You May Meet a Stranger

Chapter 2: You May Meet a Stranger

"No, I don't want any punch," Bellatrix told her husband.

She went to a balcony, breathed in the night air, twisted her handkerchief, and decided she had better return.

"You usually dance better than this," said her father during the next number.

"I'm distracted," she said.

"You're not older; you're better," he replied.

It occurred to her that as the oldest Black sister she should put a better face on things at her birthday ball. "I'm just not into the party yet, Father," she replied.

"It might be me," he said chivalrously. "Our unofficial guest of honor has yet to appear."

"We can do quite well without him," she said.

Her father nodded approval. That was the spirit one expected from a Black.

While she was having a cup of punch with her father, Bellatrix noticed someone across the room. She took several steps forward before she was able to stop herself. She looked around. No, no one had noticed her lapse. She waited patiently, certain that he would single her out above all others. He was walking straight toward her. She told herself to be calm. Wait, was he talking to her youngest sister? He was dancing with her. How could that be?

Didn't he know her youngest sister was an empty-headed fool who had had the poor judgment to marry Lucius Malfoy? It was true the Malfoys had money, but she had always thought Lucius was a pig: it wasn't that he was the type to chase other women; it was that he would neglect his wife while doing so. Now, thanks to his pig habits, his wife, that blue-eyed, blonde angel, ha, was not only dancing with Tom, she was vulnerable. Bellatrix looked at the doe-eyes Cissy was making and thought the best plan would be to whisper to Cissy that her gown was buttoned crooked, take her to a private room, and tear her golden locks out by their roots. The red haze grew until Bellatrix even allowed herself to be thankful that that cow Andromeda wasn't here. That simpering bitch, after experiencing the sharpness of poverty and the lack of virility of what's-his-name, would have been all over a real wizard of wealth and power. It calmed her to think that she had only that one obstacle who was dancing-too-close-to-be-decent to eviscerate. How could Cissy's husband allow that in public? Not that dancing too close meant anything with her youngest sister's lack of endowments. No wonder Lucius neglected her. The blonde bimbo certainly didn't have the figure to be worth undressing with anyone's eyes the way Cissy's current, tasteless partner seemed to be doing. Perhaps the disemboweling could be followed by some eye-gouging. She examined her sharp and shiny fingernails.

After an eternity, the dance ended, and Bellatrix watched Tom extricate himself from the clingy blonde – only to stumble into the grabby arms of Patricia Parkinson, the secret slag. Luckily, Lucius, a lousy husband but a true gentleman on occasion, swept Bellatrix onto the dance floor with a gracious invitation.

A few minutes later at the refreshment table, Bellatrix watched as Patricia Parkinson, with her eyes on Tom instead of where they should be, put the ice cubes in her saucer, placed the biscuit in the cup, and ladled the punch on top of the biscuit.

"Well, you got one right at least," said Bellatrix.

"Aren't you being rude to a guest?" asked Patricia.

"I was obviously making a joke about my inadequate arrangement of napkins and plates," said Bellatrix. "I was joking. Can't you take a joke?"

"If it was a joke, I apologize," said Patricia.

"If?! If?! I told you it was," said Bellatrix. "If I had wished to insult you, I would have commented on your second rate jewelry, your out-of-fashion gown, and your lusting after my guests like a bitch in heat."

"That's insufferable," said Patricia, walking away.

"Your attitude and your walking away when I'm talking to you are what are insufferable," said Bellatrix, concluding that some people were overly sensitive.

Bellatrix set her cup down and went out to commune with the cold and distant stars that offered a more promising relationship than the ill-behaving guests.

As she stood in the cool air, the door opened and closed, a shaft of light from the party split the night and vanished, and she saw the person walking toward her.

"What excuse do you have for your bad manners?" asked Bellatrix before she could stop herself.

"None at the moment," said Tom. "I'm ignoring your guests, and I'm failing to meet people who have important business with me just so I can talk to you and enjoy your company."

He was behind her. She could feel his warm breath and his commanding presence.

"Have you waited for me?"

Her pride told her to be quiet. "Yes," she said.

"Have you let your husband touch you?"

Her honor told her to be still. "No," she said.

She felt his hands on her waist. She gasped as the fire and ice of his touch shot through her. She reminded herself she was a Black and a married woman. She stepped back into him. Her head leaned back on his shoulder, and she moaned with relief when his arms went around her in acceptance.

"You have waited long enough," he said.

She wanted to make a caustic remark about his arrogance, but she wanted him to hold her more.

"You want people to know I have chosen you. You want to be admired," he whispered, "but by a small, select audience, not by the masses."

She knew he was speaking to her secret desire.

"Your husband, your sister, and her husband will do. They are waiting as I lead you into a room. You are as elegantly attired as you are now. You want this, but you are nervous."

Yes, she would be both eager and anxious.

"You see a throne of a couch with no arms or back and covered with dark, shimmering, green silk. You know it will compliment your skin and hair."

She glowed at the elegant image.

"I take you to the couch. You know what is going to happen. I tangle my fingers in your hair and pull you close. You know you shouldn't, but you respond with lips swollen with desire that beg me to continue."

She blushed with maidenly modesty.

"You tell yourself not to as you press against me, but your sinuous body has a mind of its own, and it offers whatever I want. You both hope and fear that I want everything."

She felt herself losing the struggle to be aloof.

"At my silent command, your fingers unbutton your gown, and it falls to the floor. You let the audience see that your full and firm body needs no support. You are thinking that you are undressing for someone who is not your husband, but you stand regally in flimsy lace bra and knickers."

She felt a forbidden thrill, but she knew she would be proud.

"I reach out my hands. Your breasts are mine to hold. I trace their shape."

She felt the craving grow within her.

"My touch nearly burns; your firm mounds swell; your nipples press against the lace. You think about the audience watching you rotate your shoulders to brush your breasts against my fingers. You unfasten your bra."

She realized, deep down, that she would.

"You cup your breast and offer them to me like the goddess of sex and power that you are."

She was certain he would appreciate the offer.

"I tend your lovely breasts with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. Your nipples rise. I take them into my mouth. I can taste you."

She sighed as he cupped her breasts.

"You become impatient; you've been waiting so long for this. You slide your knickers over your hips and off. You pull me to the couch; you recline; your legs open."

She knew she would, that he was right, damn him.

"Before I enter you, I tell your sister, her husband, and your husband that you will look at them and smile twice: after you're mounted and before you have your orgasm."

She told herself that she was too regal for that.

"Your soft nether lips are swollen with desire and slick with need. I enter easily, slow and dignified. You want to be equally dignified, but the audience hears you moan. They see your face turn as soft as a little girl's."

She knew, despite what he said, that her demeanor would be majestic.

"The audience is captured by the look on your pretty face as you're mounted. They are equally captured by the look of your ugly furry folds as they're entered. Your beautiful face and the primal invasion: the contrast is stimulating."

She imagined it would be magnificent.

"Your husband does not want you anymore, but he still feels a twinge. He notices his wife makes no protest. He has seen his wife spread her legs in invitation. He did not want to know it would be this easy for someone to have his wife."

She thought he deserved it.

"You know that your little sister, who hasn't the nerve to betray her husband, is watching with open eyes. Her nostrils are as flared as yours."

She thought the little hypocrite would try to hide her feelings.

"I slide in the last inch. You are lightly panting. The audience watches your defenses go down. When you realize you no longer control what is going to happen, you look at them and smile. Go ahead. Smile."

She could imagine them present; she did turn her head and smile.

"You try not to move. Your moves are small at first. You try to control it. You look into my eyes and begin a sensuous wiggle. The audience is astonished. Your husband has told them you are a cold fish who just lies there."

She pushed back against Tom.

"The husbands want to feel your slick hotness and your flexing muscles; they are erect. Your sister wants to feel being filled and ridden; she is wet."

She knew Tom was right. They wanted her or to be like her.

"The audience watches as we couple. They watch us move in sync."

She would be proudly shameless.

"Your moves become more intense. You resist, but control slips away. You wonder if your sister has writhed like this for her husband. You wonder if your sister has writhed like this for anyone."

She imagined her sister watching raptly.

"Before you can think that this is going to be embarrassing, you can't think anymore. The audience listens to liquid slaps and involuntary grunts as your body rocks back and forth and your thighs begin a rhythmic squeezing. You give them your pre-orgasmic smile."

She was smiling.

"Your sister, her husband, and your husband cannot take their eyes away. They will always remember your look."

She moaned.

"The wizards wish you were clenching them. You sister wishes she were clenching me."

She knew they would be jealous.

"You want the audience to see the Dark Lord lose himself in your charms. Instead, I wait till your afterglow has subsided and magisterially sample your wares. The audience sees that I am glistening with your juices and that my tension is slowly increasing. They watch me take what is mine to take. I grip your hips and bury myself. They know I'm squirting my seed into you. They know you are now my witch."

Tom pressed his hands against the junction of her thighs and sensations shot out both directions from her spine to explode in her brain and to melt between her legs.

"Your husband hurries off to find his doxy of the evening to take her to a secluded spot. Your sister's husband hurries her home, but he will be in her up to the hilt before they reach the bedroom."

Bellatrix knew both husbands would be thinking about her.

"I help you to your feet, wrap my cape around you, and escort you out of the room."

When Bellatrix re-entered the ballroom, she glanced surreptitiously at Rodolphus, Lucius, and Narcissa, certain her secret desire was written in the radiance of her being.