AN: Soooo, I think this has some good parts, and some I couldn't do any better... My first ever try at something smut-related - I was so scared of writing this. Please let me know what you think and how I can do it better!
Enjoy :)
Ownership
Ownership has its privileges; he contemplates as he watches her.
She kneels before him like a doll, his own personal little doll. With a painted on smile in a motionless, ice cold face, a face like porcelain. Her features stay completely expressionless as he slowly approaches her. Only her glowing dark eyes betray her anticipation. It is the face she shows to the world, a mask he can tear off her face within seconds. If he were so inclined.
"Turn around, Bella." His voice is restless, primal, and he watches her every move as she obeys, like a carnivore ready to pounce on his prey. His cool hand slithers down her back, down, between her slightly parted legs, stroking her gently. "Why are you wet?"
A smirk flashes across her face before it returns to its previous emptiness. "Because you like me like that, Master."
Slap!–A quiet yelp escapes her blood-red lips.– Slap! – "You are a slut, woman. You are nothing but a slut and you won't presume to know what I like." –Slap!-– "I'm sorry, Master." - Slap! - "Be quiet!"
His hand leaves angry red marks on her snow-white skin. Whenever he touches her, she hisses sharply, sucking in air to keep the sounds that are rumbling in her throat from exiting her mouth. His other hand travels up her front, reaching for her breast, playing with her swollen nipple, stroking it, twisting it. She can't suppress the moan that causes his hand to fly up and close around her exposed throat. "You will obey my order if you value your life, whore!" he hisses, giving her throat a little squeeze before releasing his grip. She barely manages to contain her responding moan at his angry words.
"Forgive me, Master."
"Earn it."
The smirk returns to her face as she turns her head to look over her shoulder, smoldering eyes meeting ice-cold ones.
His hand trails up her slightly arched back, slowly stroking up her spine, until they find the thick mass of unruly black hair covering her shoulders. His fingers entangle themselves in her curls, caressing, comforting, until he yanks them up, forcing her to twist around, facing him. She growls slightly, evoking another smirk from him.
"Show me how sorry you are. Beg for my forgiveness – earn it."
"Thank you, Master."
She knows exactly how to please him. She knows how to earn his forgiveness. And above all she knows how to enrage him, to make him punish her. Because it is punishment she craves.
Their game evolves into the sinuous dance of two bodies moving together to the rhythm of music only they hear. Dancing with each other in a violent, even grotesque, yet sensual and passionate manner, turning, twisting and twirling. She lets her nails trail down his back, leaving a bloody smear. He flings her across the room, bruising her. She arches her back artfully and throws her hair around defiantly, hissing. She changes her mind in a second and crawls back to him like a cat stalking her prey. Her burning eyes never once leaving his. His hands are on her, fighting her, binding her, forcing her into submission once again. The room is filled with the smell of blood and sweat and arousal, filled with the sounds of her purring and thrashing and moaning, of his frantic breathing and silent commands. It is their music, and only theirs. The others will never understand the beauty of these moments. They can't comprehend the magic of their fights, the passion behind submission and obedience, the thrill of control and power. It is theirs alone.
He is the only one who knows how to play those games with her. Because with him, she can never be sure that it is only a game. He is the only one to control her, the only one who knows how to tame her.
He knows that she needs him, knows that she needs to feel his power over her to feel her own power. He can ask anything of her and she will obey without hesitation. He can do anything to her and she will always come back for more. She needs the fighting as much as he does. It proves to them that they are not dead.
Later, when she is off to torture and kill Muggles on his order, she will revel in the feel of exerting the complete dominance she so willingly gives up when she is with him.
Ownership has its privileges. Lord Voldemort owns his most faithful completely.
What did you think? :)