The meeting has ended, and most of the wizards and witches invited have already left. Only a few remained who were given personal command by Voldemort.
Narcissa Malfoy had nothing to do and went back to her room.
Now, she was sitting on the edge of the bed facing the long vertical mirror. This was a room located in the Place Cachee, Paris.
Her husband, Lucius Malfoy, was absent from this important gathering. Instead, he was sent on a mission by Voldemort, a task of critical importance that required his immediate attention. As a result, it was Narcissa who had been summoned to accompany the Dark Lord to France.
As Narcissa sat there, she watched her reflection in the mirror, and she could not help but remember a certain memory. That day, Daphne Greengrass was alone with Voldemort in a room, and Narcissa tried to listen but was caught when Voldemort opened the door.
Then Voldemort pushed her against the wall and began fingering her mouth. She remembered clearly how wet she got from Voldemort's touch.
But strangely, since then, Voldemort has not gotten intimate with her; instead, he just kept reminding her about how she was a slut and how she got wet from the previous encounter.
Speaking of slut, that honor belongs to Daphne Greengrass. Narcissa could not believe the audacity of that girl. She started coming every day to the Malfoy Mansion and spent most of her time in Voldemort's chamber. In the beginning, the girl was secretive about what she was doing, but later on, her moans became louder and louder.
One time, when Narcissa was talking with Voldemort about a plan, Daphne got inside the room and did not care about her presence, and she mounted Voldemort's lap and began kissing him.
Narcissa swore that that slut Daphne knew exactly what she was doing as she kept looking at her while kissing Voldemort.
Unknown to Narcissa, Daphne was doing the teasing based on Voldemort's command. Having become sexually dependent upon Voldemort, Daphne was willing to do anything to get the Dark Lord's approval.
Her teasing was a success as Narcissa began craving Voldemort's touch even more and was no doubt jealous of Daphne. Still, her mind was confused about her feelings, and she was not willing to betray her husband.
As such, she kept throwing herself at her husband Lucius for love, but the latter refused, saying that either he was tired or one son was enough for him. Her husband's view of sex was a tool for child-making and not something for pleasure.
As the days continued, so did her desire. Her entire sleep would be filled with wet dreams where Voldemort was pounding her roughly.
She began touching herself, thinking about the Dark Lord. Her lust began to dominate over her loyalty, and she slowly began craving to become the 'slut' of Voldemort.
And she knew that everything was going to begin here in France when she came along with the Dark Lord.
Just then, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of creaking as Voldemort pushed open the door of the room and got inside. Voldemort closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Narcissa jerked from the bed. She could not let Voldemort see her touching herself.
Naricssa felt her heartbeat increase as Voldemort observed her. Luckily, Voldemort did not catch her in such a moment. She watched the Dark Lord closing in.
When he finally reached her, he leaned in, his cold breath brushing against her neck. Narcissa's body stiffened, a shiver running down her spine as she felt the closeness of his presence.
Voldemort's lips curled into a sinister smile as he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her. "You smell delicious," he murmured.
"My Lord," she whispered, unsure of what else to say, her voice barely audible as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest.
Voldemort's hand reached up, his fingers grazing her cheek, tracing a slow path down her neck.
"You have been a good servant the whole time." Voldemort's words were a sweet melody to Narcissa as his hand lingered on her neck, his fingers cold as they traced the delicate line of her throat.
"I have several sluts that I possess," Voldemort continued, as if he were discussing objects. "Bellatrix, but she is still in Azkaban; then there is Daphne, but she is just a simple toy for my pastime, and then there is you, my sweet Narcissa."
The way he said her name sent an involuntary thrill through her.
Why was she feeling proud like this? Her emotion turned into shame.
"You've been the most satisfying," Voldemort murmured, his fingers brushing against the pulse point at her neck, feeling the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. "And it's time I rewarded you for your devotion."
Voldemort leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. Then came the ultimate question, "Tell me, my slut, do you want to be rewarded by me?"
She knew what he wanted to hear, and a part of her, the part that had been suppressed for so long, wanted to give it to him. To submit, to give in to the pleasure that he offered.
Her loyalty, her pride, her dignity, all of it seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the overwhelming presence of the Dark Lord and the desire he stirred within her.
She had tried her best to suppress it, and she had tried to stay faithful to Lucius. But if her husband did not desire her anymore, then it was not betrayal.
"Yes, my Lord," as the words left her mouth, Narcissa's body felt a rush of relief.
A wicked smile spread across Voldemort's face, satisfied with the long planning turning into this.
"Good slut."
Voldemort's fingers slowly released their grip on Narcissa's neck, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he stepped back.
With a flick of his wand, he conjured a set of clothes on the bed beside them. Narcissa's eyes followed the movement, her gaze settling on a set of black lingerie laid on the bed, the fabric delicate and sheer, almost translucent, revealing just enough to leave little to the imagination.
Voldemort broke Narcissa's imagination. "I had intended to gift these to Daphne," he said, "but it seems you've proven yourself to be far more deserving, Narcissa."
His words were a twisted compliment, yet they filled her with a strange sense of pride.
She had proven to be more worthy than Daphne. She couldn't help the way her body responded to his approval, how every word he uttered seemed to strike at the very core of her desires.
"Put them on," Voldemort ordered, not giving Narcissa any chance to speak as he went further into the room, leaving her alone.