This is going to be extremely different from all my other stories. Let me know what you think about it, through your reviews. And whether or not you want me to continue it.

It wasn't working. None of it. Lord Voldemort huffed out a frustrated breath and nodded at Bellatrix when she paused what she was doing to send him an inquiring frown. Her lips curved and she bent, resuming her eager lapping at the wet, swollen pussy spread out before her.

Behind Bellatrix, Rodolphus grunted his pleasure, thrusting into Bella as she moaned and ate the woman…Cho? He always had a hard time remembering, but her name didn't matter. She'd been brought in just for tonight's fun, but her real job was much more important. She was Asian, pale skin, silky black hair, body toned. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was dark haired, beautiful and voluptuous.

Voldemort picked up his glass of whiskey from the floor and downed it with a grimace. Damn thing wasn't even burning his throat. Another thing that wasn't working for him. He palmed his unresponsive cock and bared his teeth in a pissed-off grimace. Usually he got off on this. Who wouldn't? But something was happening with his pleasure. It was gone. He couldn't feel it. No pain. No pleasure.

Bellatrix grabbed a fistful of the Asian's hair and held her still as she rammed her pussy into her mouth, head thrown back, chest heaving. Voldemort watched them as Rodolphus watched him. The weed was low, alcohol wasn't working, and the scene in front of him that should have him fired up and ready to go wasn't doing its job.

He got to his feet and hurriedly buttoned his shirt. Rodolphus called out to him,


Voldemort ignored him. He ignored the aroused cries of the two women and walked out the apartment. His bodyguards, Avery and Macnair, stood out in the hallway on either side of the door, waiting with bored expressions. He knew how they felt,

"Time to go."

He didn't wait for a response. It wasn't needed. Avery caught up with him on the stairs,

"Where are we headed, Master?"

Voldemort took the stairs these days, didn't matter how far up he was going, or how far down either. He didn't ride elevators. The last time he did, he'd gotten a bullet in his back. No elevators.

"The Shrieking Shack."

Avery stopped walking, mouth hanging open as he stared at his master,

"The Shrieking Shack?"

Voldemort continued his way down the stairs and spat out venomously,

"Did I stutter?"

Avery broke eye contact, his gaze quickly falling to his toes,

"No, my Lord."

Lord, he liked the sound of that. He was their master. But not too many people liked that idea. There was an uneasy tightness to his skin that wouldn't relent until he got what he needed. This wasn't the first time he'd felt like this, but it'd been a while, and this time…this time felt different. Right now, he was going to a place Lucius had recommended. It would be safe; Lucius had promised. Safe for Voldemort's body. For his identity. He didn't know for sure, but he'd find out. He could always burn the place to the ground if he didn't find it to be what he wanted. The way he was feeling, he wanted to watch something burn.

He had Avery and Macnair drop him off around the corner then watched them drive off before he walked over to the building. They didn't like leaving him alone, not since the attempt on his life, but some things weren't meant for his employees to witness. His men would never see him on his knees. That part of himself he kept carefully hidden. They didn't care so much that he also fancied men, but his kinks would be seen as a weakness. In this stage of the game, he couldn't afford any of that.

He rang the doorbell and the large red door was opened by a tall, skinny man with salt and pepper hair and gruff expression,


Voldemort tried peering over the man's shoulder, but couldn't make out a damn thing,

"Lucius recommended this place. Lucius Malfoy"

He held the man's gaze, presenting the image of a man in control of himself and his needs,

"Of course, Sir. Right this way, please."

The man stepped back and motioned for Voldemort to enter. Voldemort didn't even hesitate. He walked straight in.

He spent a few minutes with a man, Ron, he'd introduced himself as, talking about the rules, Voldemort's likes, and getting a brief tour of the surprisingly large house. The main floor wasn't crowded, but after Ron allowed him the chance to walk about on his own, Voldemort found the basement level filled with people.

He heard the feminine moans and the arousing sound of leather connecting with flesh before he spotted them. In the middle of the room. The woman was secured to a cross, getting whipped. She was stunning in her submission, blissful pain on her face. Voldemort would be all over her, getting high on her pained cries…. If he hadn't seen him. The man doing the whipping.

Looking forward to your reviews and feedback.