The Demon of Broderick Bode

I could see the fear in my eyes as I walked slowly towards myself, Time-Turner hanging heavily around my neck, weighing me down, choking me. I can already see a bruise swelling up on my cheek; and I force myself not to look at the rest of the naked torso displayed in front of me. I don't want to anticipate the pain. She looks at me as I walk towards myself, an evil grin playing across her face. She looks at my body. She can see what is to come. She probably already knew.

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It all started a couple of years ago. Lying beside my beautiful wife Natalie, she turned to me, her post-sex lips aglow and swollen.

"Broderick, I want a threesome."

She left it hanging in the air. Her expression was unfathomable, but her eyes were dancing, waiting to see how I would respond. I was flabbergasted. Why would she want someone else? What was I doing wrong? Had I not just been between her legs for the last half-hour licking and teasing and squeezing until she came? So I replied with the first thing that came to my head,

"With who?"

She giggled and turned over, showing me the creamy white skin of her back, wide shoulder blades, matching wide hips, and that sensual valley in-between that is her waist. I could still see the marks on her body from where her corset had dug into her flesh. She tossed her bouncy, black hair over her shoulder seductively.

"Well, I was thinking...you."

Now that confused me.

"Me...and who else?"

She turned her head and looked at me coyly, fluttering her overlong lashes and raising her pencilled on eyebrows.

"Just you, and you. I remembered you telling me about those 'Time-Turner' things and it got me thinking. Wouldn't you like to try that?"

And that's how it all started. Every weekend I would sneak home a time-turner from the Department of Mysteries and use it to pleasure my wife in ways I had never even dreamed of. I used to thank the gods that Time-Turners had been invented: there is nothing quite so breathtakingly sexual as fucking your wife hard from behind as you watch her give your past or future self a blowjob. Except maybe being that past or future self.

I couldn't tell you the moment it turned nasty. We'd always have a little game of slap-and-tickle before letting ourselves go. She was always the more dominant, flipping us over so she was astride me every night; bouncing on my hard cock, forcing me further and further inside herself. It's true that she used to bite my nipples just a little bit too hard, and she did scratch just a little bit to deep; but I never, ever, knew that it would result in this. I never knew what she was capable of.

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I gulp as I walk towards myself. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this to myself. But I can't change it, it's already happened. I am going to do this. There's no such thing as freewill after you start playing around with time. I know it's already happened because I can still feel the whip marks on my back, tugging at my skin every time I move. Hell, I can still taste myself in my mouth. I can see it in his eyes; he knows it's about to happen because he can see me. So where is the choice? There is no such thing as freewill. Only her will.

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I am attached to what can only be described as a torture frame. My legs are chained at the bottom and my arms are chained at the top. Magically chained of course, she doesn't want any chance of me escaping. She calls in the Pleasure-frame. I call it hell.

He walks towards me, looking nervously at Natalie. She smiles and nods slowly; her eyes are thin and surrounded by thick, dark make-up, boring into my soul. It's not a look that suits her. Devil-woman dressed all in red and black. He looks back at me and closes his eyes, kissing me on the mouth deeply. I kiss back; I know what happens when I don't. He tastes like sweat and salt; I know that taste. I taste like onion soup, but I don't find that out for another hour. I hear her sigh; she likes seeing us kiss. I take him in my mouth more; it's not pleasurable. There's no passion here, just obligation and awkwardness. I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore.

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I pull away from the kiss and lick his lips slowly. I imagine he is her, back when she was younger and beautiful. I move down his neck past the light stubble, caressing his swollen Adam's apple and rubbing my hands over his hair-covered chest. So there goes that fantasy anyway. He shudders at my touch, and I know it's not in pleasure. She seems to think it is though and that is all that matters.

"Oh yes Brody, touch yourself, feel yourself, I want to see you touch yourself."

The room is small, furnished only with her chair and the frame. The floor is wooden, and coated with a thin layer of dust; she doesn't clean it and I don't go in this room unless I have to. It's cold in here; she keeps it cold. I think she likes the way I shiver after she strips me, and the way my nipples perk up when exposed to the chilly air.

I take a glance at her. She is laid back on her chair and, having removed her black lace panties, is revealing all to me. I can see the neatly trimmed triangle leading down to her nether-lips; pink flesh already glistening with moisture. This at least gets me slightly in the mood, albeit in the most animalistic and basest way possible. She is circling her clit with one finger now. I look back at myself and move my hands to his nipples, licking and biting them gently. I know I like that, and I need myself to like it otherwise she will get mad. I know she will get mad.

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Mmm yeah. I like it when she licks my nipples. I keep my eyes closed; that way I can imagine it's her. Even though I can feel my fingers on my chest, hard and rough, unlike hers. Hers are light and soft with razor-like talons protruding from the end of each finger. Blood red. They are painted blood red today. I hear a creak: the beast has arisen.

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Fuck, I should've known that was going to happen; I saw it happen just one hour ago! I am sprawled painfully across the floor. She knocked me down with some sort of hex. She is kissing my past-self hard on the lips, staining me red. I couldn't tell you whether it was blood or lipstick. She turns and points her wand at me. I feel invisible hands grabbing at my limbs, pulling and dragging. The sensation stops when I find myself in front of myself. He is aroused now; I don't know how she does it. Demon woman.

"Go on then."

I do, I know what she wants. Positioned here, on my knees in front of myself. So I go on.

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He looks up at me, a strange look in his eyes; a warning perhaps? I gasp as he takes me in his mouth and I shudder involuntarily. I look down at him again, a questioning look on my face. His eyes are closed tight. I don't even see her fist come towards my face before it makes contact, a thousand explosions taking place at once in my cheekbone. My head whips back, my mouth hangs open.

"Concentrate."

He knew that was going to happen. Maybe it wouldn't have if he hadn't have looked up at me just then. See? There is no freewill. It's just a circle of consequences. You shouldn't mess with time.

So I concentrate. I close my eyes and try to enjoy the sensations. He is rough with me. It's hardly surprising. I blame myself for getting myself into this mess. I blame myself for marrying her.

I think it was her that encouraged me to join the Death Eaters. I mean, she didn't say anything, but she never said I shouldn't. I thought after I'd joined up that she would respect me more, or that maybe I'd respect myself more and stop playing her games, giving into her whims. But no, they are just as bad as I am, bullying each other and other people to make up for their own weaknesses. To make them feel big and in control for once in their sorry little lives. And again, I find myself in the hands of a cruel and merciless master, battered and bruised, mentally and physically for his own personal enjoyment. Fuck. I hate my life, when did I become such a walkover?

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She pulls me away from him and he opens his eyes, confused. Oh shit, I know what is going to happen now. She sits on her chair again, hooking her legs over the arms revealing all between her perfect thighs, hitching up her long velvet skirt above her hips. I see her swollen clit throbbing. At least I know I can do this. I need to concentrate on this because I know what she is about to do to him...and I don't want to remember. She grabs my hair and forces my face between her legs. My tongue quickly finds her clit and I start to lap at it, swirling my tongue just the way she likes it, but gently, gently to start with. I don't want to displease her. But I don't want to please her; I know what she does when she's pleased.

Crack

He screams. I shut my eyes tighter. I feel the echo of his pain on my back, the deep welts in my skin still stinging, still tingling. Still dripping blood slowly down my back. She gasps and he screams again. God I wish I could get this over with.

"Crucio"

This time I stop to breathe for a second. She doesn't seem to notice; her attention is fixed on my writhing body on the other side of the room. Her face distorts in a twisted and sickening pleasure. Sometimes I don't think that it would surprise me at all if the Dark Lord were to lower his hood one day to reveal her face.

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The pain - the pain is unbearable. I can't breathe. I'm falling, sinking, dying.

It stops, but the deep gashes on my back now feel ten times worse. My struggling when under the Cruciatus curse must've caused them to rip open further. I can feel blood oozing down my back.

Crack

I scream, I can't help it. She has that control over me. I can hear her breathing deeply and gasping in pleasure. I'm not sure if it's from the proficient cunnilingus he is giving her or whether it's from the pain she's causing me. I let out a rasping sob; it stings. A tear trickles down my face, and I can't wipe it away. It follows the deep lines in my face, sinking into the hollows that are my cheeks. I accidentally glance at my future-self's back and I almost cry out. She's not done with me yet. And I know there is nothing, absolutely nothing that I can do to stop her.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

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There is a plot to steal a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Apparently the Dark Lord thinks it will help him defeat the Potter brat. I don't really care about his reasons - I've volunteered to do it. Oh don't get me wrong, I know exactly what will happen when I try to take it. It's my only way out. I...can't get out any other way. Death terrifies me. Natalie has drummed it into me for too long that I'm too weak, too pathetic to be able to take my own life. She's right. This is my only way out. Maybe I'll be happy. Maybe they'll give me my own little room in St. Mungo's where I can live the rest of my life in a beautifully ignorant bliss.

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I regain consciousness slowly. It feels like someone has stuffed a pillow inside my head with my brain. My back feels like it's on fire, but I know it's not. I've woken up on fire before; it's a slightly different sensation. My muscles are aching like hell, what is going on? I open my eyes and blearily take in my surroundings and my situation.

Fuck.

I quickly realise I must've passed out while being subjected to the Cruciatus curse. I know that because I tend to jerk violently after passing out, and my wrists and ankles appear to be cut to shreds. The chains must've cut through my nerves, because I can't feel it. Damn my wizarding blood! If I had been born a muggle I would be dead now; I would be free. Blood drips down my arm towards the crook of my elbow. I'm not squeamish but that almost makes me pass out again. It tastes like I've been chewing on metal. Maybe I have. I sneak a quick glance at Nat and myself. She doesn't seem to notice, or care, that I've regained consciousness. Maybe I should play dead for a while. I close my eyes and loll my head.

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This is around the time my past-self regains consciousness. I frown slightly because I know what is about to occur. I don't know why I did that. Her eyes snap open and she looks automatically over at him. Fuck so that's how she knew. I need to be subtler with myself! She growls and stands up, kicking me to the floor as she goes. I don't mind, I need to lie down and get my breath back. My muscles still ache from her attack earlier, and I don't want to see what she does to me next. People should never have to go through this hell, let alone twice in one go.

She's walking over to him now, so silently she could almost be gliding. He won't know she's there until her knee is embedded in his ball sack. Good job she's not the world's strongest woman. I've almost recovered now. I feel for him though. His eyes will be watering now and a high-pitched squeak will be all he will be able to emit. Yes, there it is; I can hear it. I feel his eyes rest on my body and I surreptitiously give him a thumbs up to reassure him that I am ok. I knew she wouldn't see.

She will be ravishing him by now; biting his nipples and scratching at his chest and stomach, craving release. She is about to push the frame over and crack my head on the ground, leaving me dazed on the floor as she fucks me senseless. At least I'm safe, for now.

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My head! I groan out loud.

"That's it Brody, enjoy it! Enjoy me! Fuck me Brody! Harder!"

Oh fuck, she's on me. I look up at her, her tits escaping from her corset as she bounces up and down on my cock. Her hand is between her legs, touching herself as she fucks me. God this woman is insatiable! She slaps me in the face and I respond by thrusting into her in time with her motions. She gasps and cries out loud, throwing her body down on mine, sucking and biting on the soft flesh of my neck. She will draw blood; I saw it on my future self.

God I hate this woman. I didn't realise it was possible to hate another person so much. And yet I love her so much, I really do. I was always told about the thin line between love and hate, but I didn't realise quite how thin it was. I know I'm a foolish weakling. She tells me so; but sometimes when she looks at me I see the old Natalie, my Natty, the girl who used to dance with me. The girl that used to look coyly up at me from behind her books or her cauldron. The quick-witted Natalie that would laugh at my jokes and tell me that she would love me forever. Maybe she still does love me. She says she does. This isn't how love is supposed to be.

Her fingernails tear into the flesh of my stomach. I barely feel it; I just pray that this is all over soon. I put all my final efforts into thrusting into her. She screams and finally climaxes, tightening rhythmically around my cock as she comes. She sighs, a flicker of a smile playing across her lips. As the throbbing dies down, she opens her eyes. She gets up slowly and carefully, easing me out from inside her. It's over for now.

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I hear her walk across the room towards me. I wondered when she was going to remember I was here. She turns me onto my back and straddles me, lying down on top of my body and resting her head on my chest. Her breath is deep and the fabric of her corset top feels good against my skin. She lifts her head and bends down to my ear, stroking my face softly.

"I love you baby, thank you. I love you."

"I love you too."

Am I a sucker? Yes. But that was all I ever wanted, all I ever needed, ever since I met her years ago. Just to feel her here, holding me, loving me, needing me. I awkwardly put my arms around her, grimacing at the pain. If I close my eyes I can forget, forget everything that just happened, and be content to hold her here. She sighs happily.

"Go to bed, darling. I'll be there in a minute."

I wait for her to remove herself. She yawns extravagantly before finally standing up straight. I slip myself awkwardly from between her feet and stand. I don't look at myself, still attached to the frame on the floor. He would be ashamed of me, running back to her after this whole ordeal. For him it's not over yet. I avert my gaze and concentrate on leaving this room for the bedroom. I hear him almost sob as I go. I flinch at the sound. I step over the threshold and leave him to his fate.

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She points her wand sleepily at me and mutters an incantation. The chains spring open and I immediately curl into a ball, clutching my ruined wrists to my chest and gasping as my muscles protest at the sudden movement. She tells me to get up and I numbly submit to her request. She takes a vial from a zipped pocket in her skirt and tips it down my throat. I shudder at the taste. It is a mild healing formula that also gives the consumer energy and increases their awareness. Perfect. Now I'm more aware of my injuries. At least my wrists aren't bleeding anymore.

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I sit on the bed in our room. I drink deeply from a potion that's ready and waiting for me by the bed, easing my pain and closing my wounds. I feel sleepy suddenly.

Am I such a bad person to let her do that to myself? I make my own choices; I must suffer the consequences.

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I always imagined that one day I would be able to destroy her in this same way. You know, going back in time. It would be quite simple really, I have it all planned out. I would spend a morning at work making sure I was with someone the whole time; it wouldn't be too hard as Croaker and I spend most of our work days in each other's company anyway. All I would have to do is sneak outside at some point and travel back in time an hour, go to our house and murder her quickly and efficiently before returning to work and pretending that nothing had happened. Simple really; and I would have the perfect alibi. But I don't kid myself, I know I would never be able to actually go through with it. She's a much more competent witch than I am a wizard. She may even be expecting me to do this already. I know she performs Legilimency on me when I sleep. She knows things. But the image of her falling back on the floor, with her mouth slightly open and eyes wide: that image is mine. I imagine stroking her face, shutting her eyes and kissing her mouth one last time. Just to say goodbye.

But this is only a little boy's fantasy. This little boy will never grow the balls to actually go through with his little plans.

I take the Time-Turner around my neck and watch numbly as she sends me back an hour in time. Oh when will it all end?

I hate her.