Author's Notes: Written for my own Smut Challenge on xoxLewrahxox's Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum.

Your task here is to write something sexually explicit, of a multiple of 100 words.

Dedicated to Couture Girl, who wanted this way, way too much…


1 200 words.


"Was there something that you wanted, Bellatrix?"

The Dark Lord was in his study, sitting behind a desk and engrossed in the papers that were spread upon it, and Bellatrix shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"I… hope I am not disturbing my Lord…"

"You are," he said simply. "But I do believe that, if you have cause enough for disturbing me, I shall be able to forgive you such a minor transgression."

"Oh…" Bellatrix flushed. "It is… it is nothing, really, my Lord. Only that…" Her voice quivered. "It… it has been such a dreadfully long time, my Lord, since I saw you last."

She dared not look at him directly – he had changed so much. No longer was her master the man that she had remembered while in Azkaban, the man that she had been able to think of when she felt that all was lost. He was far, far more, now – more of a god than a human being.

"So it has." He did not look at her, engrossed in the parchments that lay before him, and Bellatrix shrunk back a little. She did not like the way he was acting.

"My Lord?"

"Yes, Bellatrix?"

"You…" Her voice broke slightly. "You… remember, don't you?"

At last, he looked up and met her eyes, and Bellatrix stared at the floor, a flush rising in her cheeks.

"Remember what, Bellatrix?"

"Me." She chanced a glance up at him, wringing her hands slightly. "You remember me, don't you? What… you and I…" Did? Had? "What I did for you?" she finished, and immediately regretted her phrasing, for it sounded now as though she was presuming him to be in her debt.

He laid down his quill, examining her. "You are referring," he said slowly, "I presume, to your loyalty to me when so many of your fellows abandoned the cause?"

"I…" No, I mean the way I served you before you fell. "Yes, my Lord."

"You feel that your rescue from Azkaban was not payment enough?"

A flush crept up her cheeks and she wrung her hands. "I did not mean that, my Lord – of course, I am terribly grateful… eternally so… I only thought…" She trailed off when he held up a hand to silence her.

"The Dark Lord does reward his followers, Bellatrix," he told her, in a slow, contemplative voice. "It is often forgotten… but those who are faithful are given what they deserve… Look at me, Bellatrix," he added, and she raised her eyes immediately, gazing imploringly at him. "What do you feel you deserve?"

She jolted physically, images of exactly what she felt she deserved dancing in her head, and the Dark Lord's thin, pale lips twisted into a smirk.


"I am sorry, my Lord." Bellatrix dropped her gaze to the floor again. "I- I presume too much. Forgive me…"

"Not at all, Bellatrix…" She could feel his eyes on her, and squirmed slightly under it. "Not at all… come forward."

Chest tightening from excitement, hardly daring to breathe, Bellatrix stepped forward slowly. She could feel her heart, fit to burst against her ribs, and a very pronounced ache between her thighs.

The Dark Lord was not looking at her. He seemed quite engaged with the things on his desk – wiping his quill on a blotting pad, fitting the stopper into his bottle of ink and carefully setting both it and the stack of parchments that he had been reading upon the floor by his chair, clearing the surface of his desk. Only when he had done that did he turn to Bellatrix.

"Lift your skirt," he told her, with all the command he would have had if telling her to kill an auror. She hurried to follow his order, hitching her dress up above her waist.

"And remove…"

He trailed off, and Bellatrix nodded, tugging down her knickers, a flush rising in her face. The Dark Lord gave a small nod of approval, then indicated the desk. "Now sit."

"Sit, my Lord?"

"On the desk. With your skirt up. It is surely not so difficult a thing to do…"

"Oh… no, my Lord."

Taking care not to kick him, Bellatrix lifted herself onto the desk, holding her skirts out of the way, and she let out a soft moan when he took hold of her knees and spread them apart.

"Master…" she murmured, running a hand through her hair as his fingers trailed slowly up her inner thigh, "you are… too kind…"

"You have earned a reward, Bellatrix. That is what this is – not a kindness, a reward."

"Yes, Master…"

The words turned into a long, drawn out moan when the Dark Lord lowered his head, and she felt his tongue – cooler than her skin, and perhaps a little dryer than she would have expected, though her wetness more than made up for that – brush against her.

Her hips jolted automatically, and he drew back, wiping a bit of moisture from his lips. "Control yourself, if you please, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master," she managed, staying perfectly still as he lowered his head once more and his tongue played against her. She dug her fingers into the wood of his desk, and tried not to shake or buck or moan as his tongue played against her.

The very idea of what was happening was close to being enough to bring her to the edge – even when she had been what she liked to think of as his lover, Bellatrix has never dared to ask for this from him. And now…


All attempts to hold herself still and composed were lost when the Dark Lord's tongue slid into her, and Bellatrix fell backwards, pressing against his mouth as she arched off the desk, trying to get more of him. She would pay for it, she was sure, but oh, it felt good.

Her body tightened and trembled and she let out a soft cry when her release came, and the pleasure of that was almost instantly eclipsed by fear at what the Dark Lord would do. She had shown so little respect, so little of the awe that he deserved, bucking and moaning against his mouth like a common whore…

"I am so sorry, my Lord," she panted, tugging at her skirt and not daring to look at him when he raised his head from between her legs. Tears stung her eyes and she slipped off the desk, intending to rush for the door.

"No need to be sorry, Bellatrix."

"I… beg pardon, my Lord?" She must have misheard him…

"I say again," he told her, wiping liquid from his face but showing no sign – at least, none that she could see – that he was angry with her, "this was a reward. There is no reason to be sorry for appreciating the reward."


"But Bellatrix," he added, a slight sneer twisting his mouth.

"Yes, Master?"

"Take care," he told her, "to remember that this is the only time that you will be allowed such liberties. Do you understand, Bellatrix?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Next time," he continued, and her heart skipped a beat, "I shall expect you to exercise far greater self control."