Bellatrix sunk to her knees before the Dark Lord, her Dark Lord. She looked as if she was bowing down to beg for forgiveness -- but the other Death Eaters knew better. Some had the decency to look away, but others leered in her general direction.
The once-dark beauty, now gaunt and torn from her stay in Azkaban, knew. She knew what they whispered behind her back, knew the words they used, "whore" the first on that long list. If she had any inkling of emotion left in her soul, she was sure the words would hurt. But truth be told, Bellatrix didn't give a damn. She was the top one in their lord's favor -- that was all that mattered. Bellatrix knew the others were jealous. They'd had their chances, but it was Bellatrix that Lord Voldemort wanted now.
And she would continue to give it to him, for as long as he demanded her services.
The Dark Lord's hands moved to Bellatrix's head, jerking her closer to him, forcing her attention to the task at hand. The slight tug on her hair was painful, but it sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. She loved when he got rough with her, loved how he always did. Their sex was never gentle, and Bellatrix was thankful for that. She wasn't a girl for hearts and flowers; she was a lady who thrived off such pain and even craved punishment. Her lover never disappointed her -- he was always more than willing to give her the pain she sought. The next yank on her hair was more insistent, and then Voldemort's erection slid roughly past her lips.
"I suggest you do what you're told, and be a little quicker about it," Voldemort hissed. He thrust, hard, into her mouth.
Bellatrix relaxed her jaw and fought the urge to choke. She just gave a slight nod and allowed the Dark Lord to fuck her face. There was no need for expert technique -- this is how he liked it. This is how Voldemort wanted it. Voldemort didn't want her to fondle his balls, or tease his shaft with her tongue. He liked to hold her head captive and slam his cock repeatedly down Bellatrix's throat. In the end, that's what got him off, what gave him a sense of completion.
The Dark Lord craved violence. He needed violence to feel alive, and it was only natural that he would crave violent sex. The Dark Lord didn't have many willing lovers, and if he couldn't get it willingly, he would have no problems taking it from anyone. His Death Eaters were always willing, of course, and they did everything he asked, but sometimes the idea of fucking someone so unwillingly made him unimaginably hard.
He liked Bellatrix. She always did what he asked, and never had any excuses. She was always more than willing to drop to her knees or lie on her back and spread her legs for her lord. His cold eyes never left her as he watched his thick erection pump in and out of her mouth. His cock twitched when she began to choke, loving the idea that he was hurting her.
Bellatrix took it. She always just took it, even now, when he shot his load deep within her throat and what she couldn't swallow of his come dripped from her chin. Simply from the look of pure bliss on her features, he knew.
Voldemort knew that she would take his abuse, the pleasure he gave her -- and she always would.