The Head Boy's Secretary

Chapter Sixteen: Human Transformations


It was one of those stormy afternoons. Depending on how you looked at it the sky was either half-dark or half-light.

Alice was in a somber mood. The darkness enveloped all around like a shroud.

Hogwarts castle loomed over the Scottish hills. Running pell-mell through the grounds, the path drew back to the clock tower courtyard where plum seeds were spat at the Head Boy. It was quite a ways to the library and it was not good to be running late.

The air seemed parched with power, for a storm was brewing. It charged the air with electricity and there was a low grumble of thunder.

Before the cross over the covered bridge, gargoyle statues must be passed. They looked hideous and disgusting in this atmosphere, water sloshing out of their spouts. It only increased her fears of seeing Master Riddle.

It had been easy to relax the Secretary routine on her birthday the other day, especially when getting punished was in the future. But today was a cold and dreary Monday, and it was expected that she'd be prompt as always at four.

She raised her hood to huddle under against the rain. Just as she was coming to the shelter of the inside of the clock tower, a chain that hung loosely round her neck fell.

Momentously, a crucifix landed on the hard stones. Rain splattered it.

Alice lamented the broken clasp. There was not a moment to lose by fixing it!

In loss and desperation, feeling darkness everywhere Alice collapsed and wept. She knew she was in trouble and she prayed that her lord, her god would help.

On her knees, the witch beseeched a divine power. The childish white socks and skirt grew sodden. The wind picked up with a biting draft.

And so continued on her way. There was an annoying squeaking sound as her Mary Janes rubbed against the floors, and she dragged herself closer and closer to the Head Boy’s lair.

At least Alice had finished her favorite book, Dracula. That had been the third time and it was her favourite novel.


****


“How terribly naughty of you, Alice! You're late.”

It seemed as if he'd known she’d be late from the start. The clock had a mechanism to track certain selected people’s movements.

She watched the Head Boy, with that pocket-watch still emanating from his waistcoat. He'd drawled those words, making them sound almost absurd.

“ I –I know. I am so sorry. It shall not happen again, Master Riddle." The voice was that of a meek servant-girl.

Alice just stood unsure with what to do. She kept her head bowed in her hood and tried to look innocent. But it didn’t help that she was dripping like mad. She shivered involuntarily, freezing in wet school things.

And Alice saw Master Riddle didn’t care if she was cold, perhaps so cold he couldn’t notice? Neither was he infuriated.

And the plum seeds! Now that had been very naughty, but Riddle didn’t speak of it. In a flash Alice saw he was not one to bare a mortal grudge over a minor slight. He was stronger. It wasn’t even an issue. Voldemort realized she had not known it was him until after he had turned and revealed himself.

“Incorrigible! Your work is lackadaisical.”

Alice finally looked up with indignation. But before retorting, he seized her sodden arm.

“You are mine!” he seethed, almost hissing like a snake.

“Your Secretary. I understand, Master. Bound to serve you ‘till the year ends.”

Alice tried to employ reason; she foresaw a rage building. Why was he calling her ‘his’? She was not!

Apparently he was struggling in anger, between swift brutal action and explaining what bothered him first.

"How dare you defy me!" he thundered imperiously. His eyes cast down through a long, perfect nose. His dark eyes, the dark hair resembled a thundercloud. "You defied me by your refusal to come last Saturday. It shall not happen. I do not tolerate defiance easily."

"It was disobedient of me. I was wrong. I know it is my duty to obey as your humble servant. I hope you will be fair-"

Riddle had not liked the flirtation that took place that afternoon either yet he didn't say anything directly. How he knew of it was because he knew Alice Whitman better than he was letting on. It sounded like this witch was a potential slut. Sure, maybe she was just starting out innocently with boys. But as a woman with men, she could ruin lives. It was after all; part of what ruined Riddle’s.

“Before we commence proper duties…You will perform a certain service for me,” he said with passionate relish. Alice knew it’d be violently sexual.

Somehow the girl’s body was hurled to the floor, laid prone. It happened so quickly with a spell. Next, Alice felt warm all over, and thought it must be Riddle’s body on top.

But no it was just her clothing, steaming warm and clean, which was small relief. It could not assuage the pain to come within moments.

Her backside was exposed again, and Alice felt this young man’s breath. Sex, wine, and cologne was smelled.

Riddle looked on at that tight little hole, spreading gradually upon entering. This was sweet revenge, against her impudence. His Secretary deserved pain.

Alice screamed at the force of it exploding into her once again. She could not relax the muscles, held in a coil of fear there was no way to.

Alice felt used and consumed for pleasure, she was his instrument. The mere conduit to get the work done, and give the Head Boy more time for private study.

Property, Alice was thinking. Her body, maybe her soul was on a leash.

Riddle paused in the exertions. There was a peculiar change in breathing, the limbs suggestive. She was sweating, and the stench of female masturbation wafted up off that cursed clitoris!

Was it possible Miss Alice was enjoying the rape and usage of her?

Thrust. Release. Thrust. Release. It wore on this way for minutes.

Alice was in chains. Chained like a book on the shelves of the Restricted Section.

Yanked back and forth with each thrust, the dick was the chain, and she was the chattel. Alice enjoyed the sensation, when she thought of it that way. She’d always desired to be a man’s property as a main goal in life to be married. She believed with all her heart that wives and children were property of the husband. Alice loved the feeling of being owned even if by a being she was quickly growing to detest.

More sweat gleamed on her shoulders. Her nerve endings felt a wonderful tickle, a vibration. Breathing changed, and Alice was almost writhing in building ecstasy.

More thrusts pulled her closer to him. Closer and closer. Closer and closer to a cosmic oneness, a god-like feeling. But it was so confusing! Who was the god? Was this the entity Tom Riddle who had powers like a god or was it something else more religious? Was Riddle a dark Holy Mystic? The thoughts made Alice tremble.

Something huge moved inside. Was this normal? Alice didn’t know, but there was a stranger inside. It wasn’t his male member, she was sure of it. This was indeed that divine, dark feeling.

He’d penetrated so far that Alice felt he knew all her secrets. Tight pain, cold and freezing again but of course no longer rain-soaked it made no sense.

She shivered as if laid on a sheet of ice. Was she shaking from a building climax or was it this lonely coldness?

Something evil was rising like a snake, and it was intriguing. Alice did not know that this entity, Tom Riddle was using possession.

He relinquished hold over the girl’s languishing body. And saw what it caused in the girl.

Riddle had denied orgasm. Orgasm could have made the ordeal so much better.

“Ah, pain aroused you? Didn’t it?”

Alice refused answer, but realized it must be true. No longer dripping with raindrops, she was dripping with the wet of her juices.

Slowly the two gathered themselves together, and Riddle went to sit at Alice’s desk. He reviewed the Hogwarts Arithmancy books.

“Skiving off on duties, I see. Several mistakes, Alice. Tut. Tut.”

“Master – I shall work harder. Please don’t punish me, Master!”

“I shall decide what to do in a moment, Alice,” said Riddle dangerously.

He studied the accounts more. “Let me tell you….Headmaster Dippet, mistakenly believes it is I who draws the school accounts. He complained of the mistakes. I was dismissed as he thinks this was due to my Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. They were actually your blunders! I should have reviewed your work. But I have grown careless and neglectful….And you have grown ever the more lazy!

“I have decided you shall spend the weekend in an extended detention. Yes, the Head Boy will once again issue a detention! It is a surprise just how you will pass the time, Alice dear. Firstly-“

But before going on, Alice capriciously interrupted these edicts. “NO! I won’t!”

And Alice stamped her foot.

And Riddle raised his wand, casting a malignant charm.

Alice’s thighs wobbled, knees knocked together and legs felt turned to jelly. It was the Leg-locker Curse, or a euphemism for Jelly-legs Jinx. She tried to stand up to him, and now would be punished even more than detention for it.

Riddle imperiously regarded his Secretary with an awful smirk.

He patted his thigh.

“Come here….Over my knee. So I may give you a good hard spanking!”

Riddle laughed coldly, as this was hardly worth it. But Alice Whitman responded well to spankings. She'd been brought up with them.

Alice hopped over to him, humiliated at the indecency. Alice stood before his lap, and saw he was waiting for her to submit.

And so slid into place, it felt like his lap was a deep, dark abyss as she sank onto it. His robes, a sea of black.

Spanking was not much of a pleasure to Voldemort in reality. But being aware it influenced Alice, it must be done. A spanking would remind her he was authority, and daddy was no longer here. The girl needed a reminder to be kept in line. The deliberate disobedience of the last few days had been too much.

Alice felt better once she consented to it, alarmingly content as a kitty in her owner’s lap. It was a familiar punishment that made her feel safe. Even though it would surely hurt.

A volley of smacks rained down and he said mean and sarcastically, "Whose your daddy now?"

Alice winced in pain and tried not to whimper. Daddy was much kinder than this man! She wished daddy could be here, and daddy didn't always discipline. He'd loved her. This man it seemed didn't love anything.

Riddle struck her bottom and the tops of her thighs as hard as he could, seething with hatred for her. "I asked, whose your DADDY now?!"

"You are...."

And he rained smacks down again and again with barely a second between. It was the most excruciating spanking Alice had ever got.

Master Riddle did not care about one’s tolerance for pain. And he wanted to end the spanking.

Alice’s small, pert lobes grew as red and taut as cherries, mottled and nearly bruised. Making it worse, Alice could not kick under the curse; her legs were firmly clamped together.

But the tears came and she sobbed. She remembered how he said he hated crying so. Maybe it would make Master Riddle stop sooner.

But it lasted more than quarter of an hour.

There was no rest after he ended the spanking, and no warning. It came rapidly.

All at once, her frame was slinged over his shoulder, upside down. Alice kicked and screamed, for the Leg-locker Curse had worn off just then.

Riddle paid the protestations no heed. Soon there would be calm by the next punishment. It was a very creative one, and Riddle inwardly congratulated himself for thinking it.

He hauled his Secretary to his work station, where he sat again, and threw Alice down. She landed as a heap, her limbs tangled awkwardly.

Before protestations could continue, he placed a powerful silencing charm on her throat. It would last for hours and hours.

Riddle tapped his wand, a calculating look on his face. And the wand whirled and within seconds a transfiguration.

He had done the deed and placed her in the position she would be in all weekend as so-called detention.

She was in a strange form, and Alice didn’t know what he’d done to her. Her feet and hands were the ends of it, and her face was facing the floor. She could not see Master Riddle’s awful glee.

Her body felt disproportionate and misplaced. Indeed it was. Her hands and feet were reduced in size. She was less than two feet tall!

“Whenever there isn’t work, I shall make you my personal footstool.”

So that was the form she’d taken. It was complex, dangerous magic. If the Transfiguration hadn’t been smooth, she could have been hurt!

Riddle smiled with pleasure and ran a hand over the human skin that formed a cushion. It was two plumped lobes, buttocks expanded in size, as if stuffed, to be extra comfortable for the Head Boy.

Riddle chuckled with sickening mirth residing in his stomach. He stroked and petted the human furniture, thinking he’d have to dust.

“You do make one excellent footstool. But you might need dusting yet!”

He wasn’t really serious about dusting, just jesting.

And Alice knew in that moment she hated this mockery, and hated him. True, he was full of charisma but it was deceptive and in reality a cruel illusion.

Alice cringed with what little movements she could make, for what he said she could have trembled at, if she could.

A gentle hand brushed over her buttocks, petting the tender skin. “For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

‘There he goes spewing forth the old Good Book again!’ She thought angrily. Right now, Alice felt as humbled as a body turned to dust in the grave.

Riddle sat at his chair, and spread his legs, placing his large feet on the footstool that was Alice.

The propped up buttocks and fleshy tops of the thighs served as cushions. Feet and hands were at the ends of stalwart limbs as the stool's legs. Her face was curled underneath, where there was nothing to see but the plain floor. The rest of the flesh was compacted. The chest, back and stomach area was stacked one on top of the other.

But at least the little girl’s cheeks were rosy from his spanking, thought Riddle happily. Those rosy cheeks were like velvet upholstery with a flowered pattern of roses. It was sort of aesthetically pleasing to Voldemort, especially for all its cruelty.

Riddle spent the night with the transfigured Secretary and studied the upcoming NEWTs. His prodigious feet remained ensconced on the Ottoman.

The rest of the weekend, he studied his own type of human transformation. Or rather transforming from human to inhuman by means of Horcruxes.

Alice remained nearly the whole time in footstool form, at least fully in possession of faculties. It gave time to think about this hideous monster. She really hated him now, and would no longer be polite. He didn’t deserve respect, even if he was a man.

But was he a man really? He seemed more a supernatural being, like a monster.

He kicked Alice around and let her eat and go to the bathroom during lunch break once a day, and then it was back to being a footstool.

Alice remained beneath him, in the base position, treated so inhumanely. There was nothing to do but contemplate things, staring morose and listless at the floor.


NOTE: I got the idea from Half-blood Prince, when Slughorn transformed himself into an armchair? Well why not this footstool! What a grisly sight!