She felt ashamed like never before. Was that really her in the mirror? Were those really her sounds she heard? She wanted to look away, but Tom's hand held her tightly. Her cheeks burned, but her reflection showed nothing of her shame. Her reflection showed a woman almost melting with lust and desire.

Tom's fingers quickened steadily, but her body demanded more. Her breathing was frantic, her hair stuck to her sweaty face, but Hermione felt she needed more to find release. Desperately, she bit her lips to suppress the plea her body was trying to express with such urgency. Another moan escaped her throat.

"Just look at you, my heart," Tom whispered to her, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. "So willing. So needy. Where's the strong, independent witch now, eh, Hermione? Look at you!"

Involuntarily, her hips began to meet Tom's hand. His words irritated her, offended her, inflamed her deep-seated hatred of him - and yet it all only increased her arousal. She felt him let go of her face, but she was too taken by the sight of his hand half hidden under her skirt to look away any more. She only half noticed Tom undoing a few more buttons on her blouse, his hand pushing up her bra and exposing her breasts.

A jolt shot through her body and it took Hermione a moment to realise that it was Tom's fingers on her right breast that had caused the sensation. Slowly, her gaze travelled up. In disgust, she stared at her reflection, at her half-open blouse, her bare breasts, at the tie that still hung dutifully tied between her breasts. Everything about the sight screamed that she was willing and compliant and controlled by her passions. Tom was right. This was not a strong witch. She was not a strong witch.

"But we don't want you to have fun all by yourself, eh?" he murmured in her ear. Before she could respond, he pulled his fingers out of her, wiped them on her bare thigh and took a step back from her. A triumphant grin played around his lips. "You want me to make love to you, don't you, darling? But it's not that easy. You have to earn it to be rewarded by me. Can you be a good girl and please your master?"

Wide-eyed, Hermione stared at him. Somewhere in some part of her brain, she immediately understood what his words implied. She shuddered at the thought. Of course, it would be the ultimate humiliation. And she hated him for it.

Relaxing, Tom leaned against the post of her four-poster bed, "If you want me to reward you, you'll have to work for it. On your knees, love."

She swallowed. She really, really should have expected that sex with Tom Riddle was not just sex like in the book. Bright red, she tried to adjust her bra again. The worst part of the whole situation was that she could clearly feel her own arousal between her legs, that she was disgusted with herself - and yet infinitely aroused.

"Who told you you could get dressed?" Tom's voice cut through the room like a whip.

Shocked, Hermione let go of her bra. "Tom ... I don't ... I'm not a cheap whore!"

His grin grew even nastier. "Really? So far you haven't shown me that you are anything else. But maybe that mouth of yours that's never tired can convince me otherwise?"

Hate swirling in her stomach, Hermione stared at him. Of course, even now Tom was not concerned with sex and satisfaction, but only with demonstrating his power. He hit her from a surprising direction, but that did not mean he won. He wanted to act out his dominance and feel like the ruler of the world? Please, she could give him that.

Satisfied, Tom watched as Hermione slowly sank to her knees before him. She was indeed a sight that could have come straight from his fantasies. He could almost grasp her hatred with his hands, so openly did it blaze in her eyes, but there was more behind it. The humiliation in front of the mirror had aroused her. And while her small hands trembled when she undid his belt, he could see her disgust just as clearly. She was probably on the verge of bursting into tears, and yet she did as he commanded.

He grew tense as he watched her pull down his trousers a little. He was more than a little aroused by their game himself, and the proof was now right in front of Hermione. He grinned. He knew exactly what he wanted, but this little witch probably had no experience whatsoever. The sight of him frightened her and she hesitated.

"Come on," he cooed with put-on friendliness as he grabbed a fist of curls, "Open your mouth like a good girl. That's it. And make sure you hold back your teeth. I'll help you, don't be afraid."

The corners of her mouth twitched as she opened her lips with obvious reluctance, but that only excited him more. Grinning, he remembered the first time he had masturbated to a picture of her - in a fantasy, tears had run down her cheeks as he had relentlessly pleasured himself with her mouth. Perhaps today that fantasy would become reality.

Slowly, inch by inch, he sank into her. He could see her struggling to breathe through her nose, to take him in, but finally she began to resist. Her hands clawed at his hips in an attempt to push him off her, but he would not allow it. Relentlessly, he forced her head closer to him until he finally felt her gag reflex kick in. He snorted. He had no interest in the side effects this was causing. Conversations with sinister figures in Hog's Head had told him that experienced women could certainly swallow a man whole, but for today he would not try it.

Amused, he noticed how tears actually began to swim in Hermione's eyes. He had her right where he wanted her. With slow movements, he began thrusting into her wet mouth.

"You're a natural, my dear, or have you given other men this pleasure?" he moaned, not stopping his movement. Her answer was an upset twitch of her head, but his hands prevented her from withdrawing further from him.

Another moan escaped him as he felt her begin to run her tongue gently over him. She hated him, she was obviously disgusted by the situation and yet she was still trying to please him. She was indeed devoted to him. His rhythm became faster, harder.

One last time he thrust into her, driving into her throat deeper than before, enjoying for a moment longer the feeling of Hermione fighting him, fighting her nausea, wanting to strike out at him, then he pushed her off him.

"You did very well, dear," he taunted as he waited for her to catch her breath.

"Are you crazy?" Hermione hurled at him angrily, "I almost choked!"

"But only almost. Don't make a fuss."

Hermione could not believe how condescending Tom was being. As if he did not care what just happened. Hastily, she wiped the tears from her face. She had planned to be reluctant and a helpless victim, but those tears were real. She felt nauseous and a sickening taste was in her mouth. Tom wanted to make her his victim, wanted to humiliate and break her. And he did it well. But the last word in this matter had not yet been spoken. She would show him that she was the perfect victim, so perfect that he would always need her. Even for someone like Tom, it was impossible to keep control of one's passions.

Lowering her eyes, she stepped towards him. "Now what?"

"Now, my love," Tom replied and she did not even have to look up to see his arrogant grin, "Now you will be rewarded for your obedience."

Without another word he pointed to her bed and she followed the silent command. Her underwear still hung completely out of place on her, but since Tom had not allowed her to take them off, Hermione left it at that. Today she would give him what he wanted, would be as humble and obedient as he wanted her to be so he knew what he could have. She turned to him and looked up expectantly.

"Who said I wanted to look at you?" he instructed her, "Turn around, onto your belly, but make sure I get a good look at your ass."

Again, the blush rose in her cheeks. Tom was really making every single one of her nightmares come true. She was supposed to turn around, butt in the air, so that everything was out in the open in front of him? She took a deep breath before complying with his command. Carefully she rolled over on her bed, put her arms above her head and spread her knees to be able to lift her bottom halfway steadily. Cool air brushed over her, reminding her that she was still more than wet. By Merlin, how she hated him for everything he did to her.

"You don't like it, eh?" she heard him murmur behind her, "You imagined it more romantic, didn't you? The first time, candlelight, intimate embraces, kisses, vows of love ... yes, that should suit your fantasy, eh, my sweet, innocent Hermione?"

"Screw you!" The words escaped her before she could stop herself. Instantly she it - she wanted to be obedient today, not stubborn. A laugh told her that Tom was not taking her seriously. Burying her face in her soft blanket, Hermione listened for the sounds behind her. Tom was removing his clothes, and obviously taking a deliberately long time to do so, while she lay on her bed in a more than humiliating position. Hatred blazed like a hot flame inside her, but equally she felt her body yearning for his touch.

The mattress moved as Tom climbed onto the bed behind her. Two cool hands reached for her cheeks, pushed the hem of her skirt higher and bared her bottom completely. One of the hands withdrew and the sound that followed told Hermione all too clearly what Tom was doing. If she had not been so aroused, she probably would have thrown up on the spot at the thought of him touching himself just behind her.

"Such a sweet, innocent bottom," Tom murmured, obviously more to himself than to her, "So open, so available. You always seem so innocent, but when I see you patiently presenting your ass for me, waiting without any complaint for me to finally take you, I can't help but see the cheap whore in you. Sex-driven little witch, that's all you are."

Furious, Hermione bit into her blanket. He wanted to provoke her, humiliate her. He wanted to make her cry again and break her, but she would not let him. If anyone was perverted here, it was himself and his lust for power.

And suddenly she felt him right behind her, hot and hard and more than ready. Involuntarily, her hands tightened in the folds of her blanket. There was no turning back now.

Once, twice, he just ran his cock through her wet centre, then pressed slowly into her.

A deep, animalistic moan escaped Tom and he stopped his movement. Hermione was grateful for the respite, for it was more than clear that her body was not prepared for this unwanted intruder. Hectically, she took a breath, trying to relax, while another part of her demanded that she pressed further into him.

Suddenly Tom's hands clawed at her hips and in one hard movement he thrust into her. A cry of pain escaped Hermione, muffled only by her blanket. Tom, however, took no notice, no sooner had he sunk himself completely into her than he pulled back again to thrust into her with renewed force. Another whimper escaped her lips.

"Who would have thought you were actually still a virgin," Tom moaned without stopping his movement, "You're such an ill-bred, willing beast, I would have thought you would have let someone get to you by now."

Over and over Tom sank into her with a brutality as if he had something to prove to himself. Hermione fought the urge to run from him, tried to force her own body to endure the pain. And yet, behind the pain lay something else. Something rose up from deep within her that Hermione had never felt before. And it frightened her.

"Tom," she pressed out, "stop, please, you ... ah ... that's not ... that's not right."

"You bet it's right, it's perfectly right," Tom replied. The dark tone of his voice told Hermione that Tom had long since ceased to be capable of rational thought.

Desperately, she fought against what was there inside her. She felt Tom inside her, felt the friction, the pain, but she was distracted by that something. It was dark, pitch black and like an endless abyss. She had to hold it back, she could not let it ...

And then she lost the fight.

A sigh escaped her lips and she began to match Tom's rhythm. Passionately she returned his thrusts, mirrored his moans. She wanted more, needed more.

As if he had read her mind, Tom's movements became even harder. His fingers clawed into her and Hermione felt her skin break and she began to bleed in places. But she did not care, what mattered was Tom inside her. What mattered was her surrender.

Her movements became more frantic and her breathing irregular. A tingling sensation that travelled from the tips of her toes to her fingers gripped her whole body. Another moan escaped her throat.

"Come for me, my heart," Tom breathed to her.

And she came.

The tingling grew to a tremor and finally her frantic movements became helpless twitching. With a final, exhausted cry, she gave herself over to her orgasm.

Only peripherally did she catch how Tom continued to thrust into her for a moment, still merciless, still with excessive brutality, then he came too.

He did not linger, but withdrew instantly and slumped against the bedpost, breathing heavily. Hermione herself rolled to her side.

"Now you are mine for good, my love. With every fibre of your being, you are mine," Tom whispered to her. There was no arrogance, no amusement in his voice. He spoke what was a truth, seriously, matter-of-factly.

Hermione knew he was right. But she also knew that Tom was hers as well now.

The much more important question was what this strange feeling was, this black abyss inside her that had opened up. Shuddering, Hermione wondered if it had something to do with the bonds that Tom had tried to loosen from her magical core through the blood rituals.