into her knickers.
He sat back on the chair, reaching for his goblet. “Rise, Stateira.”
She did as told, standing in front of him with an undone dress and disheveled hair. She was yearning, he could see, but he was only warming up. “Undress.”
When she was only in her knee-highs, Tom took his time checking her out. With her figure and grace, she would’ve been an excellent ballerina had she been trained. She’d grown a bit over the year but was not quite a woman yet. He extended a hand and she came closer until they were toe-to-toe. When he slid it between her thighs, it was swallowed by wet warmth. Her chest heaved as his fingers slid over her soaking lower lips, throbbing under his touch.
He withdrew and with her eyes she begged for more. “My dear girl, you ought to know by now it is not so easy to earn the Dark Lord’s affections.”
“My Lord, I only wish to please you,” Stateira gasped in a high, breathy voice. “Please, let me—”
“Lie on the bed and spread yourself for me.” Now the real fun could start. Stateira thought she was so close to having him fill her cunt and fuck her silly, but she had to earn it first.
Tom stood, pulled off his robes, and tossed them over the chair. The surroundings were blurred now, hot lust flowing through him intensified by the sight of her on the bed, legs propped open to give him a view of his sweet, pink prize. He sank two fingers into her cunt, feeling her walls clench around them. Slowly, he slid them out, bringing a stream of fluid from her hole. She was panting now, her pretty, flushed face scrunched in plea.
Tom swiped his fingers over her mouth, leaving a streak of glossy fluid across her face. Meanwhile, her dark eyes continued to beg.
He leaned up, feeling her yearning tug him back toward her. He didn’t need to enter her mind to decipher it. “My Lord!” she cried. “Please—!”
His response was to trail his fingertips slowly down her chest until they grazed a pert pink nipple. “My, aren’t you just the prettiest little witch,” he said as she quivered beneath his faintest touch. “So beautiful and docile you are—the perfect companion for Lord Voldemort.”
Her large eyes filled with pure, child-like joy. It was easy, too easy, for Stateira to mistake Tom’s unrestrained lust for love.
~**~
In her current position, Stateira should’ve felt like a shameful slut, since she damn well looked like one with her legs spread like she was serving herself to the Dark Lord for dessert. Then again, that was exactly what she was doing, except any shame was overridden by desire.
With no expression on his handsome face, Tom Riddle stepped forward and leisurely traced her slit only once, sending jolts of need down to her toes. She wanted to beg for more, but he had told her once this teasing was his way of teaching her self-control.
She was breathing heavily, sneaking glances at his face every so often. Merlin, was he the most attractive man she’d ever seen, especially when his dark eyes were glinting with lust. He stroked her a few more times and withdrew again, simply staring for an agonizing eternity.
“My Lord,” she breathed, unable to take it. “Please, I beg you—”
He cut her off with a slap to her face, just a firm tap but hard enough to make her yelp. “Naughty witch, speaking out of turn. You beg when I tell you to beg.”
Just when Stateira was about to burst into tears, he bent low and connected his mouth with her aching folds. She relaxed instantly, letting out a sigh and sinking the back of her head into the bed. Never before had she felt such a physical sensation as pleasurable as his mouth roving over her labia until it reached the hood, pulling her clit between his lips. She let out a moan of pure ecstasy as he rose and mounted her.
“Look at this dish, serving up her cunt to me like a good little whore. Dying for it, are you, baby?”
“Yes, my Lord,” she gasped as the Dark Lord finally granted her wish, filling her with hot, hard flesh.
It was short-lived: he gave one thrust and stepped away. Stateira was ready to howl in frustration, but he was pulling her forward, his hands on her at least, instead of having her lie there. Her knees slammed into the carpet, his fist nestled in her hair.
“Open your mouth, darling. See for yourself how good you taste.”
To her, she tasted tangy, her juice thicker than from any fruit. Still, she sucked it off his stiff cock, growing more enthusiastic when she realized Riddle was very much enjoying it, gripping her head and growling encouragement.
“Yes, like that, sweetheart, just like that. Beautiful, obedient girl, you were made perfect for me.”
Stateira basked in her success at pleasing her lord and master, closing her eyes and taking his deep thrusts. Then he roughly pushed her away, guiding her flat on her back on the bed.
“Mm,” she cried as he re-entered her at last. While he pumped in and out, his hands traveled from her hips to her breasts, giving them a squeeze. She arched her back; by then, his hands were wrapping around her neck.
“My Lord,” Stateira squeaked, but even she couldn’t hear the words out loud. Riddle had his eyes locked on hers, nearly snarling as he rammed into her and tightened his grip on her throat. The lack of air blocked out all else but a bell chiming in her ears and the tip of his cock rubbing a patch of nerves deep within her clenching inner walls… Her muscles tautened, the pleasure building…
Then she let out a howl, jerking her head to the side. An eruption of pure relief was taking over between her legs, while the Dark Lord continued until he, too, released his fluid. He clutched her hips as he emptied himself inside her, pulling away in the same minute.
Gasping for breath, Stateira climbed under her quilt, ignoring the hot fluid splattered on her thighs. By this time, Riddle had returned to his stoic, collected self. Facing away, he ran a hand through his hair with one hand, pulling slightly on the front of his robes with the other.
She fought the urge to call after him, especially when it seemed apparent that he was simply going to walk out. But then he turned back to her and gave her a small grin. “Thank you for the lovely evening, darling.”
“It was my pleasure, my Lord,” she assured him, batting her eyelashes. She let her lips pucker the tiniest bit in hopes that he would kiss her. He did not, raising a hand in farewell before leaving, closing the door softly behind him. A second later, she heard the pop of him Disapparating.
Later, when the haze of orgasm cleared, Stateira lie in bed, feeling rather like a used toy than a lover. Although she had to admit she’d enjoyed every second of it and wanted more. The Dark Lord’s attention and praise were the rewards for all the doubt she felt about her loyalty.
He does love you; you’ve earned it, an inner voice told her, but of that she was less sure.
~**~