Seducing the Light - 3 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me. All characters are aged up (above 18) and are consenting adults. This is a work of fiction and does not resemble reality in any way whatsoever. Exclusive story for Dragon King and Heavenly Dragon members.

Chapter 3

~ Hermione Granger ~

The air in the duelling chamber was thick, heavy with the sharp, metallic tang of runic magic and the intoxicating heat of prolonged magical exertion. Floating spheres of pale, cobalt light bobbed near the vaulted stone ceiling, casting long, frantic shadows across the scorched floor. Here, deep beneath the innocent, dusty facade of Obscurus Antiquities & Tomes, Lord Voldemort—wearing the breathtakingly handsome visage of 'Lord Thomas'—was systematically dismantling the brightest witch of her age.Hermione Granger was panting heavily, her chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths that strained the damp fabric of her white blouse. Sweat beaded on her forehead, causing her brown curls to cling to her flushed cheeks. Every muscle in her body trembled, quivering born not just from the physical toll of the duel, but from the sheer, suffocating pressure of his dark, imposing aura."You are hesitating, Hermione," Thomas purred, his rich, velvet baritone cutting through the heavy silence of the room. He stood twenty paces away, looking entirely unbothered. He wore a crisp, tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing his strong forearms.

He hadn't even broken a sweat.

"You are calculating the trajectory of the spell before you cast it. Magic of this calibre does not care for your calculations. It demands raw, unfiltered intent.""I am trying!" Hermione gasped, her amber eyes flashing with a potent mix of frustration and desperate, undeniable reverence. She raised her vine wood wand again, her hips shifting into a duelling stance that she had read about in the sections of his library."Try harder," he commanded softly, the absolute authority in his voice sending a familiar, heavy pulse of heat straight down to her core.Hermione gritted her teeth, channelling her frustration, her latent desire, and her burgeoning understanding of the archaic runes into a single, cohesive strike. She slashed her wand through the air, completely abandoning the Ministry-approved forms. A crescent of vicious, violet energy—a localized severing curse modified by a Greek rune—erupted from the tip of her wand. It tore through the air with a terrifying, ripping sound, vastly faster and more volatile than anything she had cast before.Lord Voldemort watched the violet arc approach with a calculating, crimson-flecked gaze. It was a beautiful display of corrupted potential. She was learning. With lithe, predatory grace, he stepped to the side, fully capable of evading the strike by several feet. But as the third stage of his grand design unfolded in his brilliant, twisted mind, he made a split-second, flawlessly calculated decision.He slowed his evasion by a fraction of an inch.The violent purple magic hissed past him, but the very edge of the curse caught the fabric of his dark trousers. The spell sliced through the expensive material with a sharp tear, grazing the heavy, powerful muscle of his outer thigh. A line of bright crimson blood welled instantly from the shallow cut, stark and vibrant against his impossibly pale skin.Hermione’s triumphant rush of adrenaline vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a cold, plunging horror."Thomas!" she cried out, her voice cracking in pure panic. She dropped her wand without a second thought, the wooden instrument clattering against the stone floor as she sprinted across the duelling chamber. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean—I lost control of the trajectory—"She reached him, falling to her knees without a shred of her usual Gryffindor pride, entirely consumed by a frantic need to make it right. Her trembling hands hovered just inches from the muscular expanse of his thigh, the fabric of his trousers parted to reveal the bleeding laceration. "Let me heal it. I know the Vulnera Sanentur incantation perfectly, I can close the wound right now, please let me—""Do not touch me."The words were not shouted. They were not angry. But they were delivered with a glacial, indifferent coldness that struck Hermione with the force of a physical blow. The rich, seductive warmth that had previously laced every syllable he spoke to her was entirely, terrifyingly absent.Hermione froze, her hands suspended in the air, her amber eyes wide and vulnerable as she looked up at his chiselled face.His jawline was set like carved marble. His dark blue eyes, usually dancing with amusement when he looked at her, were completely flat and closed off. He looked down at her not as a favoured pupil, nor as a coveted prize, but as something entirely inconsequential."Th-Thomas?" she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs, a profound sense of loss already clawing at her throat."The session is over," the Dark Lord instructed curtly, taking a deliberate step backward to distance himself from her hovering hands. He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, entirely ignoring the blood trailing down his leg. "You lack the discipline for further instruction today. You are to leave my chambers immediately. I will summon my personal healer to attend to this trivial injury.""But I can fix it," Hermione pleaded, her voice tinged with a desperate, pathetic whine that she didn't even recognize as her own. "I caused it, I should be the one to—""I said, leave, Hermione," he interrupted, his voice dropping into a deadly, unyielding register. "I do not require the clumsy ministrations of a student right now."The dismissal was absolute. It left no room for argument, no space for her brilliant intellect to negotiate. Hermione swallowed the thick knot of humiliation and panic forming in her throat. She slowly rose to her feet, her legs feeling like lead. She nodded numbly, her eyes burning with unshed tears of rejection. "Yes, Lord Thomas."She turned, retrieving her wand with a shaking hand, and walked out of the duelling chamber, her lush hips swaying with a defeated, heavy slowness. The heavy oak door shut behind her with a final thud, leaving her alone in the dimly lit, carpeted corridors of his expansive private quarters.As she walked blindly toward the exit of the manor-like expanse he maintained behind the shop, her mind was in absolute turmoil. She couldn't shake the devastating feeling that a significant, catastrophic shift had just occurred between them.

For weeks, he had been slowly, methodically drawing her in—praising her, touching her, pressing his towering, heavily muscled frame against hers in the guise of instruction. He had made her feel exceptional. He had made her feel like a prize in the making.And in a single instant, with a single, careless graze of a spell, he had discarded her like trash.'He called me a student,' she thought, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands. 'A clumsy student. He's going to replace me. He's going to find someone else with better control. Someone who doesn't disappoint him.'The thought was agonizing. It burned like acid in her chest.

She realized, with a terrifying lack of self-preservation, that she was profoundly addicted to his approval. She reached the grand foyer, her hand resting on the handle of the front door. But she couldn't turn it. She simply couldn't leave.Unbeknownst to the brilliant witch, the Dark Lord knew that pushing her away would create a vacuum, a desperate, hollow craving that her pride would eventually fail to suppress.Driven by a mix of genuine concern for his bleeding wound and a morbid curiosity, Hermione pulled her hand away from the door.

She turned around.

Her heart was beating so fiercely she thought it might crack her ribs. She justified her disobedience under the guise of academia—she needed to observe the healing magic of his personal physician. She needed to apologize properly. She needed him to look at her with that dark, consuming hunger again.Her footsteps were completely silent upon the thick, plush rugs of the corridor as she retraced her path, moving stealthily toward his private study, located just adjacent to the duelling room.The heavy mahogany door to the study was not fully closed. A sliver of warm, flickering firelight spilled out into the dark hallway, painting a thin line of gold across the carpet.Hermione crept closer, holding her breath, her chest tight with anticipation. As she neared the crack in the door, a series of sounds drifted out into the quiet corridor. They were wet, rhythmic, and profoundly indecent.Slurp… gluck… slurp…A low, rich, masculine groan of approval vibrated through the air, sending an immediate, traitorous pulse of liquid heat straight to Hermione's core.“Ah… yes, just like that. Deep in your throat.”Hermione froze, her breath hitching in her throat. Her trembling fingers reached out, gently pressing against the cool wood of the door to widen the gap just a fraction of an inch, allowing her amber eyes to peer into the luxurious study.The sight that met her completely shattered her reality, leaving her utterly, breathlessly stunned.Lord Thomas was seated in a massive, wingback leather armchair positioned near the roaring fireplace. He was completely relaxed, his head tipped back against the leather, his dark hair with those striking streaks of liquid silver falling handsomely over his forehead. His crimson-flecked eyes were half-closed in sheer, unadulterated pleasure.But he was not alone.Kneeling on the plush rug between his powerful, parted thighs was a woman. Hermione recognized the aristocratic profile, the cascade of impeccably styled, pale blonde hair, and the elegant, tailored robes immediately.Narcissa Malfoy.The pureblood matriarch was on her knees, her posture the absolute, perfect embodiment of total submission. Her usually haughty, icy demeanour was entirely absent, replaced by a look of desperate, eager devotion. Thomas’s trousers were entirely unfastened and pushed down around his thighs, completely exposing him in his entirety. It was a cock of impossible magnitude. Thick as a grown man's forearm, deeply veined, and flushed with a dark head that currently had the matriarch of the Malfoy family drooling over it. It pulsed visibly, radiating heat that Hermione could feel all the way from the hallway.Narcissa had her perfectly painted lips wrapped tightly around the impossibly broad, weeping head of his member.Schlick… slurp… ahh…"Mmmph… Lord Thomas…" Narcissa mumbled wetly against the engorged flesh, her voice muffled as she bobbed her head, taking as much of his impossible length into her mouth as her throat could humanly accommodate."Good, Narcissa," Voldemort praised, his voice a dark, velvet purr that dripped with arrogant dominance. "Swallow it all."Gulp… gluck… shhhck…The wet, sloppy sounds of the oral worship filled the study, echoing against the walls lined with ancient tomes. Hermione watched, paralyzed by a horrific, spellbinding mixture of shock and sheer, unspoken desire. Her amber eyes darted from the vulgar, beautiful display of Narcissa’s mouth to the pureblood woman’s hands.One of Narcissa’s manicured hands was resting intimately high up on his thigh. Right where Hermione’s violet spell had struck him.The skin there was completely, flawlessly smooth.

There was no cut. There was no blood.

The wound had been entirely healed, or perhaps, Hermione realized with a sickening lurch of her stomach, he had healed it himself the moment she had left the room.

There was no healer summoned. There was only Narcissa, summoned to his knees to service his desires.Narcissa stroked the healed, muscular flesh of his thigh affectionately, her thumb tracing the pale skin as she pulled off his massive cock with a loud, wet pop."Is this pleasing you, My Lord?" Narcissa whispered, her chest heaving, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting her lips to the weeping tip of his member. Her eyes looked up at him with absolute, religious adoration. "Am I serving you well?""You are adequate, Narcissa," he replied, a cruel, wicked smirk playing on his sculpted lips. He reached down, his long, aristocratic fingers tangling roughly in her blonde hair, gripping her scalp. "But you talk too much. Use your tongue. Clean it.""Yes, My Lord," she breathed eagerly.Slurp… mlem… suck…She leaned back in, her tongue swirling greedily around the broad crest, her throat working in chaotic, rhythmic swallows as he began to lazily, forcefully thrust his hips upward, lightly fucking her mouth.Hermione stood outside the door, her entire world tilting on its axis.The image seared itself permanently into the deepest, darkest corners of her brilliant mind. A profound, searing wave of jealousy erupted in her chest, so violent and toxic it nearly made her dizzy. That should be me, a dark, corrupted voice whispered in her mind. I am the brightest witch of my age. I am the one he teaches. I am the one he touches.She looked at Narcissa Malfoy—a woman Hermione had always despised for her blood-purist bigotry—kneeling exactly where Hermione wanted to be. The realization was physically painful. She didn't just want Thomas's academic approval. She didn't just want to learn archaic magics.She wanted to be the one on her knees.She wanted those long, elegant fingers tangled in her own curls. She wanted to feel the brutal, heavy stretch of his endowment filling her mouth, asserting his total, absolute dominance over her brilliant mind. She wanted to be his favoured, his woman.The damp heat pooling between Hermione's thighs was agonizing. Her knickers were entirely soaked, her body betraying her moral compass with spectacular, devastating finality. She squeezed her thighs together, a soft, involuntary whimper threatening to escape her lips.Inside the study, the Dark Lord’s crimson eyes snapped open, locking onto the slight crack in the mahogany door. He couldn't see her in the shadows, but he could smell the intoxicating, heavy scent of her arousal, her jealousy, and her absolute defeat. His wicked smirk widened, and he thrust his hips deeper into Narcissa's throat with a low, commanding grunt.Terrified that she had been discovered, and completely overwhelmed by the explosive concoction of forbidden desire and desperate envy, Hermione took a step back.She turned and fled.She ran down the corridor, her shoes totally silent, her breathing ragged and shallow. She burst out of the heavy front doors of the shop, stumbling into the cool, dark alleyway of Diagon Alley. The night air hit her flushed face, but it did absolutely nothing to cool the raging inferno that Lord Voldemort had systematically ignited within her soul.Hermione pressed her back against the brick wall of the alley, closing her eyes as tears of frustration and lust pricked the corners of her eyes. The image of the massive, dark lord and the blonde pureblood at his mercy looped endlessly in her mind.She had been completely exposed. Not by his magic, but by her own inherent, undeniable desires.The brilliant Hermione Granger opened her amber eyes, the golden irises flashing with a dark, resolved intensity.She knew exactly what she had to do next.

She was going to return to that study. She was going to cast aside every pitiful, self-righteous moral the Light had ever taught her, and she was going to prove to him, unequivocally, that nobody could serve him, submit to him, or worship him quite like she could.

~ Narcissa Malfoy ~

The roaring fire in the massive stone hearth cast flickering, golden shadows across the towering bookshelves, but Narcissa Malfoy was entirely blind to the arcane majesty of the room. Her entire world, her entire existence in this fleeting, decadent moment, was reduced to the throbbing weight of the flesh currently sliding down her throat.Slurp… gluck… shhhck…Kneeling on the plush, velvet rug between the parted, heavily muscled thighs of the Dark Lord, Narcissa was the absolute embodiment of pureblood submission. She had her perfectly painted lips wrapped tightly around the impossibly broad, weeping head of his member. "Mmmph… My Lord…" Narcissa mumbled wetly against the engorged, velvet-soft skin, her voice muffled and thick with utter devotion as she bobbed her head. She opened her throat as wide as humanly possible, taking as much of his impossible length into her mouth that she could accommodate. "Good, Narcissa," Lord Voldemort praised, his voice a dark, velvet purr that dripped with an arrogant, absolute dominance that sent a violent shiver of liquid heat straight down to her core. "Show me your devotion."Gulp… gluck… shhhck…As her throat worked, her manicured hand resting intimately high up on his thigh, smoothing over the flawless, impossibly warm skin, Narcissa’s mind began to drift. The sheer, overwhelming reality of her position—the proud, untouchable matriarch of the Malfoy family, kneeling like a desperate whore in the back of a Diagon Alley bookshop—was a paradox that never ceased to intoxicate her. She had been raised to bow to no one, to hold her chin high above the rabble.

Yet, here she was, worshiping the very ground he walked upon, entirely enslaved by her own desire.Her thoughts, carried by the rhythmic, heavy thumping of his pulse against her tongue, drifted inevitably back to the day her entire universe had been violently, beautifully upended.

The day the Dark Lord had returned.FlashbackNarcissa had been sitting in the grand, opulent drawing-room of Malfoy Manor, sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, when Lucius had suddenly collapsed to the cold marble floor. He had let out a pathetic, high-pitched scream, his hand clutching his left forearm as though it had been thrust into a roaring furnace.The Dark Mark. It was burning.The sheer dread that radiated from Lucius was a palpable, sickening weight in the room. He trembled uncontrollably, his usually immaculate, pale blonde hair falling into his eyes as a sheen of cold, terrified sweat broke out across his brow. He was whining, muttering under his breath about the end of days, about his failures, about the wrath of the monster that had supposedly been vanquished over a decade prior. Narcissa had watched him with a complicated mixture of pity and a burgeoning, quiet disgust. This was the man who was meant to be the pillar of their family? This trembling, weeping coward?It was barely half an hour later when the heavy, iron gates of the Manor wards chimed, signalling the arrival of the inner circle. Those who had not been imprisoned in Azkaban — began to apparate onto the pristine gravel of the driveway. Macnair, Yaxley, Goyle and a handful of others filed into the grand dining room, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously toward the shadows.And then, he walked in.He was accompanied by the pathetic, rat-like form of Pettigrew, but Narcissa barely registered the servant. Her breath caught in her throat, her icy blue eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing shock.The man who strode into the dining room was not the spectral, snake-like horror of the whispered rumours, nor was he the fading, unstable wraith that had haunted the nightmares of the wizarding world. He was a man of extraordinary, breathtaking handsomeness. He was tall, well over six feet, with a physique sculpted into a masterpiece of masculine perfection. Broad, commanding shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, draped in luxurious, heavy black robes that seemed to swallow the ambient light of the room.His face was a portrait of majesty. His jawline was sharp, unyielding, framing eyes of a deep, mesmerizing blue that flashed with terrifying flecks of deep crimson. His hair was dark, but threaded with striking streaks of liquid silver that gave him an aura of untamed, magnetic maturity.Narcissa was entirely perplexed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Who was this magnificent stranger? What unfolding drama was taking place in her home?The mysterious man did not wait for introductions. Moving with the lithe, predatory grace of a panther, he bypassed the trembling Death Eaters and took his seat directly at the head of the long, mahogany table—a position of his power and undeniable dominance.Lucius, who had been cowering near the fireplace, instantly threw himself to the floor. He crawled on his knees, his robes pooling around him, until he reached the hem of the stranger’s black robes, pressing his lips to the fabric in a display of total, abject submission. It was a demeanour that Narcissa knew all too well from the stories of the First Wizarding War.The realization struck her like a physical blow. The suffocating, heavy pressure of the dark magic rolling off him in waves… the crimson flecks in his eyes… the absolute, terrified obedience of her husband.This was Lord Voldemort.With this earth-shattering realization, the fear that had initially gripped Narcissa evaporated, replaced instantly by a deep, resonant sense of reverence and an awe so profound it made her knees weak. Moving instinctively, her pureblood poise entirely forgotten, Narcissa stepped forward and sank gracefully to the floor. She bowed her head deeply, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she pressed her forehead toward the cold marble, her heart racing with a potent, overwhelming mix of fear and an entirely inappropriate, blooming admiration."My Lord," Narcissa breathed, her voice trembling slightly, yet laced with a desperate need to please. "Forgive my ignorance. I… I did not recognize you in this magnificent form. We are honoured, beyond words, to welcome you back to our home."The room held its breath. Lucius whimpered beside her, expecting the immediate flash of a Cruciatus curse.Instead, a low, rich, baritone chuckle echoed through the grand dining room. It was a sound entirely devoid of the high-pitched cruelty of the past; it was resonant, seductive, and infinitely more dangerous."Rise, Narcissa," Voldemort purred, the banter dripping from his tongue with an effortless, aristocratic grace.Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. The intensity of his crimson-flecked gaze pinned her in place."There is nothing to forgive," he continued, a devastating, wicked smile curving his perfect lips. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his long, elegant fingers. "In fact, I find your initial confusion entirely flattering. Though, I must admit, it is a tragedy to see such a remarkably beautiful woman on her knees... unless, of course, it is for a far more entertaining purpose."A collective, silent shock rippled through the gathered Death Eaters, but Narcissa felt a sudden, violent rush of heat pool deep within her belly. A heavy flush crept up her neck and stained her pale cheeks crimson. The Dark Lord was flirting with her. He was asserting his dominance not through pain, but through the terrifying, undeniable gravity of his desire for his lieutenant's wife. The budding desire within her was instant and absolute; she could not ignore the heavy, aching throb between her thighs.That very night, the course of her entire existence changed forever.While Lucius had been dismissed, ordered to scour the Ministry for information, shivering and grateful for his life, Narcissa received a private summons to the master guest chambers.The memory of that first encounter still lingered so vividly in her mind that just thinking of it made her current task of servicing him all the more ravenous. She remembered the way he had stripped away her icy, untouchable facade with nothing but his commanding voice and those long, pale fingers. He had thrown her onto the massive four-poster bed, parting her thighs and claiming her with a primal, earthly power that had completely shattered her reality. He had rocked her world with a brutal, relentless stamina, his impossible, monstrous endowment stretching her to the very limits of her endurance, wringing screams of pure, unadulterated ecstasy from her throat until she had completely lost her voice.

He had made her feel like a woman, like a possession, like a prized plaything of a god. And she would not have it any other way.

End FlashbackSlurp… mlem… suck…Narcissa leaned back in, pulling her mind away from the dizzying memories of the past and focusing entirely on the overwhelming reality of the present. Her tongue swirled greedily around the broad crest of his member, her throat working in chaotic, rhythmic swallows as he began to lazily, forcefully thrust his hips upward, lightly fucking her mouth."Is this pleasing you, My Lord?" Narcissa whispered, pulling back just a fraction of an inch to breathe, her chest heaving heavily. A thin, glistening string of saliva connected her glossy lips to the weeping tip of his cock. She looked up at him with religious adoration, her icy blue eyes wide and entirely submissive. "Am I serving you well?""You are adequate, Narcissa," Voldemort replied, a cruel, wicked smirk playing on his sculpted, aristocratic features. He reached down, his large hand burying into the thick, immaculate waves of her pale blonde hair, gripping her scalp with a delicious, possessive roughness. "But you talk too much. Use your tongue. Clean it.""Yes, My Lord," she breathed eagerly, craving the degrading command.Slurp… gluck… shhhck…Suddenly, Voldemort’s crimson eyes snapped up, darting toward the heavy mahogany door of his study. Narcissa couldn't see what he was looking at, entirely blinded by the massive cock filling her vision, but she felt the instantaneous shift in his aura. The dark magic around him flared, spiking with a potent, triumphant malice. His grip on her hair tightened painfully, but delightfully so."Enough," Voldemort commanded, his voice dropping an octave, rumbling with a dark, predatory intent.With a swift, decisive pull, he forcefully yanked Narcissa off his cock.Pop!Narcissa gasped as the impossibly thick head popped out from between her lips, leaving her mouth stretching and empty. She looked up, a sliver of drool sliding down her chin, completely dazed and panting heavily."My Lord?" she whimpered softly, terrified she had displeased him."Get up," he ordered, rising from the leather wingback chair. The sheer size of him towering over her was intoxicating. His cock swayed heavily between his powerful thighs, glossy and slick with her saliva, pointing proudly toward her face. "You have used your mouth adequately. But now, I want to feel you."Narcissa’s heart leaped into her throat, beating a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. "Yes. Oh, yes, My Lord.""To the desk," he commanded, pointing a finger toward the massive, antique mahogany writing desk positioned on the far side of the room, completely covered in scattered tomes, runic charts, and dripping inkwells.Narcissa scrambled to her feet, her high heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. She did not walk; she hurried, entirely eager to obey his every whim. She reached the edge of the heavy desk and turned to look at him over her shoulder, her chest heaving, her eyes blown wide with lust.Voldemort approached her with slow, deliberate steps. He didn't rush. He moved like a predator that knew its prey was entirely trapped and entirely willing. When he reached her, his hands grabbed her waist, the heat of his palms burning right through the elegant fabric of her emerald green robes."Bend over," he whispered, his breath ghosting hot across the sensitive shell of her ear.Narcissa whimpered, a soft, pathetic sound of pure compliance. She planted her hands flat onto the cool, polished wood of the desk, sweeping aside a stack of ancient scrolls. She pushed her chest down, arching her spine dramatically, presenting the lush curve of her ass to him.With a rough, unceremonious tug, Voldemort bunched the luxurious silk of her emerald robes in his fists, pulling the fabric all the way up her back, entirely exposing her lower half. She was wearing nothing underneath but a pair of tiny, delicate black lace knickers, which were already profoundly soaked through with her own desperate arousal."Beautiful," Voldemort purred darkly, his gaze tracking the pale, flawless expanse of her thighs and the inviting, rounded swell of her backside.He didn't bother with the lace. He reached out, his long fingers hooking into the delicate material of her knickers, and with a sharp, violent pull, he ripped them aside. The fabric tore with a loud, satisfying RIIIIP, completely exposing her slick, dripping entrance to the cool air of the study.Narcissa gasped, her fingers gripping the edge of the mahogany desk so tightly her knuckles turned white. The anticipation was absolute agony.

She could feel the heavy, suffocating pressure of his dark magic pressing against her exposed skin, making every nerve ending in her body scream for his touch."You are so eager to take me, aren't you, Narcissa?" Voldemort mocked softly, stepping flush against her backside. The searing, iron-hot tip of his monstrous endowment brushed agonizingly against her wet cleft, drawing a high, keening moan from her lips. "To take the monster into your bed. To let the Dark Lord ruin you from the inside out.""Please," Narcissa begged, completely devoid of pride, entirely ruined by the primal lust he invoked within her. "Please, My Lord, I need you. Fill me.""As you wish."Voldemort gripped her hips with bruising force, his thumbs digging deeply into the soft, pale flesh of her waist. Without any further warning, he aligned the impossibly broad, weeping head of his cock with her slick entrance, and pushed forward in one long, deliberate thrust."Ahhhh! FUCK!" Narcissa screamed, her head throwing back as the sheer, brutal width of him breached her.He was so massive, so impossibly thick, that the sensation of being filled by him was a borderline painful, breathtaking stretch. She felt every pronounced, throbbing vein along his shaft scraping against her sensitive inner walls as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her tight sheath. The pressure was monumental. It felt as though he were physically splitting her in two, rearranging her internal walls to make room for his ungodly size.Shhhck… thud.He buried himself entirely to the hilt, his heavy, muscular pelvis slamming solidly against her soft, pale cheeks with a resounding, wet slap.Narcissa sobbed, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer, staggering fullness. "Oh gods… My Lord… you are so big… so thick… ahhh…""I am exactly what you need, little pureblood," Voldemort growled, his voice dropping into a primal, demonic register that vibrated through her very bones. "You spent your life playing the untouchable aristocratic wife to a pathetic, whimpering coward. But this… this is what you were made for. To be stretched. To be used. To be bred."Before Narcissa could even formulate a response to the devastating, filthy degradation, Voldemort began to move.He pulled back, the thick friction of his massive shaft sliding out of her slick, gripping walls with a loud, wet shhhuck, before snapping his hips forward and driving into her with brutal force.SMACK!"Ahhh!"Squelch! SMACK! SMACK!The sounds of their coupling echoed violently throughout the quiet study. Flesh met flesh with a thunderous rhythm. The Dark Lord did not make love to her; he fucked her. He fucked her with the absolute, terrifying power of a conqueror laying waste to a newly acquired territory.Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!The heavy, rapid-fire slapping of his muscular thighs against her pale ass cheeks was deafening. Narcissa’s body jerked forward with every devastating thrust, her breasts bouncing heavily beneath her bunched-up robes, her hands sliding frantically across the polished mahogany of the desk as she struggled to keep herself upright against his assault."Yes! Oh yes, fuck me, My Lord! Pound me!" Narcissa shrieked, her voice completely losing its refined, cultured edge, reduced to the guttural, desperate cries of a woman entirely lost in the throes of animalistic pleasure."Tell me who you belong to," Voldemort commanded, his breath coming in hot, heavy pants as he drove his cock as deep into her as physically possible, striking her cervix repeatedly with the broad, battering-ram head of his member.SMACK! Squelch!"I belong to you!" Narcissa sobbed, her head tossing wildly, her blonde hair a tangled, beautiful mess. "Only you! Ahhh! Not Lucius—never Lucius! I am yours, My Lord! Your whore!""Good," he snarled, clearly pleased by her total, absolute surrender.He reached around, his large hand clamping firmly around her throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to cut off her air entirely, but the restriction was enough to send a thrilling, terrifying spike of adrenaline straight through her veins. He pinned her down against the desk, arching her ass even higher into the air, completely exposing the deepest, most vulnerable angles of her body to his relentless pounding.Shhhck-SMACK! Shhhck-SMACK!The friction was unbelievable. The walls of her cunt clenched and spasmed around his thick, deeply veined shaft, milking him with every brutal thrust. The heat building between them was like a raging inferno. Voldemort’s dark magic bled out of his pores, wrapping around Narcissa’s body like a heavy, suffocating blanket of static electricity, heightening every single sensation until she thought she might genuinely lose her mind."You take it so well, Narcissa," Voldemort praised darkly, his pace accelerating into a frantic, blinding blur of motion. "Taking every inch of your Lord. Letting me ruin you.""Yes… ruin me… ahhh, fuck, I’m close! I’m so close!" Narcissa wailed, her toes curling so hard they cramped in her elegant heels. The pressure in her lower belly was building to a catastrophic, brilliant crescendo."Cum for me," Voldemort ordered, his grip on her throat tightening just a fraction. "Cum for your Master!"With one final, earth-shattering thrust that felt like it reached her very soul, Narcissa shattered."AHHHHHH!" she screamed, her entire body locking up in a violent, seizing orgasm. Her inner walls clamped down around his massive cock with desperate, vice-like spasms, milking the impossibly thick flesh with a chaotic, rhythmic intensity.The intense, squeezing pressure of her climax was the final push the Dark Lord needed.Voldemort let out a deep, booming, guttural roar of pleasure. He drove his hips forward, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and froze. His powerful, heavily muscled body went entirely rigid, the striking silver streaks in his dark hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.Deep within the tight, slick confines of her womb, Voldemort erupted. He unleashed an incredibly heavy torrent of his thick, hot seed directly into her core.

The force of his climax was staggering. Narcissa gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as she physically felt the heavy, pulsating gushes of his essence flooding her insides, filling her to the absolute brim.Squirt… spurt…He held her firmly in place against the desk, his massive cock pulsing uncontrollably inside of her, continuing to pump wave after wave of his dark, potent essence deep into her now swelling-up belly. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming, a visceral, tangible brand of his absolute ownership over her body.Slowly, as the final, lingering pulses of his orgasm faded, Voldemort released his grip on her throat. He leaned heavily over her back, his broad, sweaty chest resting against her spine, his harsh, ragged breaths tickling the nape of her neck.Narcissa was completely incapacitated. She lay sprawled over the ink-stained mahogany desk, her legs trembling so violently she would have collapsed if not for the unyielding anchor of his cock still buried deep inside her. Tears of absolute, overwhelming bliss streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the dust of the ancient tomes beneath her face.With a slow, deliberate motion, Voldemort pulled back.Shhhuck… plop.The impossibly thick cock slid out of her thoroughly wrecked, swollen entrance. The moment he withdrew, a heavy, thick glob of his pearlescent white seed instantly spilled out of her gaping hole, sliding down the pale, flawless expanse of her inner thigh with a wet, messy trail.Voldemort looked down at the mess he had made of the pristine pureblood matriarch, a wicked, immensely satisfied smirk playing across his devastatingly handsome features.He casually reached down, pulling the tailored fabric of his trousers up, concealing the terrifying, brutal instrument of his dominance once more. He brushed his hands together, stepping away from the desk."Clean yourself up, Narcissa," Lord Voldemort commanded, his rich, velvety baritone entirely devoid of the primal heat that had consumed it moments prior, returning to its smooth, aristocratic baseline. "And be quick about it. The meeting with your pathetic husband and the sorry group of followers I command is about to begin."Narcissa whimpered softly, slowly pushing herself up from the desk. Her legs wobbled, her core aching beautifully with the heavy, stretching reminder of his creampie leaking down her leg."Yes, My Lord," she whispered, bowing her head in absolute reverence.The Dark Lord turned his back on her, staring into the roaring flames of the fireplace, his mind already calculating his next, meticulous moves in the grand, seductive game he was playing. Narcissa belonged to him entirely, a perfect, devoted pawn. But as he felt the lingering, chaotic remnants of Hermione Granger’s magical signature fading from the alleyway above, a triumphant smile graced his lips.It was the brilliant, stubborn mudblood who was to be next to fall to her knees.

And when she did, she would break far more beautifully than anyone else.