Post by A truer version of events on Jul 4, 2009 6:48:43 GMT -5
Another brief but knowing look passes between them. It is obvious they both feel no guilt. Guilt is for those unworthy of power. Those tainted by lesser blood - and by the mundane.
As the tightly bound muggle studies teacher revolves above them all, her eyes linger for a moment on her 'family'. Her sister, Narcissa, who has begrudgingly given the Malfoy manor as their base for plotting the downfall of the masses and the defeat of their puppet leader - the chosen one, Harry Potter.
Draco is next, staring at the figure above and sunken so far into his chair, he seems to be willing himself to melt into the antique furniture - if he was my child he would not show disrespect to my Lord. Ever.
And lastly, of course is Lucius - a suitable choice for my sister originally. However, recently his actions have been anything but successful. Only now he has become the fool among the fighters once more, by making an almost involuntary movement towards my Master's wand. The corners of my mouth twitch as I think of the power which can emanate from my Lord, in punishment if he entertains the thought for one mere moment.
Although she knows she should give Lord Voldemort her undivided attention, Bellatrix cannot help but allow her thoughts to stray to their last time alone together. A cool night, but a night where her temperature would undoubtedly soar.
Bellatrix glides down the forest path, paying less attention than usual to her surroundings, allowing her feet to take her where she needs to be. Her attention can afford to be lead astray as this midnight jaunt is hardly a new concept for her and her secret companion and she knew that nothing could come to harm her whilst she was with her Lord. In fact, as fast as she hurried to the clearing, faster still the forest animals scarpered in opposing directions. She was early, as was normal – these meetings which sets her heart thumping and gets her mind reeling are what have kept her satiated for months, without them she would be driven mad. The secret soirees were becoming increasingly common as if devoted and devotee, were beginning to share the enjoyment of the encounters.
She wouldn’t have to wait long, he would know she had arrived. The very thought of what was to come, had set her pulse quickening even more and rendered her mouth dry. An eternity of ten minutes passed and as Bellatrix began to question if she had mistaken the day she catches a glimpse of her master’s outline through the trees. He has entered the forest from a different direction as is regular, she knows he never uses the path. Perhaps he considers it too ordinary. Instantly regretting that she always employs the tedious and enters the clearing by using the pathway, she wonders how pitiful her Lord thinks she is. As she catches the glimpse of her Dark Lord, her thoughts discontinue their reflections and she immediately becomes of the moment. Bellatrix is increasingly aware of her surroundings – skin clammy, heart a-thumping and breathless, Bellatrix moans in apparent impatience and her breathing becomes so rendered she pants like an exhausted dog.
Her excitement is palpable, he can taste it on the air and in answer Lord Voldemort hastens to meet his target. They lock eyes, within three feet of one another, an onlooker (if there was one) may expect these two to embrace, but the Lord and his most loyal disciple do not have that kind of relationship. One would imagine their time together to show the passion and love of two adoring confidantes. But, for this to be so for Bellatrix and her Lord Voldemort is laughable.
Bellatrix unclasps her travelling cloak and lays it beside them on her favourite boulder within the clearing, she also ensures her wand sits comfortably in one of the folds of her deep purple-black coat where it is least likely to roll away. She gingerly places the coat and wand with no hurry in her advances now. She moves to untie the laces holding together the front of her favourite corseted blouse. However before she can finish the movement, her hands are firmly pushed out of the way and her Lord takes it upon himself to remove the only thing covering the top part of her body. Again, one would expect this to be done with a loving caress considering the mysteriousness of the rendezvous. But, Bellatrix and Voldemort are not in the clearing to experience the tenderness and throes of a loving relationship – Bellatrix and her Dark Lord are in the clearing to fulfil their primal needs.
The removal of bellatrix’s outer-garments becomes virtually violent as Voldemort is helped and hindered by Bellatrix and her eagerness. He grasps her voluminous jet-black curly hair firmly and tilts her face backwards until he can see her blood pulsing through her porcelain skin and he knows she cannot see him. Voldemort removes as little clothing as necessary, unbelts his pants and drags Bellatrix over to the tree they have worn the bark off during these moonlit excursions.
He holds her thin neck within his right spidery pianist-like fingers. Allowing his left hand to trace down the side of Bellatrix’s body. Feeling a tangible shiver of delightful expectation emanating from Bellatrix, Voldemort allows his left hand to finish the tracing of Bellatrix’s inner thigh and proceeds to scrunch in a taut fist, both his wand and the ripped material of her skirt. Bellatrix becomes as close to Voldemort as she has ever dreamt to be Bellatrix knows that soon Voldemort will tire a long while before she wishes him to, not from the exertion but almost as if bored by the whole concept of that which occurs within the clearing. Still, a small smile lingers on the corners of her mouth as she realises that as usual the animalistic moaning, grunting and gasping are not at all one sided.
***************************************************
As the tightly bound muggle studies teacher revolves above them all, her eyes linger for a moment on her 'family'. Her sister, Narcissa, who has begrudgingly given the Malfoy manor as their base for plotting the downfall of the masses and the defeat of their puppet leader - the chosen one, Harry Potter.
Draco is next, staring at the figure above and sunken so far into his chair, he seems to be willing himself to melt into the antique furniture - if he was my child he would not show disrespect to my Lord. Ever.
And lastly, of course is Lucius - a suitable choice for my sister originally. However, recently his actions have been anything but successful. Only now he has become the fool among the fighters once more, by making an almost involuntary movement towards my Master's wand. The corners of my mouth twitch as I think of the power which can emanate from my Lord, in punishment if he entertains the thought for one mere moment.
Although she knows she should give Lord Voldemort her undivided attention, Bellatrix cannot help but allow her thoughts to stray to their last time alone together. A cool night, but a night where her temperature would undoubtedly soar.
Bellatrix glides down the forest path, paying less attention than usual to her surroundings, allowing her feet to take her where she needs to be. Her attention can afford to be lead astray as this midnight jaunt is hardly a new concept for her and her secret companion and she knew that nothing could come to harm her whilst she was with her Lord. In fact, as fast as she hurried to the clearing, faster still the forest animals scarpered in opposing directions. She was early, as was normal – these meetings which sets her heart thumping and gets her mind reeling are what have kept her satiated for months, without them she would be driven mad. The secret soirees were becoming increasingly common as if devoted and devotee, were beginning to share the enjoyment of the encounters.
She wouldn’t have to wait long, he would know she had arrived. The very thought of what was to come, had set her pulse quickening even more and rendered her mouth dry. An eternity of ten minutes passed and as Bellatrix began to question if she had mistaken the day she catches a glimpse of her master’s outline through the trees. He has entered the forest from a different direction as is regular, she knows he never uses the path. Perhaps he considers it too ordinary. Instantly regretting that she always employs the tedious and enters the clearing by using the pathway, she wonders how pitiful her Lord thinks she is. As she catches the glimpse of her Dark Lord, her thoughts discontinue their reflections and she immediately becomes of the moment. Bellatrix is increasingly aware of her surroundings – skin clammy, heart a-thumping and breathless, Bellatrix moans in apparent impatience and her breathing becomes so rendered she pants like an exhausted dog.
Her excitement is palpable, he can taste it on the air and in answer Lord Voldemort hastens to meet his target. They lock eyes, within three feet of one another, an onlooker (if there was one) may expect these two to embrace, but the Lord and his most loyal disciple do not have that kind of relationship. One would imagine their time together to show the passion and love of two adoring confidantes. But, for this to be so for Bellatrix and her Lord Voldemort is laughable.
Bellatrix unclasps her travelling cloak and lays it beside them on her favourite boulder within the clearing, she also ensures her wand sits comfortably in one of the folds of her deep purple-black coat where it is least likely to roll away. She gingerly places the coat and wand with no hurry in her advances now. She moves to untie the laces holding together the front of her favourite corseted blouse. However before she can finish the movement, her hands are firmly pushed out of the way and her Lord takes it upon himself to remove the only thing covering the top part of her body. Again, one would expect this to be done with a loving caress considering the mysteriousness of the rendezvous. But, Bellatrix and Voldemort are not in the clearing to experience the tenderness and throes of a loving relationship – Bellatrix and her Dark Lord are in the clearing to fulfil their primal needs.
The removal of bellatrix’s outer-garments becomes virtually violent as Voldemort is helped and hindered by Bellatrix and her eagerness. He grasps her voluminous jet-black curly hair firmly and tilts her face backwards until he can see her blood pulsing through her porcelain skin and he knows she cannot see him. Voldemort removes as little clothing as necessary, unbelts his pants and drags Bellatrix over to the tree they have worn the bark off during these moonlit excursions.
He holds her thin neck within his right spidery pianist-like fingers. Allowing his left hand to trace down the side of Bellatrix’s body. Feeling a tangible shiver of delightful expectation emanating from Bellatrix, Voldemort allows his left hand to finish the tracing of Bellatrix’s inner thigh and proceeds to scrunch in a taut fist, both his wand and the ripped material of her skirt. Bellatrix becomes as close to Voldemort as she has ever dreamt to be Bellatrix knows that soon Voldemort will tire a long while before she wishes him to, not from the exertion but almost as if bored by the whole concept of that which occurs within the clearing. Still, a small smile lingers on the corners of her mouth as she realises that as usual the animalistic moaning, grunting and gasping are not at all one sided.
***************************************************
