Retribution

She stood at his side, arm entertwined with his, the opposite of each
cradling a festive drink. Sipping now and then, speaking with this person and
that, as the ball swelled and made merry about them. He played the beauraucrat,
the politico, the member of the Ministry on staff - making nice with each party
as they approached. She was loathe to play along, but did so gamely, using every
opportunity to turn aside and chatter with friends and the like. He slipped his
elbow from her hand, turning, and she heard him say,

“Ah, Governour. Pleasure to see you, chap. And the lovely Missus Malfoy.
You look stunning, as always.”

The laugh in her throat curdled, and she turned from her conversation to
see the two in question looking like they’d found something on the bottom of
their shoe. She allowed a similarly disdainful expression to creep over her
face, looking in turn from one to the other as Livius swept a hand to indicate
her.

“Miss Arden, my fiance... Lord and Lady Malfoy.”

He said, not without his tongue firmly planted in his cheek and a twinkle
of merriment in his laughing hazel eyes, crinkled at the corners. The lines on
either side of his mouth deepened, betraying just how funny he thought this was
to she who knew him so well. It was all she could do not to pinch him, but her
raven brows lifted, and she gave a small nod to both.

Narcissa’s pinched, sallow face swept with haughty grandeur over the
taller, fuller figured feminine form, and she barely restrained rolling green
eyes ceilingward. Such a coarse, throaty beast, this mudblood Galworthy was
cavorting with. Apparently she was a popular commodity among wizarding elite -
for dear Greyfield Ravenhurst had had her first, some years back, as had the cad
Sirius Black. Merlin only knew the appeal, but she put it to men’s oft likeness
to pigs. And pigs do so love to wallow in the mud.

The Lady Malfoy fawned her hand slightly at the Auror, feigning delight at
meeting them both at this do, and allowed her gaze to slip over Galworthy’s
shoulder as he turned to speak to her husband. There was a mirror on the wall
there, and she studied herself in it. Admiring the slim, girlish figure she cut,
the beautiful silk gown that had been hand sewn onto her body earlier this
evening. Her whitegold hair perfectly coiffed and in place, she was truly
beautiful. Her gaze shifted, looking through Galworthy’s dark haired consort to
the startling fact of Rex’s stare. She coaxed a coquette’s moue to her lips and
sent it his way.

Lucius stared as well. She, Revelle, felt it, and refused to acknowledge
it. Livius seemed entirely unaware, ambling on about something at the Ministry,
and that snake Malfoy was undressing her with his eyes right in front of him. It
alternatively amused and disgusted her, the way the man behaved around her. He
was all cold indifference, or even anger, but she could clearly see something
else, something... closer to desire, simmering in his eyes when he looked at
her. As well he should, she thought - look at that bony bit of peacockery he had
to snuggle up against each night. No wonder he admired warm curves and a bold
mind. She felt his eyes crawling along the white curves of the gown she wore,
hugging her frame and baring her shoulders, flaming to black petals below the
knees. Her hair had been carefully pinned and charmed up, but she could feel it
loosening - the thick black curls almost as wild as Capptola’s, they seemed to
defy constraint.

She suddenly met Malfoy’s gaze directly, as if daring him to continue
being a sleaze, and favored him with a smug, pleased grin as she caught his eyes
upon her bosom. Trailing her blackgloved fingers idly on the spot where they
cleaved and were hidden, she suddenly heard Livius’ words as the strings
launched into a waltz.

“Malfoy, old chap, I do beleive I’d like to ask your lovely wife for a
turn ‘round the floor. May I have this dance, Narcissa?”

Society rules deemed politness meant Malfoy couldn’t refuse, although the
expression on both their faces bespoke just how horrified they were at this turn
of events. Narcissa cast her husband a bleating, help-me look, even as he
hardened his face to stone and gave a nod of approval. Revelle suddenly felt hit
with a bomb, as Narcissa reluctantly extended her hand to Livius and they moved
away, leaving her facing Lucius. Don’t leave me alone with him! vied with Oh
help, he’s going to ask me to dance, in her mind, and she unwittingly allowed
her horror and distress to slip not only onto her face, but clearly from her
mind. Livius snorted with laughter as it assaulted him, and surely any
Legilimens in the area picked it up as clearly as a muggle shortwave radio
transmission.

She watched Lucius’ glittering green eyes narrow, and his chiseled lips
quirked faintly. He really was very handsome, she thought, but such an outright
prick that it did all his manly beauty no justice. He took care to reach into
his pocket with his free hand, the other resting upon the silver head of his
cane, and withdraw a pair of gloves - which he pulled on deliberately. She
watched him apprehensively, and he palmed the cane away in a sharp movement,
then reached for her hand.

“Well. A dance, miss Arden.”

A snort in derision, as she realised he’d put the gloves on so as not to
touch her skin, and she started to resist as he reached for her hand. Not even
palm extended, no question or request in his action or voice, his coolly gloved
fingers caught her wrist with surprising strength and brought her to face him.
Not as tall as Livius, nor as long of limb and thin as he, Lucius’ gaze met hers
from only a difference of a few inches, as she wore moderate heels, and his
shoulders far surpassed her frame in bulk. She didn’t like being so close to
him. Close enough to smell his scent, something dangerous and remniscent of
leather and the tang of metal and some spice. He squeezed her wrist hard, and
she inhaled sharply through her nose, but glared at him defiantly - fuckoff
clearly in her blue eyes as they met his.

“You’re weak and pathetic.”

She spat softly and he stiffened, green eyes flaring, then roughly planted
his other hand at her waist and spun her out into the organized melee of the
waltz. He held her stiffly at distance, his fingers cruel and biting as they
pushed her through the paces and more than once sent her trampling backwards
over the next nearest dancer. She was shouldered and elbowed in the process,
pinched in his hands. He’d traded her wrist for her hand, and was slowly
crushing her digits with each increasingly slowing turn, and she scrabbled in a
desperate move to hide the pain he was causing her with a grab from his shoulder
to his hair - planning on giving it a good yank.

The waltz continued to grind down, intricately slow, and he preemted her
move, suddenly snapping her in to slam her body against his and pin it there,
seductive and intimate as the dance moved their bodies together. The impact
caused her hair to tumble free, and inky tendrils uncoiled down her nape to fall
across her shoulders. She heard a sharp influx of air at her ear, where his
mouth floated.

“You’re a harlot and a foulmouthed little cunt.”

He murmured almost tenderly into her ear, the soft, rumbling puff of his
unexpected words sending a shiver up her spine. It was one of revulsion, she
told herself, and a beat later realised that she could quite clearly feel his
excitement making itself known. A weird sensation shot through her, disgust and
horror, mingled with no small amount of pleasure for what she could do to the
most coldblooded of men.

His mouth at her ear meant that, being nearly cheek to cheek, her own lips
were only a lifted chin and craned neck away from his. The return volley was now
hers, and she knew hers would do far more damage. Purposefully, her body
loosened from its stiff posture and she melted against him in the most wanton
way, uncaring of the crowd and dancers. Livius and Narcissa floated by, and the
other woman’s face was priceless. Livy was grinning and chattering about
something to her, and the woman looked bored - until she saw her aloof husband
dirty dancing with the mudblood slut.

Feeling Lucius’ body reacting to the sinuous feel of her frame dancing
against his, she relaxed against him, unheeding of the bonecracking force of his
grip on her hand, and pressed her warm, soft cheek to his firm, cool jaw.
Lifting her chin a bit, she turned her head ever so slightly - when she spoke
her next words, the words that would set him off, her rubied lips brushed his
earlobe. In a hush, she whispered in an alluring purr, with a sullied little
forward thrust of her hips to accentuate her point.

“Yes...” She breathed, in a little sigh, “and I’m also the one thing you
cannot have.”

He jerked as if stuck by a pin, the jolt moving through his shoulders -
causing hands to flex up as if to curl about her neck, and she pushed herself
back - continuing to speak in a low voice, a smug, inviting smile on her lips.

“You want to fuck me. Control me. Make me fear you. It will never happen.
How does that feel? Do you touch yourself and think of me? When you fuck your
wife, am I in your head?”

Lucius sneered and pushed her away, with a snarl.

“You revolting little trollop, I..!”

Heads had turned, and the dancers closest were looking. He calmed himself
visibly and turned quickly away from her, looking for Livius and his wife.
Revelle laughed at him, unrestrained so that he would hear it and escaped to the
sidelines to share the story - loudly and to anyone who would listen -
proffering her red and angry looking wrists as proof. Livius swung by a moment
or two later, looking grave and serious, as the Malfoys exited the party. He
found it rather amusing as well, although did not appear happy at all regarding
the marks upon her skin. They soon retired as well, and spent the rest of the
evening having a wild romp at Malfoy’s expense - laughing about him and how
badly his cock must hurt just knowing his plow would never furrow as Livy’s did.




Several days later, Malfoy issued her a penance for a minor infraction,
but one she’d been caught at none the less. She thought it was merely an excuse
to watch her be subservient, and told him so - watching for the slightest flush
in color of his impassive face or stoic eyes. He betrayed so very little, her
joy was in the minutae. The flare of nostrils, narrowing of eyes, tightening of
gloved fiists. She prodded and poked at every instance, insulting and calling
attention to the hand he’d let slip.

He’d instructed her to clean the crevices of his office floor with a
toothbrush, and watched her from his desk. It made her nervous, which in turn
prompted even more challenging and improper language from her.

“One of your vulgar fantasies here, Malfoy? Should I remove my panties and
clean the floor in a skirt?”

She leered up at him from her hands and knees. The muscles in his jaw
clenched, and he spoke quietly and with a hard look to his eyes,

“You will not speak to me so, Miss Arden. Continue your work.”

She laughed and with deliberate slowness reached for the top button of her
blouse, just above her bosom, and set it free in a taunting move, before
resuming her quadraped stance. Mocking him with her eyes, knowing he dared not
lay so much as a hand on her. He looked enraged, as well. She gave him a cruel
smile, knowing she’d won this round as she had so many before.

“Get out, you insufferable slut. I cannot bear the sight of you.”

The Governour barked, suddenly, and rapped his desk with his cane in a
sharp manner. She jumped at the sound, then rose to her feet with a smirk and
sauntered out in a lazy, hip rolling manner that showed she was in no hurry to
do a damn thing he wished of her.



Stopping at Livy’s study since she was at that end of the school, having
come from the Hall of Governours, she leaned in the door to watch him in earnest
conversation with several of his Gryffindors, apparently over some paper. He
looked up, hazel eyes flashing his love as his lips formed a smile. She blew him
a kiss and mimed that she was going to the Great Hall for something to eat and
then to her dormitory to study and sleep. He nodded and dropped her a wink, for
he’d be busy into the wee hours, himself. She tried to do her best at not
hindering his schedule as both Auror and professor here, and held little
expectations of having him all to herself when the semester was in full swing.
She’d often go a day or so without doing more than seeing him in passing,
although they spent three or four nights a week together, on average.

She’d just turned a corner when an elf appeared in the otherwise empty
corridor and cast a furtive glance around before approaching her timidly.

“Pufflip’s master bids the miss to return to his office. He sends Pufflip
to find miss and bring her back.”

Revelle arched a dark brow, thinking at first that this was one of Livy’s
retinue from his manor in London that she’d not met yet.

“Okay... Pufflip. You can go tell him I’m coming, I know the way.”

She added, when the nervous little elf showed no sign of going from whence
it came. Beady yellow eyes goggled up at her as the elf shook its head wildly.

“No, no! Pufflip takes you to him. Quickquick - Master must not be kept
waiting!”

The elf did an anxious little caper on its toetips, with another uneasy
look around. Before she could assure the elf that this was fine, then, the
little creature poked her in the knee, and she disappeared from the hallway like
a soap bubble popping. The elf heaved a sorrowful sigh and snapped its fingers
to vanish as well.

She blinked in confusion, appearing before a high stone wall, dark and
grimy with age and illuminated by two guttering torches set in sconces several
feet apart. Her brows furrowed as she started to look around, but noticed
something peculiar about the wall. It was splattered with dull, brown droplets
here, and here. She stepped forward and touched one of the spots and it flaked
off on her fingers. Blood.

“Miss Arden. How charming to meet you on my own terms.”

She jumped at the sound of a voice behind her, but what sent a chill
through her heart was the knowledge of who owned that silky steel voice.

“Malfoy!”

She gasped, startled as she whirled around to face him - and her eyes
widened at the rest of the room behind him. Stark and undecorated, as well as
dimly lit by only the two torches on the wall, she could still sense a great
vastness to the chamber. The blackness was thick and impatient.

“What the fuck are you playing at, you slimy git? Trying to get me alone
so you can have your hand at feeling my apples through my shirt?”

He was still some distance away from her, shrouded by the darkness just
enough to make him blurry, and her bold words hid a true tremor of unease. Best
to get her wand out, to defend herself just in case the stuffed shirt forgot the
rules. But it seemed there were new rules to play by, as she’d no sooner whipped
her wandtip at him than it was yanked cleanly from her fingertips to clatter
into the darkness. The menacing shadow of Malfoy loomed, and a burst of silvery
laughter echoed the chamber, void of all warmth and mirth as she gaped, off her
guard.

“Nasty, mannerless harlot. I am going to teach you to respect your
betters.”

He stepped toward her a few paces, that silver snakeheaded cane still in
his hand, and fire leapt up behind him. A pit in the floor sprang to life,
offering the eerie dance of orange light over the chambers walls. She stood her
ground, firming her shoulders with a short, harsh bark of laughter.

“That’s hilarious. Really. Sod off, Malfoy, and take your theatrics with
you. Better yet, shove them right up your puckered ass. I’m not scared of y..!”

Her last word suddenly pinched off, as he made a slashing motion with his
cane and snapped,

“Silence!”

She gasped and scrabbled madly at her throat, clawing for the air he’d
just cut off at her windpipe. He continued once more, resuming that silky soft
and wholly dangerous voice as he stalked slowly closer.

“You are wrong. I would dare. I do as I please. Your fool Galworthy cannot
save you, no one will. I am going to hurt you, Miss Arden. I am going to break
you of these nasty habits. Have you anything charming to reply? No?”

A dark chuckle, and he made a motion with one black gloved hand. She
sucked in a great lungful of air and fell quiet, leaning against the wall with
her hair in her face, hands protectively at her throat. She simply breathed,
motionless and saying nothing, but watching his shadow slide toward her across
the uneven floor, then the toes of his polished jackboots. The end of the cane
came into view, and she felt his gloved fingers on her hair. She took a slow
breath.

Lurching up, suddenly, hoping to shock him with bodily contact. Her left
hand grabbed his cane so that he could not weild it against her, and she drove
her fist toward his handsome face, his chiseled jaw - and her knee to his
crotch, with a snarl in her throat. It happened so fast, she didn’t know how it
had occured. Somehow he spun her around by the hand she had on his cane, and
sent her face first into the wall, only checking a nose breaking blow by fisting
his fingers in her hair and wrenching her head back, and she managed to catch
herself with her right hand along the rough and blood flecked surface. Her left
was pinned behind her back by the hand holding his cane, the metal tip bit into
her skin.

She gasped with shock and pain, trying to twist free, and felt several
hairs pull free of her scalp at the root.

“Bastard!”

She hissed, and fell still a moment, but for her breathing - hoping to
lull him into false complacency as she still had her right hand free, but curled
up between her breasts and the wall where he could not fish her wrist out. Her
heart hammered behind her ribcage, knocking loudly as she tried to assess this
development. She’d thought him too ‘high-class’ and refined to seek repudation
in such a manner, and it was startling to feel the strength of the man holding
her unpiteously. For such a swaggering, pompous peacock, the man seemed to know
a little about contact violence.

“Tsk, Miss Arden. You never fail to disappoint. Such a lowly beast, you
are. It makes me wonder just what my peers could see in you? Ah, but I already
have a good idea.”

She was disgusted, but not surprised, to feel his hand upon her thigh,
then moving slowly up to cup her asscheek. He leaned into her, pressing her into
the wall as he nosed into her hair to speak into her ear. Her breathing
quickened in tempo.

“You must fuck very well, Miss Arden, to have made such a lasting
impression upon some of the Ministry’s employees. There are many that share your
craft - what is it about you that makes you different?”

He nearly panted in her ear, and she trembled a little - a bevy of
emotions assaulting her in a flood. Anger and hatred, indignant that he would
dare lay hands on her, mingled with a growing side of fear that he would in fact
hurt her badly - with the slightest twinge of unpleasant lust simmering in a
tiny spark in her loins. She enjoyed being wanton and lusted after by men, and
this seemed to be the proof that she could attract all sorts.

She had no way of knowing he’d attacked her in a similar manner years
prior, under guise of Sirius when she carried his babe. He’d taunted her, then
beat her unconcious, causing her to lose the child in her womb. Aparently time
did not ease the ache in his loins to finish what had been started.

Her cheek pressed to the unpleasantly damp stones of the wall, the scent
of old moss, dirt and damp flooded her senses as it occured to her just how much
trouble she was in. She had prodded this into being with her inability not to
fuck with Malfoy at every opportunity. With one hand still free, she kept her
arm curled tightly up between her body and the wall, and forced herself to
breathe slowly through her nose. He tightened his fingers in her hair, making
her squeak and wriggle in protest against him. A dark chuckle caressed her ear,
giving her a chill.

“I will bend you. Break you. Ruin you. The more you fight me, the harder I
will take you down. It will be glorious, Miss Arden, because you cannot help but
struggle and resist. You will make this delicious for me. You mistake my
leniency for weakness, my indulgence and temperance with limp, powerless
inability - and now I dare you to taunt me. Please, push me, Miss Arden, and
discover for yourself what it truly earns you.”

With a final squeeze, his fingers uncurled and he stepped away from her.
She heard his bootheels click on the stone floor, and felt the hate and
repulsion simmering in her chest, acrid on the back of her tongue as she watched
the lank tendrils of raven hair flutter before her face with each ragged breath.
She knew he was siphoning her thoughts, and steeled herself to clear her mind,
calm the wild ideas of how she would retaliate. Instead, she straightened slowly
and brushed back her hair. Calmly combing her fingers through her wild mane, she
turned and leaned against the wall to assess Malfoy with a cool, calculating
expression in her dark blue eyes. His face shadowed, he seemed to loom before
the backdrop of dancing flames and menacing darkness, his outline crisp and
refined as he stood with one hand on his cane, pale hair tied back in a dainty
ribbon, caped and covered - but she could feel his icy blue eyes upon her
nontheless.

She lifted a slow little smile to him, and dropped her hands to her waist,
her fingers under the hem of her sweater to thumb the button on her jeans.
Saying nothing, she slowly unzipped her pants and pushed them down the flare of
her hips as she stared at the hazy, shadowed man watching. Cool air kissed her
flanks as the denim pooled at her feet, and she stepped out of them and her
shoes, away from the wall and toward Malfoy. With the next slow step, an
enticing saunter, her hand crossed behind her back to unhook her bra -
performing that mundane little magic show of removing the undergarment without
removing the clothing. She produced it from her sleeve and dropped it
deliberately to the floor as she advanced closer still.

Had she just heard him inhale sharply? It was hard to tell. She could see
his hungry eyes upon her now, as she paused to cock her hip and run her hands
over her sides. Another slow-hipped step, and she shed her sweater - pulling it
off over her head and shaking her dark hair as the cold air crept along her warm
skin. In a thin, white cotton teeshirt and her black panties, she was very aware
of the diamond hard peaks of her nipples straining the tight fabric in the cold,
dank room, and the heat of Malfoy’s eyes upon them. She stepped closer still,
within his reach, and pushed her hands into her hair, pulling it back as she
lifted her arms and pushed her breasts out invitingly to him. His face looked
drawn and hungry now, and a stammer of fear stampeded through her belly. This
was delicate business, maintaining control of the situation - and she was
treading the razor’s edge between tempting and guiding the beast.

He extended a hand slowly and grazed the backs of his gloved knuckles
along the swell of her breast, his eyes widening as his nostrils flared, neck
stiffening as he wrenched away.

“You whore!”

Malfoy spat, repulsion and indignity on his cultured countenance. He
raised his hand suddenly and struck her across the face, sending her reeling to
the left.

“You thrive on this, succubus, flaunting your seduction and stealing honor
from honorable men. You will not seduce me, siren. Your call will echo through
these chambers, but it will be a scream of agony!”

She staggered back, hand to her face, hidden by her hair as he berated
her. A muffled little sob, choked out as he bellowed at her, and she steadied
herself on her feet once more. Shoulders shook and she loosed another strangled
sound, and the thunderclouds gathered instantly on Malfoy’s face when she shook
back her hair to reveal her mirth. She laughed in his face, mocking him as she
stood nearly nude in this underground torture chamber.

“Oh, you are such a pathetic little worm, Malfoy! Full of talk and bluster
and about as dangerous as the wind rattling the tree branch outside the window.”

She laughed again, hands to her stomach, bending double with the effort as
she continued to wheeze,

“You won’t hurt me. You can’t. And you also cannot frighten me into
fucking you with all your bellowing and berating. Call me a whore all you like,
Little Lucius, and it won’t make me fall at your feet and fellate you. You have
strength enough, yes, in that slender wand you hide in its sheath, but you are
weak in your hands and your heart, but mostly in your cock. You are a coward and
a fool.”

He seethed, cheeks white as snow with twin blooms of blood and a strong
jaw clenched mightily. The leather of his gloves creaked as his fists
contracted, and he spun away from her tersely to stride a few clipped paces to a
table. His back to her, he laid his cane upon the surface, then proceeded to
unclasp his cape and under-robe, shedding them with a flourish to drape across
the table. While he was otherwise distracted, she stepped back a few paces on
bare feet with a shiver in the cool air, although her blood boiled with
adrenaline and anger, dark head swiveling to peer into the blackness for her
discarded wand.

When she glanced back at him, he had turned and started toward her. In his
breeches, jackboots and crisp white shirt under a silken waistcoat, his gloved
fingers slowly worked the scarf loose from his neck as he approached. She faced
him, defiantly jutting her chin out and refusing to give an inch. He stepped
directly into her space, nearly trodding on her bare toes with his own boots,
her breasts just barely brushing his chest. She stared up into his face, mere
inches from her own, and breathed the scent of him - leather and some musky,
dangerous male scent. She was breathing a little rapidly, her heart hammering
away, and it took her a beat or two to realise that his own breathing was ragged
and abnormally quick. It was only then that she fully anticipated the extent to
which he was prepared to take this. She had a moment’s sensation of having
stepped off the edge of a very high precipice before he snapped the scarf around
her neck and twisted off her air supply.

She struggled, but it was a futile attempt. He was much stronger than he
looked, and as she fought and clawed for her stolen air, she knew her fatal flaw
had been in underestimating him. The room spun, blackness creeping further from
the shadows into her eyes to dab out the blurred orange of the torches and the
pale moon of his mirthlessly grinning face. Knees buckled, and he crushed her to
the ground. She flailed, desperate to breathe, completly unaware of anything but
that silken scarf cutting a tight band of fire across her throat. Suddenly, the
pressure laxed and a sweet rush of air flooded her lungs and her brain reeled
with the wash of it. A great, coughing gasp as her chest expanded and she sucked
the oxygen in - then her brain registered what had happened. Her eyes snapped
open, and he thrust into her mercilessly. He had distracted by strangling, and
wrangled her preoccupied body into position - only to wait for the crucial
moment of comprehension to slam his fury home. And slam he did. Pinned to the
filthy floor, he plunged in and out of her with an animalistic frenzy, having
never felt so hard in his life. Her wrists caught on either side of her head, he
grinned at her with a flash of teeth as she cried out, then screamed, as he
rutted as hard and fast as he could. He pushed her across the slime of the
floor, his booted toes digging into the crevices of the cobbles for leverage as
he battered his pelvis against hers with as much force as he could muster. He
bit her on the throat, feeling the pulsing blood and her cry under his tounge.

Time seemed to swell with his organ, for both of them. Heaving atop her,
within her, he gave a great shudder at last, and came with a sharp cry of his
own. She had her teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut, face turned away as tears
streamed her cheeks to pool in her hair at the temples. Labored breathing from
above, and she felt the scrape of his clothing against her, mingled with his
violation, and then a gentle tickle at her chest. Her eyes popped open as his
mouth suddenly laved one turgid nipple lavishly, his pale hair in disarray and
brushing her flushed skin. He worked a moan from her, and she felt him pull his
soft member free. Wet heat spilling between her legs. He still held her down,
but now knelt over her - and transferred her wrists to one hand above her head.
She pulled at them, and was rewarded with a sharp nip of teeth upon her nipple.
When she fell still, he licked it slowly and brought forth a little whimper from
her throat.

New, fresh tears pricked at her eyes as she felt his fingers brush her
swollen and abused nether lips, and she jumped with a little yelp and gasp and
tried to squirm away with a plead on her lips. His mouth on the same nipple
responded with another sharp bite, this time over more of her breast. When she
stilled, his fingers parted her sex and slid their leather clad crooks up her
slit to massage the hard little bud. His mouth broke contact with her nipple and
blew cool air across the swollen peak in syncronization with his slick fingers.
She shuddered, in pain and desire, horror and intense need, repulsion and
wanting, and her body arched up against him.

“Yes, you wanton thing. I will show you what pleasure truely is, and you
will spend the rest of your days aching, remembering my touch. I want you to
come with my name clenched in hatred between your teeth, cry it out knowing that
never again will any man compare.”

Looking down at her, he spoke while watching the struggle between her
loins and her mind, his fingers relentlessly driving her to the brink. His pale
head bent over her breast once more, sucking the other, neglected nipple into
his mouth as her breathing grew ragged and she strained against him. Working the
little hard bud with his teeth, he murmered around it in warmth upon her skin,

“I will haunt your dreams... like you do to mine.”

Her dark blue eyes suddenly snapped open widely, and she jacknifed with a
low cry - arching her pelvis up into his stroking fingers as an orgasm exploded
through her. In dizzying waves of blackness behind her eyes, she shook and
shuddered under him, writhing, mindless.