Chapter 2

BOY: (pause) I bet you say that to all the boys!

-- J. Steinman, Hot Summer Night

They brought her back to her parents' home, where she was a catatonic wreck and didn't leave the bed for months. Both mummy and daddy were on the Continent for the summer, but the house-elves kept their mistress fed, and her bedpan was changed as frequently as she filled it. None, though, could arouse her into a semblance of coherent behavior. Not even Voldemort, who came to her twice and spoke to her. She never recalled later what he'd said to her, but whatever it was had not worked. She did remember, as if in a dream, hearing him say to someone (Regulus?) not to worry, that she would be fine eventually. And that, if not, she'd still be pretty shaggable regardless.

Eventually the visitors stopped coming with any sort of frequency, except for Regulus, and even he seemed to be losing hope.

It was he who brought Andromeda back to the Black household from which she'd been banished, and it was Drommie who brought her Dora.

Drommie sat with her for days, putting cool cloths on her brow, and that gentled the coursing insanity that plagued her; more soothing still were the moments alone with her niece. "You get better," the girl would whisper before kissing her hand or rubbing her cheek. "Love you, An' Bell." Bellatrix's first returning smile occurred during one of those instants, and she squeezed the child's hand gently in response.

The child's face would change to mimic her own, and Bellatrix realized how terrible she looked. As she slowly she returned to the world of the sane, the mild improvements to Dora's wan appearance were a sign of her own progress.

When Bella was finally able to speak again, and could sit up and sip soup by herself, Drommie called in Doctor Cuthbert, the local apothecary. He waved his wand slowly over every part of her body, giving her a more thorough physical examination than she'd had since puberty. When this was done, he spoke softly to her sister in the corner, and Bellatrix wondered through the haze of newly-found wakefulness what they discussed. As they started looking back in her direction, Drommie sent Dora off to play in her old bedroom and joined Cuthbert next to Bella's bed.

Drommie held her hand while the apothecary spoke.

"Miss Black? Can you understand me?"

"Yes."

"I've checked you thoroughly, and for the most part there's nothing wrong with you a week on the Riviera wouldn't fix."

"That's good."

"There's just one thing I did find, though."

"Oh?" Drommie turned away, suddenly extremely interested in a bureau in the corner.

"Your internals are pretty torn up in the reproductive sections. I've never seen anything like it, myself. Do you know what happened to you?"

She did, but couldn't bring herself to speak of it and shook her head at him.

She wasn't certain he believed her, but he continued, regardless. "Well, at any rate, there's too much damage to your womb for adequate fetal support."

Everything was so fuzzy. She understood all the individual words, but somehow they would not congeal into information for her. "What are you saying?"

"I can do nothing for you, should you want to conceive in the future."

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean." Though some inner twinges of her soul meant she was starting to.

The apothecary looked at her with thinly-disguised pity in his eyes. "I'm afraid, my dear, that you're barren."

Ouch. That cut through the blurriness quite well, thank you.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate you coming by to see me. You can go now."

The apothecary looked at Drommie, his summoner, and when she cast an arm toward the bedroom door he bowed his head and left. As he did, Andromeda embraced her sister and whispered apologies for something she'd had nothing to do with.

She heard weeping and told her sister, "It's okay, Drommie-my-precious, you don't have to cry for me," and it was only then that she realized the tears and sniffles were her own.

In retrospect the weeks she spent with Drommie and Dora were idyllic, but of course it couldn't last. Dora was precious to her beyond all jewels, but there was the matter of her father. At first, Bellatrix nursed thoughts of him fading into the sunset, leaving her and Drommie to raise the child together. Her sister would move back into the Black residence, all would be forgiven, and life would be as it should be once more. This was not to be, however, and in fact one day her sister arrived home in some inexplicable haze of joy. Bella dreaded finding out what was the matter.

"Bella, it's finally happened!"

"What has? You've met someone new on the pureblood side?"

Drommie wrinkled her nose. "No, and I'll thank you not to say such things. Bellatrix, Ted has returned from abroad and we're getting married!"

Bellatrix was stunned. It was one thing to be idiotic enough to get knocked up by trash ... another to bear an admittedly darling child by him ... but marriage? Could anything compound the error more?

"Drommie ... you don't have to do this. I can convince Mummy to take you back, and Mummy can convince Daddy, and you and I can raise Dorable together. I'd love to. You won't be out on the streets."

"Bella, it's not like that at all. I love Ted and I want to marry him. You'll understand someday."

She was disgusted with what she was hearing, and it showed on her face. I understand love, Drommie, and what women will do for it, but I'll never understand this.

"You'll not be permitted back into the household once that happens, Andromeda. I won't be able to help you any more."

"'Andromeda'? So it's that way, is it? Well, I love you anyway, you cast-iron bitch, but I won't be intimidated by your prejudice." She burst into tears and ran from the room, and the next morning the house-elves told Bellatrix that she and her daughter were gone.

She wept for her sister's foolishness, she cursed Ted Tonks, and she left the house for the first time since Regulus had brought her here. Apparated, in fact, to the Household of the Pureblood Collective.

"Bellatrix ... you look well, dear. All rested after your ordeals, I assume?"

"I want to come back, milord."

"Miss putting the Muggle filth in its place?"

"I do. But mostly I miss you. Master."

"Ah, music to my ears, my slut. Now why on earth would I want to take you back? You are dangerously unstable, it seems. Not at all what we need in an organization with goals as lofty and as intricate as ours."

She blushed as he continued. "Still ... you are a very good witch ... and very good at other things, I know. Yes. You may come back..."

"Thank you, master!"

" ... as our chief Morale Officer."

"I would be hon-- um ... er, my lord, what does a 'Morale Officer' do?"

"Why, welcome new revolutionaries to our organization, of course. Welcome them in all ways. Ah, I see you understand me. Yes. And then you will be further responsible for Staff Retention, which means you'll want to guarantee that each of our members wants to stay for one reason or another. Do I make myself clear, Bellatrix?"

Unfortunately, yes. Why did he do this to her? "But Lord-- Master, this whore only wants you. Don't I please and serve you well?"

"You're not just a whore. You're my whore. And as my whore, you'll service whoever I tell you to." Bella looked stubborn. "No?"

"Can't I just make another snake for you instead?"

He laughed in admiration. "Ha! Nice try, Bella. You really are my favorite." She dimpled at the compliment. "Alas for you, I have some other ideas for Nagini, and for where she will reside ... Don't worry about that, you'll be instrumental to me there, as ever. No, I'm afraid you're much more suited to welcoming others to the brotherhood ... and as part of the reason they keep coming back for more." He grew stern. "Now run along and get your legs in the air, dear."

She inclined her head. "Yes, master." Then, in desperation... "Can I ... will you... ?"

He looked back up from the scroll he was reading. "What's that?" He saw her stroking her body seductively. "Hmph. Oh, very well." He lifted his wand and, almost offhand, uttered "Imperio".

She once more felt his control sink like a blanket over her will, and her clit began to tingle. Some part deep inside of her still wanted him to take and use her-- just him and him alone-- but under his enspellment she slowly but surely became enamored of being used by his servants, from high and handsome to low and loathsome. She thought about their cocks spraying between her breasts, coating her; she imagined them reaming her arse and making her cunt wide, loose, and sloppy with frequent use. And all in the name of her Dark Lord.

She fell to her knees with the strength of her orgasm, and if she noticed him ignoring her in favor of whatever was written on that parchment ... well, it was surely just a sign of her own low worth.

When the Imperius curse was lifted by him moments later, she slunk out of the room and Apparated back to her own residence. On her sitting table was a note listing her appointments for the next week or more. She posted it on the door to her boudoir so her new clients would not be confused. If she was to be the Death Eaters' tart, she'd be the best, most organized bloody tart they'd even laid eyes on.

And efficient she was; she took all of them, dozens and dozens of times each. Dolohov and Karkaroff and Yaxley were first, as they had seniority, but eventually the younger Death Eaters all used her as well. Barty Crouch liked her arse most, spending most of each hour caressing it like a prize, and becoming so worked up in the process that he often came to orgasm before he even fully entered it. Then in a fit of pique he would curse her for the tawdry slut she was and deliver unbearably painful smacks to her posterior, which generally bruised and often bloodied her. Within moments of commencing this maltreatment he would be erect once more, and the throbbing and tingling she felt in her entire lower body at that point would force her to climax with him the next time.

Amycus Carrow was a biter and, aside from the damage he did to her nipples and labia, was largely uninteresting, but his sister Alecto was Bellatrix's first woman. Not that there was much difference when it came to Alecto; she was quite mannish and only the particulars of her plumbing gave any indication she was not merely an ugly and particularly ill-spoken male. At first Bellatrix had attempted to please the client with her mouth-- after all, she reasoned, if she were into women that's what she'd want done to her-- but it became clear that Alecto didn't want to be reminded of the fact that she was female, either. She quickly reversed the polarity of the situation and delivered surprisingly good tongue-fucking of Bellatrix's nasty hole; finding someone unattractive, as Bella certainly did, was clearly no impediment to flooding her oral minister's face with her cunt juices.

In between sessions she housed Nagini in her shattered womb. Since her perversions knew no bounds she was always surprised that when Nagini entered between her legs she did not feel more arousal, but for some reason the serpent's entry left her cold inside and out. It was not uncommon for her to feel intense sexual pleasure as Nagini made her way back out again, so clearly there was nothing wrong with the frictional part of the equation. At one point her cousin Regulus-- who had joined the Death Eaters in an attempt to impress his father-- noticed that Nagini seemed to follow her around. Or at least to be in the same places as her quite often. She did not enlighten him, but was sure he suspected where Nagini was kept when she was not out and about. Certainly whenever Voldemort suggested Regulus should be ready for his first session with his cousin (and Voldemort put it exactly in those terms), Regulus's gaze was generally drawn to Nagini as if he sensed that there would be too many "snakes" in one place if he were to shag Bellatrix.

It wasn't long, however, before the Dark Lord insisted that Regulus spend time each month with her, just like all the rest. The first hour had been tedious, with her cousin spending the entire while complaining that it was absurd, this ritual, that it was meaningless and grotesque. He appealed to her to let him leave early and to tell their master that he'd done his duty, the idiot. "After all, I hear you're a right good Occlumens, Bella." She was, indeed, as her master had taught her (through much discomfort) how to shield her thoughts from the very best ... possibly even from himself. While she shivered delightfully at the thought of what her master might do to her if he discovered she'd lied to him, she was too loyal a servant to do that. Besides, Regulus, newly come into his manhood, was a striking figure of a man, and she found herself wondering what his neck would smell like.

In response to his request, she merely stood up from the chair she occupied and strutted over to his seat. "I don't think so, cousin. I don't think that's what you want at all." The sway of her hips spoke volumes. She could tell he was not unaffected. Her upper body flushed at the thought of it, and she leaned over him, her décolletage presented to him like a feast.

"What're you doing?" he replied nervously, and she could see the sweat on his collar. "Surely you aren't taking this seriously, Bellatrix? You're not actually going to-- you know, you wouldn't think to-- Bella, please, don't--" He gave an almost girlish yelp as she dropped a hand to his groin and began probing.

"Mmmm ... I suspected as much, dear boy. Methinks the young lord doth protest too much ... especially when Little Regulus makes it apparent that he's randy as all hell!" She straddled him, now, her robes hiked up around her waist, her elegant and curvaceous legs pinning him to his seat, the gusset of her knickers making a dampened trail up his thigh. "Come now, coz, I know you've thought about it. What it would be like to take your sexy cousinne Bellatrix."

"No, I never--"

"Never? Oh, I find that hard to believe. I've seen the way you look at me at family gatherings. The way all the men look at me." She breathed heavier, and stroked her calves, knees, then thighs upward ... His eyes dropped to watch her hands, seemingly of their own accord. "Can you honestly tell me you never watched for my robes to part, to catch a glimpse, perhaps, of stocking or even...

"Did you know I rarely wore knickers, Reg? Oh, I did once in a while, if I was wearing very short robes-- I knew mum would kill me if I was that blatant and showed quim in public. But when my robes weren't quite so short, I'd leave off the knickers and prance about town like a common strumpet. Just to feel the breeze, right?" She had reached the top of her legs by that time, and was pushing the wispy fabric there aside. "Dear God, it used to get me so warm and dirty knowing that if I moved my legs wrong or kicked up my skirts a bit the boys would get an eyeful. I used to--" Her fingers parted her folds before his gaze and dove inside herself. She sighed before continuing. "--used to go into your bedroom, or your brother's bedroom, when you were all downstairs and eating some of your mum's rancid concoctions, lie on the bed, and do this ... what I'm doing now ... use my ... mmmm ... fingers on myself until I'd expl-o-de ... uunnh ... all over my hands. And then I'd lick them, like this ... and rub them all over my face and teats, coating myself in whore juice." She matched word to deed. "Couldn't you smell me the rest of the night? Or did you come back to your room and smell me there? Maybe you wanked to thoughts of taking me while you put your face in the bedclothes where I'd been sitting. I know I surely did." Her voice grew whiny with desperation. "Oh, Reg, what's wrong with you? Aren't you ready to fuck me yet?"

He smacked her with the back of his hand and she fell off his lap from the force of the blow. Regulus seemed shocked by his own action and rushed over to kneel beside her where she lay reeling. "Bella," he said, urgently, "I'm so sorry, I-- you shouldn't have made--"

"Mmmmm ... Regulus, please hit me again." She entwined her legs around him and tried to pull him down to her level. "Make a mark, if you can. Then you can see how much you've damaged me while you ravish me." Whether she had surprised him with her limb-entangling movement or whether he had finally given in to her seduction she never knew; but when his face fell between her breasts something dark and animal in him broke open and he began to kiss her with ferocity. She moaned in contentment as he reviled her ... all the while parting his robes to reveal the proof of his lust.

"You're a disgrace to our whole family, you filthy slut!" he breathed in her ear as he savaged her very aroused pussy with his fingers. "Your mother would be so ashamed of you right now!"

That made her inner muscles squeeze maddeningly, and she grabbed his cock hungrily and guided him inside while he told her more about how much the family name was being degraded by what she was doing. "Yes, cousin, I'm such a trollop. I can tell it offends you what I do with my cunt, so you'll just have to fuck the hell out of it to punish me."

He grunted and began thrusting into her, deeper than anyone else had or possibly could.

After that Regulus visited her frequently. He was her most passionate yet, all the more because of the look of hatred he gave her while he spent himself on her belly. While it didn't stop him from shagging her, he was always concerned about knocking her up, as if the incest was acceptable so long as no child was gotten. She didn't tell him he needn't have worried, but instead made a game of trying to make him come before he could pull out. She usually lost, but sometimes she won and cherished the look of horror on the poor idiot's face: as if it terrified him to think how that ridiculous Black family tree mural on his mother's wall would illustrate the affair. Perhaps it was a bit over the top to complain of nausea and strange food cravings, and to look worriedly at a pocket calendar when he was around, but even if he wasn't entirely fooled she certainly enjoyed imagining he was.

Crabbe and Goyle she took most often, frequently together. They plugged her for hours at a time, taking turns, until she was covered with fluids and sometimes small measures of blood. They were careful not to do any permanent damage, but mild scratches or bruises were considered fair game. Something about the way they did things made her think that she wasn't even really in the room for them: that this was more about what they wanted to do to each other, and she was their proxy to make things more mentally acceptable to them. Certainly they stared at one another the whole time and just used her as a convenient receptacle; for some reason, this tickled her fancy and enabled her to enjoy herself.

Then there was the young kid with the greasy hair. Sevus? Srevas? He rarely plundered her, and when he did he forced her to drink Polyjuice potion first. She had no idea whose form her body took on those occasions, but whoever she was she tasted like strawberries. It was a salve to her psyche to be someone else for a change. He was a gentle lover, though-- almost tender-- and that spoiled it for her; he didn't use her mercilessly enough, and always seemed disgusted with himself after he finished.

For "merciless" she preferred Lucius.

He never hesitated to degrade and assault her verbally while ravishing her. Though he wasn't the most creative, typically limiting himself to proclaiming her "Dark Lord's hussy" or "my little pureblood tart" or (her favorite) "Cock Eater", he made up for it in sheer enthusiasm. Whether it was ramming himself into her throat until she nearly choked on his girth or turning her over in mid-orgasm to assault her anally, he was fast, harsh, and unrelenting. And oh-so satisfying. If she hadn't already been hopelessly smitten with her master she might have fallen for the blond man. He always left her with a smile and a tip of his hood, and threw a few Galleons on the bedside table, just to make the point. When he eventually began courting her sister Cissy, she knew it was because he wanted a younger, untainted version of herself. She could certainly understand that, and was very happy for the new Mrs. Malfoy. The parody of a bridal gown Bella wore while fucking Lucius the night before his wedding day wasn't in mockery of Cissy, exactly, but a renunciation of chastity and a jest at the expense of marital bliss in general.

By far the worst partners she was forced to accept were Rodolphus and Rastaban. Whether coming to her jointly or each alone, both of them stank of ribberwort leaf and unwashed flesh. They took no thought of her pleasure-- which was acceptable-- but liked to pretend she was a Mudblood as they raped her ... and that she had no stomach for. When she complained of this behavior to Lord Voldemort, he raised a glossy eyebrow and asked her, "So, you think you're somehow above this treatment?" She did, indeed; she came from one of the most pureblood families in all of the Wizarding world. But as she met his eyes and saw them light with cruelty her nipples hardened and she sank back into the unassuming compliance she knew he demanded.

So she shook her head and went back to the Lestrange brothers, ignoring their babbling about Muggles and thinking instead about the night in the clearing or climaxing to thoughts of her master in her mouth.

Bellatrix rolled over. Regulus was mumbling in his sleep again. Something about "take the Dark Lord's whore-cunt", or perhaps the word was instead "whore-cocks". She didn't need to know the details to understand it was all about her, and it gave her a real charge to know she was on her cousin's twisted mind even as he slept, and she began to fellate him awake in return for the unbeknownst compliment.

As his eyelids fluttered and he grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, there came a tapping at her chamber door. She ignored it in favor of trying urgently to make Reg come to orgasm, but the rapping was insistent and damned distracting. In fact, it was he who extricated himself from her mouth in order to make the racket stop. He thumped out of bed and to the portal, throwing it open in anger, his still-tumescent cock bobbing a chastening rhythm at the unwelcome visitor. As it was Scarabus, her mother's raven, the nudity went unnoticed as the bird lit on the bedpost, a scroll tied to its claw.

"What are you doing here, you spoilsport?" Bella complained, removing the document rapidly and causing Scarabus to squawk angrily at such rough treatment. She unrolled the parchment and her mother's tones were drawn forth, tear-ridden to the point of incomprehensibility.

"Bellatrix, I don't know where you are or what kind of nonsense you're involved with at this moment, but you must come home immediately. Your father ... your uncle ... Bella, they were killed by Aurors last night in Hogsmeade. Those foul assassins ... I know they were just lying in wait for dear Cygnus. And now The Prophet is filled with filthy stinking lies about his activities ... Come home, precious. We must make arrangements..."