Her master scolds her, taunts her. He's harder on her than the others because she's his favorite, his most loyal little pet. And the Dark Lord knows that she loves every second of him breaking her down like this.
Her head bows in submission, and Bellatrix appears almost contrite. She hears a few of her fellow Death Eaters laugh as the Dark Lord airs her transgressions, though she knows most of them are shifting uncomfortably, no doubt relieved that they aren't the source of their master's displeasure.
"Perhaps," the Dark Lord hisses, drawing closer, "I should make an example of you, Bellatrix. Show the others what happens to those who can't follow simple orders."
Bellatrix, her head still bowed, swallows dryly and mumbles something barely audible.
"What was that, girl?" he demands, gripping her dark curls and tugging hard so that she's forced to meet his gaze. "Speak up."
"Whatever you think is best, my Lord," Bellatrix says, her voice small.
"Such obedience. No doubt Rodolphus has trained you well," the Dark Lord laughs.
Her face flushes with heat at that. And yet Bellatrix knows she's wet in spite of the humiliation she's subjected to. It takes every ounce of control for her not to rock forward, to try to obtain that sweet friction.
His wand raises. All eyes are upon the female Death Eater.
"Crucio!"
Bellatrix cries out, every nerve on fire as the Curse hits. She's delivered the Curse countless times, but she's rarely been on the receiving end.
"Crucio!"
Pain, white hot, surges through her body as her limbs contort. Still, buried beneath the pain, is a thrill of pleasure. Only he can force her to submit like this and take away her lust for control.
"Crucio!"
She screams, but it almost comes out as a moan. If she could, she'd reach out and touch herself, even if there are others watching. Of course, she'd be punished for that as well. Her master is the only one allowed to pleasure her when she's been naughty.
Bellatrix waits for another Curse. Both know her limits. She can take it. But when it doesn't come, Bellatrix is almost disappointed.
"Get up," he orders, and she obeys.
Body aching with pain and desire, she takes her seat next to her husband, looking up at her master with pleading eyes. A cold smile plays at his lips as the Dark Lord moves immediately to the next order of business.
Bellatrix swallows a groan as she realizes he's going to make her wait. He has the power. She's under his control. Even if it's a game for them, it's a reminder.
Desperate, Bellatrix tries to rub against her chair. She bites her lip, knowing it won't take much.
"Stop squirming," her master says knowingly. "You have the posture of a Mudblood."
With a blush, Bellatrix falls still, staring pointedly at the table. "Yes, my Lord."