The Head Boy's Secretary

Continuation of....


Chapter Nine: Of Death and Lust


The divorce subsequently uprooted the family’s life.

The setting was nearly four years ago, on Alice’s eleventh birthday. Together, Riddle and Alice watched a woman gesticulate on the phone. She was in great distress, actually pulling short hairs from her scalp. The pain did not bother her, for another’s pain she knew would be greater. It may have even relieved the woman.

“That’s Evelyn,” said Alice baldly proclaiming her mother, as if on a first-name basis. “My mother I mean.”

Riddle knew this. He was watching again, but this time to view Alice’s reaction.

Eleven-year-old Alice swept across the floorboards to her nightstand where photo frames stood propped up besides a jug of Holy Water.

“How can you be in Rome to see the Vatican? What about your daughter's birthday?"

Evelyn paused, and listened to an explanation.

The younger Alice leaned against the doorframe, listening. Her face was long and sad. Tears dripped down her vernal complexion. She had a yellow bow in her hair and was wearing a polka-dot party-dress with white socks. Her feet were clad in similar Mary Janes like the ones she wore in the present.

Evelyn was screaming again and the small child listened fervently. "You forgot? You forgot your only child's birthday? You bastard! Nothing is more important, not even your devotion to the most high! But clearly you don't believe this, do you?"

The mother listened, all aghast. The father told her that indeed his faith did mean more than his daughter did.

"You're a horrible, despicable man. The lord will make you burn in hell for this!"

She slammed the receiver down. Young Alice softly shut the door, so that it looked like she heard nothing.

And Alice never saw or even heard from her father since. Evelyn told her that apparently he went on missionaries far away from Europe. The last time she'd ever saw him was their day in papal court, where the divorce was finalized.

The man was a vicar named Reginald Whitman. He had been Dean of Holy Trinity church in Cambridge. When he reared Alice he had been in his fifties and sixties, and bald. He believed the divorce from his wife must be accepted by a church, preferably the highest one he could find and it was.

And young Alice gazed at the photos of daddy on the nightstand. For years she'd gaze at them every morning, hoping he'd return. Until she turned thirteen, when like a big girl who puts away dolls, she put away the photos.

Present day Alice became forlorn, too. "That memory still hurts me!"

Riddle thought he understood. This was neglect and he'd gotten his share in the orphanage. Nobody ever paid his birthday mind in the orphanage.

Time went on and the witch, Evelyn became ashamed of marrying a muggle. Privately, Tom Riddle agreed with this shame. Evelyn was the one who most intrigued him. The Head Boy pondered if his mother, Merope Gaunt ever felt a tinge of shame for marrying the bombastic muggle, Tom Riddle Senior.

Riddle saw that the divorce caused an inner struggle in Alice, one she struggled with to this very day. It was between order and disorder. She had tried to make sense from the chaos and confusion, yet it was nonsensical to this day. Alice almost went crazy trying to understand why her mother and father didn't love her enough to stay together. Like most children of separations, she believed she was to blame.

Riddle from all these memories made plans. From Alice's disorderly past, he'd create order for her. It would be an order revolving around death and lust. Its roots would be the emotion of fear.

Years past. One day a letter arrived in the mail. Her father died of typhus fever as a missionary Tibet.

Evelyn threw up her hands with mixtures of loss, relief and anger. She sobbed loudly. The younger Alice squeezed her shoulders tightly.

"I'm here mum. You'll always have me."

Evelyn gathered herself and told her daughter things she'd never known. It was special, womanly advice and she wanted Alice to learn from her mistakes. To never marry the wrong man....and to make sure he was a wizard.

"I was trapped when he lived with us, Alice. Your father was strict with the both of us. He was far too righteous....A god-fearing man. But mostly he wanted us to fear him."

The Alice of the past, was almost the age she was now. This was last summer and Alice had been fourteen like now. Alice's stricken face became horrified with comprehension.

"Mum! How could you? You’re glad he’s gone. You wished death upon my daddy!"

Alice howled out the grief and shock. She felt reduced to a lonely little girl with no father . The Alice of the past felt resentment towards her mother.

Secretly Riddle gloried in mother and daughter's shared despair. It was like their punishment, their comeuppance. For it was really Evelyn's doing that caused the divorce, she had not been a good wife. Behind Riddle’s full lips, a smile was hidden, the teeth bared by a grin.

"Don't marry a man like him, darling. When you're older you'll understand..."

The younger Alice stamped her foot and cried, "I hate you!" The girl ran away to her bedroom.

Riddle chuckled, a low jarring mirth. Present-time Alice turned sharply.

"You think it's funny?"

"Evelyn is the only one who makes sense. However, she erred abominably. Marrying a muggle! She did not believe in the lies of faith that her husband espoused....morals should be loosely regarded - shaped to suit one's agenda."

"Shut-up," said Alice daringly.

Riddle's eyes widened maliciously. He glowered with dangerous fervor. Quietly he spoke, looking down, eyes narrowed. “What did you say to me?"

"I said....Shut-up about my mother and father. You know nothing! Nothing."

Alice was reduced to crying all the pent-up hurt came out again, a wound reopened, bleeding fresh blood. The ties that bound her family were loosely stitched together and they were broke open, releasing pain and confusion.

"Poor Miss Alice," said Riddle sympathetically. And he laid a hand on her shoulder. Surprisingly he didn't chastise his young secretary for talking back. Like when he took her out of the room he held her again.

They were transported out of the past, Alice clutching Riddle's robes.

Back in the present-day office, Riddle leaned against his desk to get eye-level with the girl.

Alice's gray eyes swam with tears and lazily she watched the stone basin, there was the Pensieve swirling her memories. Alice sniffled, and took a step closer to the Head Boy, standing between his parted legs.

"Your mother," spoke Riddle slowly. "Reminds me of my mother. Like Evelyn, she made the mistake of fornicating with a muggle. Do you understand, Alice? She was a powerful witch and married filth with no powers whatsoever."

"Yes," said Alice in a small voice. "I understand, Sir. But Daddy taught me things. He knew the power of faith."

"Lies!" spat Riddle. He collected himself. "I can understand why you hated your mother. It was Evelyn's fault for the divorce. Am I right?"

"I'm glad you understand, Mr. Riddle. You see, for years I've resented my mother for wanting to be freed from my father, her husband. I resented the choices she made!"

Riddle held back his own anger. Instantly he was reminded of his mother's fate. Merope hadn't had a choice. The only way to escape was through drugging a wealthy muggle and seducing him, if only to escape being brought up in an unwanted, derelict home. At least Evelyn had a choice to stay, and yet selfishly chose not to. This was of course the real reason, why young Voldemort was interested in Alice’s story.

"Your mother was a bad wife, Alice. Perhaps she was an infidel and slept with another man. Like..." but Riddle wouldn't divulge that his mother was a whore for wooing Tom Riddle Senior.

"No. No," said Alice, quietly in denial.

Riddle became quiet and spoke again in almost a whisper. "Obedience is the chief virtue of a wife. A wife must learn submission to her husband. If she fails, perhaps the husband should use discipline on the wife, his property. I kind of like the old ways."

"I don't care! That's not what I want for myself." Alice could hardly believe her defiance. But perhaps part of her secretly admired Evelyn?

Riddle became inflamed, almost passionate. "'For the husband is the head of the wife; therefore let the wives submit themselves unto their husbands in everything!'" Quoth the Ephesians 5:23."

Alice gaped at him. "That was one of father's favourite passages in the Holy Book. He read it aloud to me and mum, I suppose to keep her at duties. He was always ordering to be served at beck and call. To cater to his every whim or- or else they’d fight when she wouldn’t listen. Personally, I found everything about their m-marriage awful. I don’t know if I could honor a man like daddy if I was grown and he was my husband…but I loved him and was mostly a good girl when I knew him."

Indeed Tom Riddle had studied the Bible, purely out of intellectual curiosity, not a belief in god or the afterlife or anything. This was when he was about eight to nine years old and had known a priest. The Catholic priest had been helpful in teaching the orphan Latin. But that is a whole other story and we really must get back to this one.

Riddle’s eyes bored into Alice. Her knees shook. “Reginald Whitman knew what he was doing, obviously. His woman clearly needed to learn her place in life. She seemed of a very rebellious sort. She did not like authority. Am I right?”

“I suppose so, Sir,” said Alice blithely.

“Obedience is a virtue for all, but especially for women,” Riddle spoke contemplatively, rolling his wand between his fingers. Alice was becoming nervous, she sensed he was moving onto something…

“I shall teach you obedience, Alice where your father left off…”

Alice felt a stab of malice, pure hatred. Her chin jutted out defiantly, “I don’t need to be taught. Sir.”

He was secretly overjoyed that she was starting to hate him. It made things so much easier…Her hatred he knew would just give him more power.

“Right now you remind me of myself, Alice. Strangely enough, I see you in me. I hated my father…and you hate your mother. Don’t you hate Evelyn for leaving your daddy?”

“I don’t hate mother,” said Alice coldly. “You’re wrong.”

“But you do. How could you not? She lost desire for the man you adored with all your heart. You worshipped him, Alice. The only man who ever showed you the ways of the world and your true place as a subservient female…Wasn’t your father, Mr. Whitman a moral, pious old viccar? He was the man who made you study the psalms on Sunday after he gave the sermon to his congregation.”

“Yes, Sir. Sometimes I didn’t want to sit in my room, reading scripture all day. So after Sunday service, I'd carry on pouting and crying… My naughtiness earned a spanking. Daddy would lay me over his lap. He had a firm hand, I recall. I suppose it was necessary, for the spankings did me much good surprisingly! Discipline kept me an honest, obedient girl.

“Afterwards he’d sit me on his knee. We’d read together. It was strange…but spankings were kind of a way of father and daughter bonding. I know it sounds twisted…But after my tears…Daddy would hold me. I’d know everything was okay. I was safe. I'm sure he'd still be disciplining me with spanking, if he could today. Even though I'm a great girl of fourteen!”

Riddle stared keenly into Alice’s eyes. He had already extracted all this through the many Legilmency opportunities. Truth be told he knew a lot about Alice Whitman even before the Pensieve.

“I shall teach you the art of submission. For a woman, whether witch or not she must succumb to it. It won’t be the same as father and daughter…It will be much more intense!”

Riddle sniggered nastily.

“Yes,” said Riddle his mind made up, and rapidly his imagination whirred with awful, sadistic fantasies that had nothing to do with even the harshest spanking. “You will submit to me. Body and soul…I shall own you, sweet, little pet!”

Alice felt a maelstrom of hatred, anger and rage. She didn’t want to obey Mr. Riddle any further than she must with secretarial duties. Her innocent mind recalled when she obeyed her father. She had loved him and loyally followed him, especially for religious zeal, which she shared. But this young man she didn’t love…. Part of her realized he wanted something mature. Alice knew she wasn’t ready for it yet.

Looking back, she felt sadness and loneliness for she wished she could have her father to comfort her. But he died and went to heaven. She stared at the floor, thinking and Riddle was still watching, waiting for the weakest moment to take action. Alice knew she was alone - she only had the Head Boy to be like a father figure.

Alice briefly noticed the bulge between Riddle’s pants. His robes pushed aside and his legs spread between. But a second later she looked up into his face.

“Sir – I – I know you’re my master as you are my employer…and b-being Head Boy and all, you are very powerful…" Alice paused just then and sideways glanced nervously. There he was wearing a broad, pretentious smile - like Tom Riddle knew something she didn't.

"But why must I take on my emerging womanhood so quickly?..." Alice went on with musing, intellectual banter like a typical Ravenclaw. "I’m hardly ready for submission, other than to my father. But he is dead. Why must I –not quite out of childhood submit? Is it because you’re a man? That’s what I want to know…Why must women be inferior? In the Bible they are socially second-class. Since that is true, are all men, therefore my masters in a sense? If so, I suppose you’re right I must submit to you, because you are the first man who wanted me and I must heed your commands as the Holy Book dictates. But w-why must it be this way?”

Riddle wanted to roll his eyes but he laughed, a laugh of poisoned perfidy. The things Miss Alice believed! Riddle didn’t believe women were necessarily inferior, but had found in most cases that women were less powerful and as his victims, easier to control.

But he would use her perspective to play with her mind. “Yes, Miss Alice. Consider this: When Eve took the apple she did so because the serpent told her to. It seems only natural, that since the beginning of time women do what they’re told to do…Well, most women.”

“Except when women fail to obey…Like my mother. I hope Lucifer doesn’t take her soul. I’m so frightened…” Alice shook with fear, a fear of death and loss. “Especially of going to hell. When daddy spanked me he sometimes said it would cleanse my soul of the sin of my misdeed, the reason I was being punished. That the fire I felt on my bum would prevent me going to the fires of hell in Eternity. I hope so….”

Riddle was faithless. He didn’t believe. But the innermost part of him knew the deepest, darkest fears like death, the great unknown.

“And Sir – what about when God expelled Adam and his woman, from the garden?”

Riddle scoffed, finally impatient with all this talk, of things he secretly didn’t believe, but had only read. “God is an idea. God is nothing but a series of judgments to keep people in their place. Most people need to be guided…told what to do. Even most men. And judgment creates duality…good or evil. But in reality there is no duality between good and evil…there is nothing. Nothing. Only power.”

Alice felt her chest freeze up at these words. What was god, what was faith then? According to Mr. Riddle it would be a lie fed to the masses. Alice was too scared to ask anymore questions. The truth of her Christian heritage was being exposed and ran out the door, and in walked doubt. Alice was losing faith and succumbing to the lies of a sorcerer.

“Now…I will show you what real power is. As beings with magic we are superior to muggles. As a wizard I am…god-like. Remember that. It is the first rule to the rest of our interactions henceforth.”

God-like? That was creepy but Alice assented right away. “Yes, Mr. Riddle.”

Riddle straightened himself, smoothing his robes and walked over to the walls. On them was a mass of gnarled vines that Alice hadn’t noticed. In fact, there were a number of peculiar magical objects in his study.

Alice watched the vines multiply. It was easy to admire the skill with which this young man could wave a wand. And what was more, in the heavy black vestments he resembled daddy in his viccar robes. It made Alice go back to liking the Head Boy again. For Tom Riddle was charming sometimes, and righteous like her father. She was very impressed that unlike any Hogwarts student she’d met, he knew the Bible. For Alice he was becoming something like a holy man of wizards. Tom Riddle may have appeared holy, but in reality he was anything but.

Riddle stood before the knot of gnarled vines and surveyed Alice. Inquisitively, she cocked her head like a young wren, “What type of plants are they, Sir? I've not seen them in the greenhouses.”

“Give me your hands.”

Alice held out her hands. At once he raised his wand.

“Ouch! Oh, that hurts!”

The Episkey spell repaired the bones of Alice’s cracked knuckles. While under isolation, she had of course smashed her hands against the wall in an insane effort to escape.

Alice examined them and smiled. “Oh, oh they’re better. Thank-you, Sir!”

But coils whipped out like vicious snakes and wrapped themselves around Alice’s arms at once.

“Stop! Mr. Riddle what are you doing?”

“Devil’s Snare. You must relax…. If you don’t, you will die…unless I choose to show you the light,” Riddle laughed at his expression. For of course the plant didn’t like light. But he would never show Alice Whitman the light of truth. The truth was that he was going to possess and manipulate his Secretary when she wasn’t working. Like Devil’s Snare, the Head Boy didn’t like the light of truth. He lived in darkness, darkness and lies.

Alice squirmed. She suddenly recalled father preaching to the congregation about the way the devil ensnares wayward Sinners. “Oh why do they call it that? Is it for Satan? Devil’s Snare, I get it and boy does it frighten me.”

The Devil’s snare felt her fear and so did Riddle. Pleased, he sat back and observed the vines put her in bondage, tighter and tighter cords that would strangle her. Her feet were the next to be restrained.

Alice saw a strand go for her throat and she found the courage to be still. Once relaxed Alice was held in the plant, unable to break free. Riddle looked slightly crestfallen, smooth forehead wrinkling.

All her limbs were so tightly bound that she could no longer squirm at all. Riddle took a look at his idea of human bondage with the girl he hated for her love of her parents, especially for loving a father that abandoned her. He patted her like she was animal flesh, like a magical creature brought in to cage for experiments. And that was sort of what he was planning.

“Good girl. Get ready because we’re going to have a good time tonight.”

Alice started struggling again, she felt the plant awaken.

“Please, Sir! Just let me down.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

It was pain beyond anything Alice could believe and impossible to relax when subjected to this mind-blowing torture. She didn’t hear the spell, and wondered what it was. For the Head Boy had cast it non-verbally.

The Devil’s snare lay quiescent, and came alive. It wrapped over her throat. Alice was choking, slowly dying. She was on the precipice of death, feeling thousands of knives prick her skin and suddenly feared death more than ever. What would happen when her heart stopped? What if Tom Riddle was right and God was nothing but an idea…If it would all end.

But there was salvation. Riddle showed mercy. She felt herself, as if detached from body, fall to her knees. It must have hurt cause blood oozed on the flagstones. She had a scrape.

“Relax, little girl….Now listen: I am going to take you. From behind. I want you to relax into it, if you can. I prefer to see girls…and boys relaxed. I want you begging. You shall become a whore like Evelyn or- Because that’s what you’ll be for me tonight…My little girl all grown-up to be a slut. Ha!”

Riddle laughed uproariously and his dark eyes glittered. Alice felt him go on top of her; once again breathing down her neck like when she was studiously bent over work the other days. Something about his presence was electrifying. Was it sex? Alice had no idea, having never done anything sexual. Mum and dad had forbidden it before marriage. Oh what would they think now? She mustn’t dwell on that. She felt the shiver run up her spine, a tingle of radiating power. She almost wanted this….

She waited for him to start, allowing the moment to flow freely. This was interesting and nothing could be more painful than that spell.

Riddle unclasped the skull from his cape and rapidly unzipped his pants. His huge member slithered out like a serpent hopefully sniffing the air.

Riddle slicked it with his masturbation, to make it perhaps a little less painful. But he liked that the girl was still bound by all four limbs. She was totally his property, and it was nice to know she’d been raised to believe she'd become somebody’s property someday. Well, someday came soon...Because that would have to be himself, right now. Never mind marriage!

Slowly he began to hump against the girl. For a long time, Alice was in a state of bliss. She felt the hands of the Head Boy massaging the dimples of her back, and cupping her butt cheeks. It was pleasure, and Alice did realize for a second that it was probably sinful to be fondled…especially for not being married. But she no longer cared about anything but this feeling….

And oh, there was something grazing and sliding over the crevice of her ass. It was his member working and, Riddle was building himself in full preparation for he’d take her rapidly and cum inside that tight little hole.

Finally he began the real work. One strong thrust and he entered. Riddle could feel the flesh tearing; he did not care if it injured.

Alice felt his dick grind inside. She ground her teeth, but could not relax. The plant woke again to attack, but Riddle raised his wand and somehow stopped its interference.

Alice was brave not to scream, but ground her teeth, gnashing them violently. Tears pressed into her shut eyes.

And then it got unbearable, with a mighty push Riddle reached deep within her. To Alice it felt like she needed the toilet. He pushed more and more.

After a moment, the pain subsided and Alice grew accustomed to it. Slowly little tickles of pleasure, of a cock scraping her rectum, made her blush with shame. She felt so very naughty, she knew this was wrong. But she too was evil, she believed, as she liked it.

Alice was raised into the proverbial leapfrog position. She was on the floor, the scabbed knees aching. She was a child, young enough to have scabs from playing on the castle grounds. She thought that her bottom should never be on display, except to be bared for daddy when he'd spanked her all those years ago....

“Do you know how wet you are, trollop? Your thighs are dripping with the juices of your cunt.”

She felt Riddle’s finger check her pussy.

Alice’s face smushed against the floor turned redder still. “Well, Sir….I feel quite naughty for a little girl….I never knew the buttocks could have a man’s cock in there.”

Riddle chuckled humorously at the girl admitting her innocence. There would come a day, he knew that she would have none. He’d be sure to rob her of all innocence, whether of the body, mind, or perhaps even soul.

Alice raised her bum higher, giving the Head Boy encouragement to fuck her harder. Her body felt as low as that of a snake’s, with her belly hanging. Riddle was like a snake, enjoying the exchange of fear.

Alice’s stomach gurgled in protest. Riddle writhed some more, hips swaying in tandem to his cock pulsing in and out, in and out. He could feel the ultimate release building. It would take him to a new high.

The seed spilled into her hole and Alice felt the liquid washing her. She could no longer hold it in. Her muscles recoiled and a large piece of excrement defecated from the hole. It was a typical piece of stool – thick and a healthy brown.

Riddle’s mouth watered at the sight. Sometimes he did have appetite for strange things. It seemed like his horcrux work had made the cravings for all things foul stronger. Of course, nobody knew….

Riddle’s mouth went to her ass, and the shit lying on top. He chewed and munched and devoured it whole.

He finished his meal by wiping the hole clean with his tongue, sliding in. Alice felt it inside again, sore and the tongue was warm, and slippery. Not as rough as his penis. He was a monster with strange tastes and she was glad he enjoyed licking it clean. She never felt so dirty!

Riddle collapsed, heaving on the backside, prone in front of him. His climax made him tired and soon he’d call it a day.

Very quickly he cleaned up.

But Alice wasn’t giving him an easy time. She felt a stirring of grit. A determination to speak her mind. She still knew this was all to be wrong.

“I’m going to threaten, you Mr. Riddle….I'll go and tell Dippet you misuse your secretary. I'll spare our headmaster the details. Don’t worry he won't retch!”

“Headmaster Dippet wouldn’t hear a word of it, you silly, stupid girl!” Riddle was not the least frightened and boredly wiped away the last of spittle and stool. Dippet would never believe that Tom Riddle, the apple of his eye could be capable of this.

“There is pluck in you yet, Missy, isn't there? I thought I saw it stir in you before. Perhaps I misjudged you! I can’t say I like this side of you though. Continue, and I’ll make you as docile as your dear little kitty.”

“My Snarglepuff!" She whined incredulously. "H-how did you know about him? What do you mean you'll make me docile?”

“With a curse to control your every movement…and all your thoughts. But agree to keep reticent and I shan’t Imperiuse you!”

And Alice realized he probably knew plenty of powerful magic and detrimental curses.

He shut the door on her face. The last words she heard was, “Sleep well, Miss Alice.”

But Alice would not. She was once again in the throes of fitful sleep, with the phantoms haunting her. Upon waking, she wondered if Tom Riddle really did know her dreams. He claimed to, when he released her from the room and spoke in that strange riddle.

He said there was things he could do to her. Things normal magic could not perform. Was he telling the truth?

And he had made sure Alice didn’t reach orgasm. And so her first sexual encounter left nothing but horror, depression and confusion.