The Portal of Epoh (Behind The Blindfold Pt.2)

A quick thanks to LadyBlueEyes, and Snapes_Goddess for thier help with this, S_G, you saved me LOL. Also a shout to ScaryBearHair, for whom Tom wants to strip naked.
Hehe.


This part of the series deals with asphyxiation as part of a sexual nature. Also this chapter features a M/F/M scene, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please turn away now.


The Portal of Epoh




For most of his life, Voldemort had pondered on the power of love. Even as a young boy under Dumbledore’s watchful eye, he had wondered what all the fuss was about. What was so great about love? Love made you do idiotic things, warped peoples beliefs, and befuddled the mind. Love was a meaningless and silly emotion in the eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle. How could love possibly benefit him? He was the most powerful Dark Lord the Wizarding World had ever seen. Not that there had ever been a plausible Dark Lord before him, apart from the inferior Gellert Grindelwald, who was taken down by the Muggle loving fool, Dumbledore. Rumour had it that the two had been lovers in their day; it seemed love did not stop Dumbledore from standing against him.

Love did not save a person the way Voldemort had expected, a mother standing in front of a baby had robbed him of his physical body, but not of his soul. Yet when he had attempted to kill again, that first murder after his resurrection, he found himself hesitating. The sheer devotion of the couple that cowered before him galled him. He found no pleasure in taking the lives that sat before him. It felt like a menial kill, not one of vengeance or worth. Voldemort vowed that day to investigate love, and it is ever bothersome consequences.


It was a most peculiar feeling, that of triumph. It had been a long and laborious war, filled with death, mayhem and those things in-between. He had lost many an important servant during those long blood filled years, which still every now and again, brought a smile to his face. That war had been his crowing glory, and glorious it was. He had savoured the experience of taking down Harry Potter, and had drained every ounce of pleasure from the feeling of finally being free.


While most had thought him to be the one who was mainly at fault, few really knew of the involvement of a certain twinkle-eyed headmaster. As much as he loathed Potter, he knew the boy had been a pawn of nothing more than half a century of mistrust and dislike from his former Transfiguration teacher. It often crossed his mind that something had been amiss with the situation of which he had found himself a part of.


Never the less, the prophecy had indeed fallen into place. In addition, as the saying goes, neither could live while the other survived. He considered Potter to be a casualty of war, the boy did not really need to die, he had been given the chance many years go to come forth and be at one with his greatness. Nevertheless, like the Dumbledore groomed pet that he was, he had chose to fight, against a wizard of superior intellect, and with an unlimited knowledge of the Dark Arts. He never stood a chance, poor green-eyed fool.


Therefore, he ruled; ruled the Wizarding World with an iron fist and a cold heart. Given the choice of whether to conform to rule or to be put to death, some people can be surprisingly compliant. He had over 20 members of the Order of the Phoenix, under his watchful eye. Including a Miss Hermione Granger. What a bright spark she turned out to be! A fantastically talented witch, of supreme intellect. However, there was always something that caught his eye whenever it came to that bushy haired little Mudblood.


He supposed it had started when he first laid eyes on her, her pretty little face, flushed and dirtied from the fracas that had taken place in the Room of Death. His stomach had clenched in the most peculiar way when she looked at him, he had seen a slight quirk to her lips, as she looked him from head to toe. He thought for a second his glamour had slipped, until he saw the bone whiteness of his spider like hands.


He could hardly detect an ounce of fear when they had faced each other once again at the final battle. She had stood defiant next to Potter, her smirk faint but noticeable. When Potter cast the killing curse at his person, he had staggered a little, before standing back up to his full height. Potter looked a little dumfounded. He supposed he should not have really taunted him about the Horcruxes, but Potter needed to hear how he had failed. Did people really believe him to be that stupid? Seven Horcruxes? They would never be enough. There would always be one idiotic wizard who fancied himself to be the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, and he was not about to stand for that! So Voldemort had fashioned another two including a spectacularly hidden eighth Horcrux, hidden somewhere where nobody would ever think to look.


He could hardly blame Potter for finally believing that he could take him down, after all he had been brainwashed to the maximum by Dumbledore. Did the boy wonder really think the destruction of the pieces of his soul would go un-noticed? Surely not, a Horcrux was a powerful piece of magic, connected to the maker at all times.


Voldemort was pulled from his thoughts when a warm hand came to rest upon his bare stomach. He heard a small sigh of contentment, before the resuming of shallow breathing. He looked down and a warm feeling flooded him, a feeling that still slightly appalled him whenever it crept upon him like a lost Nifler in a dusty attic. He had truly come to adore the wonderful creature that slept beside him, his gloriously beautiful wife. He remembered how he had seduced her into submission, obscuring her sight and heightening the rest of her senses.


She had come to him a pretty innocent girl, and blossomed into a lust driven woman. He could describe the feelings her screams of ecstasy inspired within him, each and every one made him want to bellow with triumph. HE had claimed Potter’s prized Mudblood as his own, he had wedded and bedded the little hell cat before Potter could even blink. Out of all his plans, this one surely had been the best. He had never intended to become so infatuated with the girl, but then again his wife had a way of charming the birds from the trees so to speak.


The feelings this little wanton inspired within him made him question many things about himself. Surely the validation that came with being a ruler, overpowered his every sense of self-doubt? Evidently not. He still had niggling doubts about the most trivial of things; each more mundane that the last. It was not that he worried about much these days; he had people to that for him. No, it was the boredom that got to Lord Voldemort. He would spend hours just wondering about what the future held for him and his Lioness. Every now and then, his wife would catch him staring into space, a vacant look etched upon his face.

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It was one of those mornings he deduced when a warm hand wrapped round his flaccid cock. He felt the laborious breathing of his little Mudblood on his neck as she pressed her lips to the sensitive skin underneath his ear. He shuddered when he felt her tongue dart out and lick the length of his neck, coming to a halt, as she took his earlobe in her mouth. She squealed as he pounced on her pining her beneath him, his forest green eyes glowing brightly with desire. She bucked erratically as he ground into her, biting her lip to keep an errant moan from slipping from her plump lips.


Her blazing desire had never faltered since the day he removed the blindfold, of which he had used every time he had feasted upon the fruits of her flesh. The blindfold for him signified an erotic sense of blindness; she was at his mercy in the most carnal of ways. It excited him far more than he wanted to admit. Her sweet pleas for mercy were like spurs of encouragement; every whimper, every sigh pushed him to tweak her buttons until she snapped.


He wanted her so badly, he felt as if he was bewitched. A voice in his head screamed for him to spread her thighs and drink her sinful ambrosia until he was drowning in it. Another pleaded with him to hoist her onto all fours and plunge himself inside her silken cavern. A feat, which only he alone could ever do. He would have no other touch his wife.


He desired her more than he had ever desired anyone before; not even Bellatrix could compare to the feel of Hermione clenching and contracting around him, practically choking him. Her sheathe felt like heaven on earth; not that he believed in all that Muggle garbage, it just sprung to mind when he thought of his wife.


He kissed her lips savagely, tasting her delectable flavor and leaving her breathless. He hadn’t even entered her and she was crying out…Ah, that little old thing called Sex Magic was a remarkable sight. He pinched her nipples harshly and her back arched off the bed. Her buds became swollen and tight as he unleashed wave after wave of stimulation toward her core. Oh yes, he was enjoying this so very much. The sadistic smirk upon his face was proof. He bared his teeth at his wife and she laughed brokenly, too caught up in the heat.


He wrapped his hands around her throat and pressed down hard as he entered her; groaning aloud when the scorching heat of her cunt gripped him in its boiling grasp. She cried out as he clamped down on her airway, and he could feel the excitement flowing through him as she came violently around him. He hadn’t even moved within her; yet she had still shot off like a rocket as her need over came her. His wife was a dirty little witch, and together they enjoyed a variety of sexual sports, but the one they were currently experiencing was by far the best.


Her nails raked hellishly down his back and he bit his lip, tasting blood as he pushed himself to resist giving her what she wanted most. She wanted to see him raw, unleashed in his wildness as he tore through her, fucking her into submission. Yet he would not give in; his will would not allow him. He knew no weakness.


He shifted, withdrew and entered her again; the slapping of their skin the only sound within their room. He took her without mercy, knowing it excited her. He bit her, marking her as only he would. The tanginess of her blood made his head spin; the feeling of euphoria spread through him as he pushed through her orgasm. His little hellcat was a kinky madam, and he relished every single inch of her.


The scent of her release drove him wild, and he pounded into her; throwing her legs over her head and losing himself within her. She was quivering around him yet again, and her essence was dripping onto her bottom, and smearing on his thighs. He roared as his release gripped him tightly. He flooded her pussy as he came, and thrust deeply as his cock shuddered, the head pounding in exhaustion.


He practically fell on her; the ebbing intensity of his release subsiding slowly. He reached out to touch her, and felt the warmth of her hand pushing back his raven hair off his forehead. He smirked, knowing his wife still could not get enough of touching him made him feel like he was invincible. He craved those touches, that look in her eyes.


However, lately he had noticed his wife’s attention slipping; she was spending an awful amount of time wandering through Hogwarts, where they now resided. He also found her playing a lot with the piece of his soul that she held around her neck; a Jade necklace in the shape of a large oval, which he had, took from his father’s mother. It hung on an ornate platinum chain, which hung to just above Hermione’s breasts. He knew that through the Horcrux he had a connection to her, almost like a muggle tracking device. He had to know where she was, at all times.


He had no qualms about being a control freak, it was his nature.


Therefore, when she rose late in the day, he paid no heed as she showered and dressed while he lay, back just watching her. She moved effortlessly, charming her hair, slipping on her satin pumps and sashaying out of the door to their apartments. He whispered a spell to activate the Horcrux, and he felt the slight pulsing as his wand span, and pointed toward the door. He dressed hastily and used his fingers to smooth down any stray strands. It just would not do to be seen looking anything less than immaculate. He smiled at himself in the mirror as he took in his appearance. He was a fine specimen of a wizard, even if he did say so himself; as did many of his former conquests. Well, those who lived anyway.


He stepped out of his chambers as his wand thrummed in his hand. He was right; Hermione had found the hidden eighth Horcrux. He just did not understand how she had gained access to it. It was buried deep within the Chamber of Secrets, and only a parselmouth could open the Chamber. However, he knew the temperamental state of this certain Horcrux could cause it to…differentiate from the others. He had been a foolish boy when he had first created the duplicate Horcrux, and had irrationally created an alternate way for his soul to co-exist. While Dumbledore had the mirror of Erised, Voldemort had the Portal of Epoh. It was a perfectly preserved copy of Hogwarts in 1944.


While at the time, it seemed like an ingenious idea, Voldemort was wary of what Hermione had found. The boy who had been preserved in the Portal was a very different version of the man he was today. While they both held the same ideals, and both craved the same world domination, the boy he was then was a lot less…well let’s just say, he was marginally more refined.


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The Chamber door swung open and he peered down into the tunnel that led off into the main part of the gargantuan Chamber. His wand was nearly quivering in his hand and he called off the spell as he heard the honeyed tones of his wife. She was in animated conversation with a tall dark haired young man, who in turn was studying her with a look of complete awe stamped across his face.


“So you see, as I’ve told my husband, after recent events, Bagshot’s History of Magic just doesn’t make much sense to me anymore,” she shrugged.


“And pray tell, Does your husband agree?” asked his younger self.


“He features in half of the events,” she snorted, “Of course he agrees,”


“Tell me something Hermione. What am I like in the future?” asked the perfect form of Tom Riddle.


Hermione’s face flushed, and she swept her hair over her shoulder. Voldemort could sense his younger self’s desire toward his wife. It was quite a pleasant sensation.


“You are extremely handsome, and a wonderful husband, and despite what others think of you, I love you very much,” she confessed.


“Love? You love me? Love is a pitiful emotion for the weak. You don’t appear to be weak, wife.” said Tom.


“Love is a powerful thing. I am in no way weak for loving you.”


“Tell me what the great and powerful Voldemort is like as a lover, Hermione. Is he all you had hoped for?” said Tom as he took a step toward her.


Voldemort hesitated, his wand instantly in his hand. Yet he did not get any ill feeling from his younger self, he felt only intense attraction. His heart pounded as Tom trailed his finger over his wife’s collarbone, and Hermione whimpered. Voldemort could not take his eyes off the scene as Tom lowered his lips to Hermione’s. He felt the arousal fly through him as he watched his wife kiss Tom back, hungrily, her fingers making light work of his shirt buttons.


He could hardly breathe as he watched his younger self fuck his wife; it was like watching a mirror image. Everywhere Tom touched, Voldemort felt it; like phantom pains caused by loss of limb. He could not hide the fact that he was painfully aroused, and becoming more so by the minute. He had never thought about sharing his wife, but it wasn’t sharing if it was with yourself now was it?


Voldemort cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows and Hermione screamed. She tried to scramble as Voldemort hissed to his younger self. Hold her.


“Now, what do we have here? Mrs. Riddle, how very deviant of you,” smirked Voldemort.


“I can explain-” she started, but Voldemort shushed her and turned to his younger self who was grinning.


“I think we need to teach our wife a very special lesson,” he grinned, viciously, “Don’t you agree?”


“Oh yes,” Tom said as he looked down on the naked girl in his arms.


He probed her mind, as he peeled off his robes, leaving him bared to her hungry gaze. Her thoughts were erratic and filled with lust. She wanted this. His formerly prim and proper Mudblood was now a submissive little whore, and he could not think of anything better.


His younger self was attacking her nipple with his teeth, and his wife was crying out under his almost torturous advances. He liked to see how far she would let him go, knowing it was just a fraction away from her snapping. The Sex Magic was rampant in the air, and Hermione’s body was reacting to it beautifully. Her nipples were crimson in color and drawn in tightly, accompanying the flush that was creeping up her chest. Her wild mane of curls where flying free now, the charm broken as she writhed underneath Tom.


Voldemort was impressed; he never remembered being this sexually advanced during his school days. Yet he knew he had a lot to teach his younger self about pleasing Hermione.


“Lift her onto her knees,” he commanded, and Tom obeyed, hoisting Hermione onto all fours and draping her arms around his neck. “My wife likes to have her pussy fucked orally, now get down there, and make her scream.”


Tom grinned and rested Hermione back on Voldemort’s chest, licking his lips as he lent down and took a long swipe with his tongue. Hermione cried out, gripping Voldemort’s thighs so hard, she drew blood. She was lucky he liked it. She slid forward as Tom buried his face in her pussy, licking and sucking at her dripping slit. Voldemort felt a twinge of jealousy as Hermione wailed, but quashed the feeling as she dragged his head down to kiss him.


She bit and sucked at his lips as her hips thrust erratically; seeking out her release, practically begging. Voldemort ran a hand down her torso and massaged her clit with his thumb and she arched up her breast bared to him like exotic fruit. He snapped, and yanked her hair back and bit down on her neck, and she flew over the edge, coming hard as Tom continued to lick and suck at her as cried out repeatedly.


“Enough,” he ordered and Tom withdrew, his face glistening.


“Lick it off, taste yourself,” he said as he pushed Hermione toward Tom.


Hermione reluctantly rose to her knees, and took Tom’s face in her hands. She licked his face softly, tasting herself, as Tom cupped the round cheeks of her arse. She leaned in to kiss him, and was surprised when a hard slap rang thorough the chamber, and a fiery handprint marred her creamy skin.


“I didn’t tell you to kiss him did I?” he asked, and she shook her head.


“I’m sorry…Master,” she grinned.


“Spread you legs, facing Tom,” commanded Voldemort.


Hermione bit her lip as she looked at her husband.


“Do it!” he shouted, and she felt her arousal flood her system; her skin prickled, and she shivered.


She turned, her back toward Voldemort, and spread her legs, her pussy bared to Tom’s eager view.


“I want you to enter her. Don’t move until I tell you to,” he instructed Tom, who entered Hermione with a groan. Hermione whimpered as her head fell forward onto Tom’s shoulder.


Hermione jumped as she felt Voldemort’s hands spread her arse cheeks. His fingers probed the tight rosette, and he felt Hermione tense as he slipped a finger past her ring of muscle.


“Relax, my lady,” he whispered, reaching for his wand. He muttered a spell, and Hermione felt a cooling sensation flood her back passage.


Hermione hissed as the head of Voldemort’s cock pressed against her resisting anus. He pushed forth, inching forward until she cried out. She pushed out as he pushed forward, her arse swallowing him.


“When I thrust you thrust,” he told Tom, over Hermione’s shoulder.


Voldemort pulled out slightly and thrust back into his wife, and she dropped back onto his chest as Tom surged forward, giving two thrusts for Voldemort’s two. Hermione held onto Tom’s shoulders as she moved lightly over Voldemort’s cock, hissing as her anus tightened around him.


Hermione began to rock her hips as Tom circled his fingers around her clit; his thrusts mirroring Voldemort’s. The friction was delicious, and Voldemort could feel the tightening in his balls, and knew his orgasm was approaching. Tom began to thrust erratically into Hermione’s silken sheathe, and Voldemort could feel the force of his hips moving; pushing and pulling against his own, as Hermione stood sandwiched between them.



Hermione cried out as she came, her hair thrown back over Voldemort’s shoulder; her nails leaving claw marks over Tom’s pale back. Her vice like grip on Tom’s cock caused the young man to come, and he emptied himself with a guttural moan.


Voldemort eased himself in and out several times, massaging her throbbing clitoris as she fell onto her knees. He came hard within her, her tight rosette brimming with his ejaculate, his cock sliding from her with ease. She was still moaning brokenly as she collapsed onto a transfigured mattress, that Tom had conjured.


“Well that was certainly educational,” smirked Tom.


“Yes it was,” agreed Voldemort as he looked at his sleeping wife.


“She found me,” confessed Tom, as he stroked Hermione’s hair.


“I know she did. You are a part of me, and she is drawn to you like she is to the necklace,” he mused as he shrugged on his robes.


“Do you plan to keep me down here forever?” asked Tom.


“Forever is a very long time,” grinned Voldemort.


“Yes but in my world, there is one added bonus,” revealed Tom.


“Oh?” asked Voldemort, “And what is that?”


“Just a meddling old wizard called Dumbledore….” grinned Tom, viciously.


Voldemort always knew he created that Horcrux for a good reason.